National Professional Social Work Month Special Feature — Why I Chose Social Work
Social Work Today
Vol. 6 No. 2 P. 44

I was doomed to be a social worker—a flippant statement only an “insider” could appreciate. After a brief and tumultuous stint with teaching, my mother was a child welfare worker, a truant officer with young women, a mental health aftercare worker, and psychiatric hospital craft room director for the remainder of her 30-plus-year career. I spent more time in that hospital than most of the patients. As a child, I sat on the laps of the children’s court judge and the mental health commissioner.

Social work is a distinct professional breed of natural helpers turned pro. What I learned through the “laying on of hands” was informative, but I needed the anvil of education and practice to harden. I blissfully ignored the policy arena. Direct practice work was rewarding, but I learned the necessity of attending to the policy arena, where decisions affect our clients in profound ways and where budgets and regulations affect our practice. I ended up directing the National Association of Social Workers (NASW), West Virginia Chapter. There are three of us here on a good day. The work is fast paced and varied. I love it!

When I ask myself why I do this work, the answer is never far away. Social work is my proudly chosen profession, and vulnerable people have little chance to influence the policies and systems of a remote, expedient bureaucracy.

The NASW is the only professional organization I know that expends as much energy advocating for the people and communities we serve as it does on “bread and butter” issues of our profession. We can do this only because we embrace the commitment to equality and social justice embodied in our Code of Ethics.

Social workers often say they’re trying to work themselves out of a job. Altruism is laudable, and the elimination of social problems an appropriate goal. But a change of attitude is needed. Think of it as keeping the most qualified professionals in the job until the goal is met. For the good of the consumer and society, we must advocate for greater professional recognition.

No other profession shares our holistic person-in-environment orientation, our belief in the right to client self-determination, our commitment to social justice, nor takes such pains to avoid dual relationship dilemmas. We intervene at the most personal and tragic times in people’s lives. Who is better suited to meet the challenge of this awesome, wonderful responsibility?

Around the country, my colleagues and I find that policy and advocacy work consumes more and more time because federal and state policy and budget issues threaten basic human needs. Often, we’re misperceived as being against personal responsibility. Nothing could be further from the truth. Paternalistic bureaucracies have their notions of personal responsibility. They differ distinctly from social work’s goals of constructing programs that offer poor people a realistic path from poverty, elders, and people with disabilities a greater quality of life, or children a safe environment in which to grow and thrive. Social workers seek to humanize systems to create real opportunities for individuals to accept personal responsibility instead of assigning blame for failure to do so.

I’m proud we’re often the only profession joining coalitions to improve people’s lives in fundamental ways, whether by raising the minimum wage, fighting abuse and neglect, overcoming racism, or myriad other issues. But I have to remind myself to attend to professional issues as well.

Business folks often ask if social work has outlived its usefulness. Social ills affect marginalized, powerless people, whom the powerful can choose to ignore. I tell them we’re a growth profession and that as technological advances distance us more and more from personal interactions, social workers will become more important than ever. All people crave human compassion and understanding. Social workers are here to bridge the gap.

— Sam Hickman, ACSW, LCSW, is the executive director of the National Association of Social Workers, West Virginia Chapter.

I am not one of those people who entered the profession after experiencing a sudden “I want to be a social worker” newsflash. For me, the process was much more gradual, although a critical early experience certainly left its mark.

I will always remember my first encounter with what felt like pure altruism. I was 11 and had to have the same walkie-talkie that my neighborhood friends owned. Life simply wasn’t worth living without that walkie-talkie. I priced the walkie-talkie at a downtown Baltimore electronics store and began the much-too-long process of saving my nickels and dimes. When I finally reached that magical target—having counted to the penny—I arranged to take a 3:00 pm bus from my junior high school to that store. I marched up the bus steps excitedly and confidently, only to discover that the bus fare had recently increased and I was 10 cents short.

