One of the fun things about being a grown up school psychologist is that I get to interact with interns, prospective grad students, grad students in school psych, and newbies. I get emails from people all over the world inquiring what the profession is like, and what grad school is like. I have too much distance to really write about grad school at UC Berkeley (I think my amygdala is still holding on to the bad parts and my hippocampus remembers only the really golden moments). I loved my program, but sometimes I have PTSD being back in the city of Berkeley. As I walk to a local restaurant, I imagine a professor hopping out from the bushes and asking me to collect more data and re-write all the chapters my dissertation and I have a panic attack.
So, to get a more authentic perspective, I asked a student from my alma matter, Leo White, to write a little sumthin' sumthin' about what it is like in a Ph.D. grad school program in school psych. Leo also has a blog, which is not exclusively school psychy, but has some great posts about life in grad school. Plus I think there's some interesting bike posts because he's like a freaky "I'm going to bike to Marin County 30 miles away today!" kind of person. And these people fascinate me because I would only do that if someone was chasing me and a bike was my only mode of transit.
Before I post Leo's guest post, I have to say the following:
1) I have deep concerns about Leo's caffeine intake.
2) I think he has really captured the chaos of balancing academics and practice, and feel like this is good prep for balancing the roles in the actual job; and
3) I wish Leo was my intern. I can always use a good "Sweetie-get-off-the-roof-coaxer" in my life.
Without further ado, I give you Leo:
Rebecca and I talked briefly about me writing a guest post as a current School Psychology student. Intimidated about having for follow Rebecca’s witty and informative posts, I hesitated. Nonetheless, I think this type of post would have been helpful for me a few years ago as a prospective student, so here goes…
As a grad student at Berkeley, each step of my school psychology program has been starkly different from the last. My first year was almost exclusively academic—coursework, term papers, attending talks from visiting professors, and sitting on committees that I did not completely understand. Next year, my focus was much more applied—serving internships for consultation (i.e., working collaboratively with teachers to work through student issues) and assessment (to use Rebecca’s term, Testival Time).
Now in my third year, I want to share my latest week with you.
[Action!]
Monday: The internship site, a non-public school setting for emotionally and behaviorally challenged students where I work as a clinician, is off today. This day off of work means I can put in some much-needed time studying for my qualifying exam*, which is less than three months away. So, I find my way to a coffee shop with my headphones (my chatter/music/lady-talking-on-her-cell-phone-cancelling headphones) and I plug away. Unfortunately, the day felt so much like Sunday that I almost forgot to read for my classes tomorrow. As a result, I switched gears and reviewed my class-assigned readings over dinner.
Tuesday: In my program, we have Super Tuesdays, a day devoted to all things Berkeley School Psychology. First, I finished my readings before classes. Then, from nine to noon, I attended class with my four cohort members. We discussed termination with clients and group therapy. Some of our discussions applied to my internship, and some did not. The remainder of the day was spent with another student creating a survey for a local high school; I am stoked, because my advisor is letting me use some of my own measurement scales about student engagement and motivation on his survey**. I also met with my advisor to review my progress on my reading list for my qualifying exams. Despite his strong feedback, I’m still freaked out. So I go back to the coffee shop to study.
Wednesday: Today, I was back at my internship. My day consisted of meeting with clients, most of whom wanted no business meeting with me. On the positive side, today was a calm day, so there are no physical restraints or fights. I am able to test of student’s cognitive functioning, and I completed the requisite paperwork that accompanies working at a non-public school (AB3632, anyone?). The back half the day is full of clinician meetings (again some of which are helpful, and some of which are not). During unhelpful sessions, I scribble notes about my qualifying exams on the borders of my papers.
Thursday: In my work with my clients, rapport can be a rare commodity, and so I strive for it anyway possible—even if that means driving a client and his Grandmother to San Leandro for a court date. So rather than going to the non-public school, I am working as a taxi driver/social worker/clinician. The court date goes well, and afterward I have a really productive meeting with the client, his grandmother, and his probation officer (Success!). I come back to the school for individual supervision with my clinical supervisor. The meeting is interrupted, because two students have managed to get on the roof of the school. I go outside with another intern to cajole these kids down to solid ground. Unfortunately, this was not a topic covered on Super Tuesday.
