‘I could never do your job.’ Why some work in child welfare. And why they are quitting
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This email, obtained by The Star through a Sunshine Law request, is from a former worker in the Missouri Department of Social Services’ Children’s Division. It was sent to state Rep. Crystal Quade of Springfield.
I apologize I could not be at the hearing in person today. I am working in the private sector now. But I still hear the words almost weekly, “I could never do the job you did,” speaking of course regarding my time in Child Welfare. All of my peers who love social work have heard it. We have all understood that people feel this when they think about angry parents and staring down those that could harm a child.
People envision “Lifetime” movies with good guys and bad guys and heroes. And they think, “I could never do that job.”
Those in the field know the truth: there are rarely good guys or bad guys. There is generational abuse, denial, unhealed trauma, and most importantly a lack of resources. These resources can range from discipline techniques to a high school diploma, to a filled prescription for a mental health diagnosis. THAT is where the knowledge, experience, and education of social workers are not only assets but requirements to support children and families while doing minimal harm. If only it were as easy as to decide who was “right” and who was “wrong”. In the face of that uncertainty, we continue to work.
My family and friends have willingly suffered because of my time in child welfare. I have worked long hours, holidays, overnights, days of on-call that turned into morning court appearances — we all have. I have sat with my co-workers as we grieved for a family and they have sat with me. Our own families have fallen apart, our own substance abuse issues have been battled, and our own mental stamina has been tested. My mental and physical health have suffered, and I would do it all again. I speak with confidence when I say we all would. We have gotten degrees, read books, dived into practice models so far that we could then teach our peers, and we love it. Those that commit to child welfare do it for the love of the work, so when we hear, “I could never do your job” we smile and continue to work.
We understand that if our work is done well, no one, especially the world, will ever know. Families and children will continue to lead quiet, private, and safe lives. That is the best recognition we could ever hope for — silence. There will be no articles, no parades ... If we fail, we will face public scrutiny and possible legal action. And we continue to work.
We are called to many of the same scenes law enforcement are called to. I have been told by my law enforcement friends how concerned they are for me because I walked alongside them, but I drove my own car there and I only carried my clipboard and a name badge. We understand that families need to see us as their allies, so we continue to work.
On June 25, 2020 we were notified of the coming pay grade changes. At the time, I was employed as a Specialist. The salary for that position was set to go from a current rate of $36,360 to $28,716 annually.
“I could never do your job”, was now “how do we find SOMEONE who would do it for $7,644 less annually?” They may not have your experience or your education, but we can make do. I was hurt and angry. At that time, I was in my last semester of obtaining a master’s degree in social work. I was fortunate to be mentored by the many workers who had gone before me. Yes. We work excessive, unstable hours discussing ugly things in dark places, AND to advance in your career it is greatly encouraged that you attend graduate school at the same time. Alongside my peers, we continued to work.
Then, on July 10, 2020, I was called to a webinar with the rest of the state employees who were “eliminated”. There were several people on the call that were members of leadership, as I had been. In fact, it seemed most of us were. We were told last year the State had to cut the Transportation department or MODOT’s budget and now it was “just our turn”. Those words really stuck with me. “Just our turn” — as though we weren’t literally talking about the lives of Missouri’s children.
On July 15, 2020 after 19 years and 9 months with the State of Missouri I was given a letter saying I would be eliminated August 4th. I was given a list of jobs to choose from if I wanted to stay. I was given almost 100 options. My salary would reduce by a minimum of $3,000 annually. Three would not require me to relocate. Finally, there were five others “eliminated” from (redacted) County. There were not enough spots for all of us to stay. These felt like false offers that had been portrayed to the media as fair.
So, on August 4, 2020, for me, the work ended.
The work ended for many of us. There is a myth that hundreds of years of experience in child welfare weren’t so much “lost” in this decision, but more “redistributed” back to the field. Those that stayed, took the pay cut, the change in title, continued their duties, and took on several more. The number of children, whose literal safety staff assured every day, did not change.
“I could never do your job,” are the kind words people say. “End Child Abuse” is a cool frame to put on your social media profile photo every April. But in the end when we live in a state that is comfortable with treating children like they are disposable I wonder what we mean when we say, “End Child Abuse”? How? With what resources? Where will the knowledge come from if you are not willing to invest in a sustainable Workforce?
The pandemic has demonstrated dramatically all socioeconomic classes, education levels, and backgrounds are vulnerable to intimate partner violence, substance abuse, mental health issues, and the stressors we often find present in child abuse and neglect cases. I think the only question left for Missouri citizens is when they consider, “I could never do your job”, what is the value of a person that chooses to do it in spite of all that comes with it? Especially those in leadership who have dedicated their careers and often their lives to mentoring the next generation of child welfare workers so the lessons of our past are not repeated.
My experience in child welfare was rich in tools, wisdom, and support from the people, not the State of Missouri, for whom I worked. There needs to be a continued investment in those people who will continue to work this incredibly difficult and delicate job. I know this: When children you love are in harm’s way and their family is in crisis from untreated or undiagnosed mental health needs, suffering intimate partner violence, or struggling chronic substance abuse I know the answer you get from these dedicated members of your community will most certainly not be, ”I’m sorry. It was just your turn.”