Just like that, my plan evaporated. I remember feeling like my world had collapsed, and it must have shown. A woman seated at the back of the bus noticed my distress and walked up front to comfort me. She asked me what was wrong, I explained, and she handed me an entire dollar that felt like it had “1 million” printed on it.

I have never forgotten that woman or what she taught me about the gift of helping and the potentially profound meaning of small gestures. The incident was relatively trivial in the broad scheme of things, of course, but to a distraught 11-year-old the woman’s gesture to a complete stranger meant everything. It still does.

Many years later, as a doctoral student at the University of Chicago, I read a book, The Gift Relationship: From Human Blood to Social Policy, by British scholar Richard Titmuss. In his profoundly scholarly way, Titmuss captured what I experienced as an 11-year-old and what social work, for me, is all about. Titmuss examines what motivates people to help others, particularly strangers. Titmuss’ book explores why people donate blood—a remarkable gift to strangers. I continue to be deeply moved by people who behave altruistically, and I feel privileged to be able to spend my time in a profession that embraces acts of kindness.

Over time, my understanding of helping has matured. Being a student and practitioner of social work has taught me a great deal about the complicated relationship between individual acts of kindness and the enormously daunting circumstances that create human suffering and misery. At this point in my career, I have a richer, more nuanced understanding of the ways in which biology and toxic structural forces lead to mental illness, interpersonal violence, poverty, substance abuse, poor health, homelessness, and other social problems. I understand that genetic endowment, harsh economic policies, racism, discrimination, and draconian political agendas have a profound impact on people’s ability to avoid misery and lead lives filled with meaning, purpose, and tranquility. Social work continues to teach me that I must be vigilant in my efforts to keep one eye on individual suffering and well-being and the other eye on the social and economic injustices that need to be challenged. The world needs both small and large gestures to enhance the quality of people’s lives, and social workers understand that.
I think social work is the most virtuous profession on the planet. It is the only profession that has formally adopted a mission statement, articulated forcefully in the National Association of Social Workers Code of Ethics, that proclaims its simultaneous commitment to helping those who struggle with their private troubles, challenging injustice, and promoting social justice.

— Frederic G. Reamer, PhD, is a professor in the graduate program of the School of Social Work, Rhode Island College. He is the author of many books and articles, and his research has addressed mental health, healthcare, criminal justice, and professional ethics.

I believe I was born into a southern, African American family oriented toward service specifically for a life of scientifically based service. It has been so natural for me to share myself and my resources with others and to try to make life easier and happier for them.

By age 3, my two younger sisters had been stillborn or died just after birth. Nevertheless, as their advocate, if a relative offered me a nickel, I thought my sisters should get one, too! By age 4, my brother had arrived, but he was quite his own advocate. However, he did need my protection and guidance to help him survive his childhood and adolescence.

Endowed with an ever-present smile, others seemed to cheer up and enjoy having me around. So, early in life, I felt my purpose was to improve the well-being of others. Having Mrs. Ethel Waters write on my first-grade report card, “Lorraine is joy and sunshine to our class,” solidified what seemed to be my life’s purpose. Interestingly, however, I seldom felt like a peer to other children. Instead, I enjoyed the hospitality and conversation of adults, especially my mother and grandparents. Therefore, working with adults became a natural niche for me.

I was fascinated by stargazing and pondered a career as an astronomer. Then, I discovered archeology through school field trips to museums and later, thanks to the Civil Rights Movement, the newly accessible public library just down the street from our house. As a student among those being “tracked” as college bound, my classmates and I were encouraged to explore mathematics and the sciences since the nation would need us as future astronauts and the like.

However, in the ninth grade, at age 14, I met my new best friend, “Corky,” whose mother was a social worker and dean of women at Fisk University. Bang! Visits to their home opened new vistas in my heart and mind that included both science and service. Dean Blanche Cowan talked about the joys and challenges of work with “my girls,” as she called them, helping them navigate the transitions into their adult dreams. That’s what I wanted to do: combine scientific knowledge about human behavior, the social environment, and service to help others find the hope and joy I felt in life.

