My first day of work was an overcast morning in June of 2004. I had accepted a position as a Clinical Social Work Intern at the University Psychiatric Hospital. It was a twelve month demonstration grant, and I was hoping the experience would provide direction and insight about career possibilities. Anxiety began to set in as I waited for the elevator, and I pulled the mirror from my purse to check my lipstick. I wondered if my slip was hanging. Was I too early? Would I stumble over my words? I tried to remember the scripture from Rev. Morgan’s sermon on Sunday – “God has not given us a spirit of fear.” I was nervous and angry because my mind was blank. My Bible was in the bottom of my briefcase, and it would have been awkward trying to get it out. Growing up I never dreamed of being a Social Worker. In fact, I never thought of helping other people because, in my life, I was the one who needed help. My choice to work with women in recovery was almost an oxymoron. I wish I could say I had an epiphany, but I didn’t – it was more like being drawn into something.
