Showing my Behind
A social worker learns about respect, cultural competence, and recovering from humiliation
By Abigail Strubel, MA, LCSW, CASAC
My first job out of social work school was at a substance abuse treatment program for ex-offenders on parole. They were a very diverse and eloquent group of people, mostly male and African-American or Latino, which says much more about our current justice system than about them. I loved listening to their stories about life in prison or on the street, experiences with families and loved ones. Many times I felt like I was watching a Greek tragedy, in part because a good amount of their lingo was Greek to me.
Once in group a client was describing the circumstances that led up to his arrest and stated, “I got a case of the fuck-its.”
Mishearing him, I asked, “A case of the buckets? Were you a wholesaler?”
After they stopped laughing, the group explained to me that he was conveying frustration, saying “fuck it.” But that translation wasn’t helpful when a courteous client, not wanting to curse during session with his therapist, said, “I got a case of the f-its.”
“What are effits?” I asked. Something like widgets? He cleared his throat, looked away, and delicately supplied the complete term. Then I understood.
Another new term (to me) was the concept of “showing his/her/your ass.” A client during an individual session was describing an eight-year-old nephew of his at a family event, who was “showing his behind.” (He chose a less charged term out of respect for my ladylike sensibilities. And because he was a gentleman.)
“Did he take his pants down?” I asked. “Does he have impulse control problems?”
When he stopped laughing, the client explained the idiom to me; it means “behaving disrespectfully and inappropriately.” That came in handy when another client complained that his 16-year-old stepdaughter “showed her butt” to him. I knew I didn’t need to call child protective services.
I’d like to say I never showed my butt with my clients. And I never did so deliberately. But there were a few occasions when I showed a lot more than I meant to.
For several months the bathrooms in our office suite were under repair. (Nothing happens quickly in a city facility.) So we had to leave the suite and go up several floors to another bathroom. One day I was wearing a light, gauzy skirt and didn’t notice that I’d tucked it into the back of my pantyhose. Since I needed to do laundry, I was wearing a thong.
The reception area was full of the clients for the relapse prevention group I was about to facilitate. I walked past them, smiling and saying hi, until I heard, “Senorita! Tu falda!” (“Miss! Your skirt!”) Reaching behind, I realized what had happened and scooted past the double doors into the office suite.
My supervisor was there. “I just walked through the reception area with my skirt tucked into my pantyhose!” I wailed, frantically pulling the skirt out. “My whole relapse prevention group is in there! How am I supposed to lead group tonight after everyone’s seen my ass? I haven’t done laundry in weeks and I’m down to the last few thongs in my underwear drawer. They must think I have a racy sex life and wear thongs all the time!” I stopped wailing and started deep breathing.
“Do you need me to cover the group?” my supervisor asked.
I shook my head. No, I thought to myself. I can re-take control of this situation. And I need to show them that a minor humiliation is not a big deal.
My social work practice professor had told us that even a single clap of your hands can set a positive tone. I stepped back into the reception area. The room fell silent, clients looking at me almost fearfully. They hadn’t laughed at me at all. They weren’t even smiling. I realized they didn’t want me to feel ashamed.
I smiled, swung my hands together for one big clap, and said, “Okay guys, show’s over!” They laughed, politely. “Let’s get to work,” I continued. “Group is starting.” And I could see them exhale and relax, almost as one, as they got up to go to the group room.
We actually had a great discussion. Talked about how the holidays can be a trigger for alcohol use, the value of patience and persistence, and how to cope with difficult feelings without using. I guess I modeled how to cope with embarrassment without snorting coke or shooting heroin.
I wish I could say that was the only time I showed my behind to my clients, but there was another incident. During one anger management group, I was speaking with a young client, not long out of prison. I don’t remember what we were discussing, but I sat across from him and spoke emphatically. He appeared to be listening so hard that his mouth hung open.
I felt great about that group. I really got through to him, right?
Not quite.
One of the other group participants asked if he could talk to me after the group. It had been a rather raucous discussion, so I was wondering if he felt I was having trouble controlling the other fellas and wanted to offer some help or suggestions. He’s very protective of women; he went to prison for beating up—demolishing might be a better word—the man who raped his teenage cousin. We went into my office and sat down.
“Miss Abigail,” he said, “you know I like your group, and I respect you as a counselor. You have a great personality, and you’re just a wonderful woman.”
Please don’t ask me out, I thought.
“Some of the other guys were talking about you after group last week in a way I didn’t like,” he continued, “and I wanted to let you know. You sometimes wear your skirts a little short, and sometimes, when you don’t sit with your knees together… well, the guys say they can see up your skirt.”
Crap.
My clients are looking up my skirt? That young guy I thought I was getting through to—he was just mesmerized by my thighs and panties? Probably the first panties and thighs he’s seen in years.
I’ve never been sexually attracted to my male clients. I can recognize when they’re attractive men—some of them have been very attractive, especially the ones that liked to lift weights in the prison yard—but I don’t think of them in that way, because that’s not their role in my life. They’re more like relatives, in a way. Off limits romantically. We have a close bond, an emotional bond, but it’s not sexual at all. At least not for me.
Clearly the feeling’s not always mutual. I forget that some of them see me as an attractive woman.
I resolved to wear longer skirts to group and thanked the client for letting me know. He promptly asked if he could take me out to dinner after he was done with the program, as I had suspected he would. I let him down easy, explaining that ethical requirements prohibited me from ever having a romantic relationship with a client.
I walked him to the reception area and saw my supervisor. Something in my expression must have told her I needed to talk. We went into her office, and after about five minutes, she stopped laughing and asked if I was okay.
“I think I am,” I said. She helpfully reminded me that a bunch of other clients had seen my thong.
“You could start a reality show called ‘The Naked Therapist,’” she suggested.
“I just need to wear longer skirts and never tuck them into my pantyhose again,” I said.
Abigail Strubel is a Columbia-educated clinical social worker. She uses light therapy to cope with her seasonal affective disorder, and also manages chronic insomnia through acupressure and good sleep hygiene. She has worked with homeless veterans, returning citizens on parole, recovering heroin users, and other interesting populations. Her articles fuse humor with practical insights about mood, & sleep.
Abigail Strubel
New York, New York - Behavioral Health Program Manager - St. Ann's Corner Of Harm Reduction