From adolescence until mid-life, I was focused on attaining an MSW to become a competent social worker with high integrity. Now at mid-life, I wish I had dabbled more in the liberal arts, maybe traveled to France to pursue a major, not just a minor, in French. I also regret pushing myself right into graduate school following my undergraduate studies. I wish I had worked in the field a while and enjoyed my new husband and son before taking the plunge. I did work for two years at Central State Psychiatric Hospital between the first and second years of graduate school, and there, to my protective father’s dismay, I found my niche. I fell in love with the field of mental health. Neither astronomy nor archeology could have rivaled the mysteries of understanding the human being.

I never questioned the choice made at age 14 to become a social worker—until mid-life. After a rich career in direct practice, field supervision, administration, and part-time social work education, all before I was 40, I wondered, “What’s next?” After carefully considering an MBA and an MSEd, I again chose social work and pursued the doctorate. My foray into social policymaking, following Martin Luther King, Jr.’s role model as a “drum major for justice,” came while serving on the board of the National Association of Social Workers, Tennessee Chapter during its drive toward licensure and third-party reimbursement. That whetted my appetite for improving the quality of human life on a larger scale. Direct practice brought me great joy, but the ability to affect large target populations through organizational leadership and collaborative social policymaking were exhilarating.

Now, 13 years after the PhD, I am living my dream and beyond it. I am teaching the next generation of social workers, infecting them with the love of the profession that Dean Cowan transmitted to me. I conduct and disseminate social work practice research to improve the quality of life for African American individuals, couples, and families. In addition, I affect social policy at the state and national levels. One of many peak experiences occurred in 2004 as I spoke on a panel at the National Press Club critiquing the President’s Marriage Initiative. Then I zipped with a team of consultants by taxi to consult with the president’s White House Advisor on Marriage and Poverty. I just wish Dean Cowan were still alive so I could thank her again for inspiring me to take the plunge into this profession. I certainly wish my grandparents and Dad could see their handiwork, too.

— Lorraine C. Blackman, PhD, LCSW, ACSW, CFLE, is an associate professor in the School of Social Work at Indiana University. She is the founder of the African American Family Life Education Program (www.aafle.org) and author of two social work practice curricula: The African American Marriage Enrichment Program and African American Parent Training Program.

There is a Yiddish term b’sheret that is roughly translated as “meant to be.” That’s how I feel about my social work career, that it was b’sheret. From the time I first learned about social work at age 9—there was a social worker in my neighborhood who worked for a family and children’s agency—I was intrigued. I was raised in a loving and stable home in which public service was highly valued. My mother was a public school teacher, and my father was a rabbi who marched for civil rights, protested the Vietnam War, actively supported Planned Parenthood, and made local history by participating in the ordination of a Catholic bishop. Advocacy was in my blood. My grandmother, who immigrated to this country at age 14, marched in Washington for the women’s right to vote.

What else led me to social work? Here’s the corny part: I had spent years reading “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” in my mother’s Ladies’ Home Journals. The idea that I, too, could heal wounded souls and repair fractured relationships was enormously appealing. A social worker specializing in individual, couples, and family counseling—that’s what I’d be. Perhaps another Sal Minuchin? Virginia Satir? My college major was sociology, and after graduating I worked for a year in a community mental health center. I enrolled in social work school for my graduate degree and had a wonderful field experience at a psychiatric inpatient unit. I just knew I’d found my niche.

No one is more surprised than me that instead, I’ve had an extraordinarily challenging and satisfying career in public child welfare. Had you asked when I graduated what I’d least like to do, public agency work would have headed the list. It seemed so, well, stiflingly bureaucratic, chaotic, and filled with endless pathos. My roommate the year after graduation worked in foster care; while I was bored silly at the local health department, she came home in tears.