Friday: I have no internship on Friday, which means I can work on a publication today. My advisor and I are writing about the relationship between ethnic identity and academic achievement—interesting but complex stuff. After a few hours of writing, deleting, and re-writing, I realize that I haven’t read for my qualifying exam since Wednesday. I grab the headphones, order a mocha, and get back to the grindstone.
[… and close scene]
Hopefully, I’ve been able to show that my days and efforts are inherently splintered. We are trained as scientist-practitioners, which means that I have applied and research responsibilities. Half of my week is direct contact with students, and the other half is academic (i.e., training, reading, and writing). The splintered-ness can be stressful, but all told, the practice informs my research, and vice versa. I don’t always know what I’m doing, but the training, supervision, and experience are heading me down the road toward competence (I think!).
*The qualifying exam, also known as Orals, is the last big hurdle before I can begin work on my dissertation. The qualifying exam consists of four professors having a three-hour discussion over your research areas of interest.
**Nerd alert, I know. To be clear, data or the prospect of getting data is a graduate school victory, a dance-worthy victory.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Sunday, 16 January 2011
The Politics of Mental Health
Per my Sunday morning ritual, hubby and I watch Meet the Press and This Week while sipping coffee and eating waffles. In some ways, it’s a relaxing ritual, in other ways it is the opposite of relaxing. Today was one of those not-so-relaxing days. The coverage is all about the tragedy in Tuscon and I have gone between crying (the picture of 9 year old girl who was killed gets me every single time) and being enraged. I have also been encouraged that the pundits are actually talking about mental health issues. Mostly though, like many things in my life, I filter all information through my school psychologist lens.
I see kids all the time that could grow up to be Jared Lee Loughners. I can see them in elementary school. Their problems become more pronounced in middle school. In high school, they are often hidden in the crowd, or check out of attending school altogether. As a school psychologist, I have counseled kids who have witnessed shootings. I have counseled a teacher who was held up at gunpoint out front of our elementary school. I have pleaded with parents to take their child to a psychiatrist because of the danger to themselves or others. I have confiscated guns and knives from the backpacks of children. I even worked with a kid who later ended up murdering someone. And I have involuntarily committed children and adolescents who I knew posed an imminent threat.
Identifying troubled students is easy. Providing them resources and follow up care is hard. So often I sit at support staff meetings and the list of students who need counseling is far greater than our resources. I only have time to counsel about 5-10 students a year with my current case load. Many students are referred out to agencies, but the follow through by the families is often poor. The average ratio of school psychologists to students at last measure in 2000 was 1:1500, with the median being 1:2500. In some cases, it’s 1:5000. What can we do when we have thousands of kids we are responsible for and we are likely on a school site only one or two days a week?
I can’t imagine that Jared wasn’t ever referred for help in secondary school. Even if he had a late onset of mental illness, the community college certainly was aware of his needs. But like K-12 education, community colleges don’t have mental health resources either. Our new California governor’s budget protected K-12 to some degree, but slashed post-secondary education. Schools are the access point for so many students in need. Imagine if we had the resources to serve students with mental health needs. Could adequate mental health services have prevented this shooting? Unknown. Could it have lessened the chances? Probably.
I should note that predicting who will become a violent offender is a difficult business. It is especially hard to predict because of the rareness of the events. Statistically speaking, rare events are harder to predict (earthquakes, anyone?). There are far more students in need of mental health services that are not going to go on to shooting innocent people if they don’t get help. But they will go on to suffer. What matters to me most is preventing suffering. Mental health issues are still thought of as personal weakness in our society, and something to be ashamed to admit. We need to start a national conversation about how it takes personal strength to seek help. We need to recognize the connection between mental health and education. If you are not well emotionally, you are not ready to learn.