After bouncing around a bit—the health department, a residential treatment center for teens, and a brief stint in international adoptions—I jumped at the opportunity to be part of starting an independent living preparation program for older teens leaving foster care. It happened to be in a public agency, one known locally for its fiery director and the professionalism of its services. I planned on putting in a few years, then moving on. What I hadn’t planned on was falling hard for the work.

Fast-forward nearly 23 years. I’m still there and still excited about social work in a public child welfare agency. My specialty, ironically, is foster care and adoptions, while my roommate all those years ago found her heart in adult protective services. I’m grateful to have a career so consistent with my values, the opportunity to work with like-minded colleagues, and an enduring genuine passion for my work. Yes, absolutely, the politics can be maddening, there are great frustrations, and plenty of pathos. But the potential is powerful and the possibilities are endless.

— Judith M. Schagrin, LCSW-C, is the president of the National Association of Social Workers (NASW)-Maryland Chapter’s Board of Directors and assistant director for Children’s Services at the Baltimore County Department of Social Services. She was named the 2004 Social Worker of the Year by the NASW.

I chose to become a social worker when I was in college in 1972. I switched my major from sociology to social work over the objection of my advisor, who thought I should pursue a career as an academic. There were a variety of factors that led to this decision. The most significant reasons were my early childhood experiences and my family relationships. But teachers, mentors, religious upbringing, and my cultural-historical context (affectionately known as the 60s) also contributed to my career choice.

When I was 6 years old, my older brother, who was 10 years old at the time, drowned. The consequences of this event are central to the way my personality, beliefs, and values developed. Overnight, I found myself living in a household that exposed me daily to depression, grief, explosive anger, and the conviction that nothing could make things right again.

I developed an extreme sensitivity to the feelings of my parents, particularly my mother. It became very important for me to correctly ascertain my parents’ moods and act accordingly. Although I could never talk about the despair that was all around us, I felt an irrational sense of responsibility for it and guilt for not being able to get rid of it.

As a child in these circumstances, the weight of a universe that seemed to care nothing for human beings often came pressing down on me. My religion, Roman Catholicism, provided some comfort. But after childhood, I initially rejected the Church as superstitious and hypocritical. Returning to the Church, as an adult, I found community, mystery, meaning, and support for my career choice.

My brother’s death moved me from the middle child to the eldest with a keen sense of responsibility for my younger brother and, later, my younger sister. Along with this responsibility, I felt anxious as I dreaded a future that always included the risk of full-blown tragedy. My anxiety and dread were augmented by the frustration that I never really seemed to make my parents feel better.

I don’t think it is surprising, given the events of my childhood and the ensuing consequences, that I developed attributes that disposed me toward a social work as a career: keen listening skills, a radar for pain and need, a penchant for problem solving, a tendency to root for the underdog, an intolerance for unfairness and injustice, and a dogged will. But, as always seems to be the case with personality traits, these qualities came with a price: depressive tendencies, a Godzillian superego, as well as lifelong struggles with anger, trust, and intimacy.

The confluence of my various character factors percolated in high school in the late 60s. This era provided an encouraging and supportive historical environment for developing a social conscience and a social work career. Issues of war, poverty, racism, social injustice, and personal responsibility seemed ever-present. After a few years of college, I decided that I wanted to work for social justice and social improvement, despite the lack of financial rewards to be found on this road.

— Robert DeLauro, MSW, ACSW, is an organization development consultant at Saint Vincent Catholic Medical Centers in New York City.

I’ve always liked helping people. In high school, I was an informal “Dear Abby,” with an office in the study hall where classmates would talk about problems and I’d dispense advice. In college, I was a psychology major hoping to get a PhD, become a psychotherapist, and open a private practice. Taking a class in counseling techniques taught by a clinical social worker changed everything.

Who knew a social worker could do pretty much everything a psychologist could do? And the social worker seemed to approach therapy from a much more holistic perspective. I was hooked. With a BA in psychology in hand, I went to Loyola University School of Social Work to become a social worker. But, my plan was still to eventually go into private practice.

When I graduated from Loyola, reality set in. I quickly learned that for private practice, I needed experience beyond MSW field placements. So, I got a job at Edward Hines Jr. VA Hospital in Chicago, figuring I’d work a few years, get some clinical experience under my belt, and then launch a practice. Well, here I am, 24 years later, still working for the VA. I never went into private practice, but I’m doing something that, for me, is very rewarding.

As a VA social worker, I did individual, couples, and group therapy with Vietnam veterans and their spouses, but I wasn’t limited to clinical social work. Where else could I work for the same employer but have 10 very different jobs? In acute spinal cord injury, I helped newly injured veterans and their families through the rehabilitation process. Then I was assigned to work with oncology and tuberculosis patients. Another job included creating an outreach program for women veterans, ensuring they had equal access to services. I also worked as program manager in two regional offices before becoming a chief of a social work department. Now, I’m privileged to oversee social work for the entire VA.

The VA is the largest employer of professional social workers in the world, with more than 4,400 MSWs in VA medical centers and clinics across the country. There’s a lot to be said for working in such a large organization. We are truly one big social work family—sharing ideas, resources, information, protocols, and policies. Nationally, we’ve developed some of the best practice standards anywhere. We mentor new social workers and train social work leaders. Our student training program is second to none, with more than 600 MSW students completing VA field placements each year.

I became a social worker to help people. I continue to be a social worker for the same reason. But as an administrator, I can also promote the profession of social work, the needs of the patients, clients we serve, and the types of programs we need to create to address unmet needs. I cannot imagine a more rewarding or fulfilling career.

— Jill Manske, ACSW, LISW, is the director of social work services for the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, Veterans Health Administration. She was named the 2005 Social Worker of the Year by the National Association of Social Workers.

In 1964 when I graduated with my bachelor’s degree, I was at a crossroad. My choices were returning to the Philippines or go to graduate school. I chose graduate school. I considered which graduate school to attend and wondered whether that school would be able to accept me in time to renew my student visa. I applied to three graduate schools—the School of Law, the School of Foreign Service, and the School of Social Work. As the fates would have it, the School of Social Work was the first to accept me and secured the extension of my student visa. I thought I knew social work, but the rigorous training exposed me to problems of the world I had never known. It was at times exciting, most of the time challenging, and many times overwhelming. It was a meaningful experience that launched me to where I am now.

My second job after receiving my MSW was at a hospital cancer service. I did individual therapy, group therapy for young adults with cancer, and multifamily groups. I also facilitated a group for oncologists. This job was both challenging and satisfying. I grew not only professionally but personally as well. I saw how people cope with life and death and some who did not do so well. I learned a lot about life in the face of death. I also saw people who gave up on life because death was a reprieve from a painful existence. I worked in this hospital for 10 years and honed my clinical skills. It was here that my interest in loss and grief was nurtured and blossomed.

Loss is the only thing constant in our life. How we cope with the losses in our life is a precursor to how we will cope with our own death and the death of loved ones. When I left the hospital to enter private practice, I decided to specialize in loss and grief. Many people ask me why I would chose such a “depressing specialty.” It is not an easy job, but I don’t find my work depressing. I have a very busy private practice, so I usually don’t make home visits anymore. But when I am treating a patient whose illness has progressed to terminal condition, I don’t stop treating the patient just because he or she cannot come to my office anymore. I will make a home visit—a tradition in social work.

Social work was the first mental health profession that addressed the total person, family, and environment. According to studies, social workers provide 65% of mental health services in this country. Additionally, social work has always worked to fight for the poor and the oppressed. In my work, my goal is to help people rebuild their lives, to transform tragedy into opportunities for growth. I can always tell when our journey has taken us around the river bend—a quick handclasp, a tear, even a smile is a signal that something is happening. This is what keeps me going in the profession. I am proud to be a social worker.

— Mila Ruiz Tecala, MSW, ACSW, LICSW, DCSW, is an expert on loss, bereavement, and thanatology. She founded the Center for Loss and Grief in Washington, DC.