As I watch the media coverage in the aftermath of the tragedy, I can only hope it sheds some light on the real issue underlying the tragedy—that our education and mental health systems are in need of support. While I’m only one school psychologist in a big district, big country, big world, I know that if there were more mental health providers helping me reach troubled students, we could make a real difference.
The real challenge is for politicians to stop talking and start acting. Reverend Al Sharpton hit the nail on the head today on Meet the Press. He said that Martin Luther King, Jr. had concrete goals and legislation in addition to his overall civil rights beliefs. Without concrete, tangible goals, he would have only been a dreamer. I’m just left here, with my empty coffee mug and dreams of adequate mental health services in the schools, wondering what I can do next.
I see kids all the time that could grow up to be Jared Lee Loughners. I can see them in elementary school. Their problems become more pronounced in middle school. In high school, they are often hidden in the crowd, or check out of attending school altogether. As a school psychologist, I have counseled kids who have witnessed shootings. I have counseled a teacher who was held up at gunpoint out front of our elementary school. I have pleaded with parents to take their child to a psychiatrist because of the danger to themselves or others. I have confiscated guns and knives from the backpacks of children. I even worked with a kid who later ended up murdering someone. And I have involuntarily committed children and adolescents who I knew posed an imminent threat.
Identifying troubled students is easy. Providing them resources and follow up care is hard. So often I sit at support staff meetings and the list of students who need counseling is far greater than our resources. I only have time to counsel about 5-10 students a year with my current case load. Many students are referred out to agencies, but the follow through by the families is often poor. The average ratio of school psychologists to students at last measure in 2000 was 1:1500, with the median being 1:2500. In some cases, it’s 1:5000. What can we do when we have thousands of kids we are responsible for and we are likely on a school site only one or two days a week?
I can’t imagine that Jared wasn’t ever referred for help in secondary school. Even if he had a late onset of mental illness, the community college certainly was aware of his needs. But like K-12 education, community colleges don’t have mental health resources either. Our new California governor’s budget protected K-12 to some degree, but slashed post-secondary education. Schools are the access point for so many students in need. Imagine if we had the resources to serve students with mental health needs. Could adequate mental health services have prevented this shooting? Unknown. Could it have lessened the chances? Probably.
I should note that predicting who will become a violent offender is a difficult business. It is especially hard to predict because of the rareness of the events. Statistically speaking, rare events are harder to predict (earthquakes, anyone?). There are far more students in need of mental health services that are not going to go on to shooting innocent people if they don’t get help. But they will go on to suffer. What matters to me most is preventing suffering. Mental health issues are still thought of as personal weakness in our society, and something to be ashamed to admit. We need to start a national conversation about how it takes personal strength to seek help. We need to recognize the connection between mental health and education. If you are not well emotionally, you are not ready to learn.
As I watch the media coverage in the aftermath of the tragedy, I can only hope it sheds some light on the real issue underlying the tragedy—that our education and mental health systems are in need of support. While I’m only one school psychologist in a big district, big country, big world, I know that if there were more mental health providers helping me reach troubled students, we could make a real difference.
The real challenge is for politicians to stop talking and start acting. Reverend Al Sharpton hit the nail on the head today on Meet the Press. He said that Martin Luther King, Jr. had concrete goals and legislation in addition to his overall civil rights beliefs. Without concrete, tangible goals, he would have only been a dreamer. I’m just left here, with my empty coffee mug and dreams of adequate mental health services in the schools, wondering what I can do next.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Be the Island
Over break, I took the word “break” very seriously and spent much of my time reading, watching movies, and relaxing. One day, I happened upon my HBO On-Demand section of my DVR and scrolled through the choices. There was "Orphan," a horror movie about adopting a child who turns out to be evil or something. Pass. Don’t like that message. Don’t like horror movies. I also happened upon "The Blind Side," and thought that I should see that. Not because I like football, but I like positive stories of adoption. I was prepared, however, to hate it because “White lady saves Black kid” isn’t always my favorite theme. See “Nice White Lady” post here for a fabulous Mad TV sketch about this theme.
Needless to say, I cried like a friggin’ baby at the part where (Spoiler Alert: Spoiler Alert: Spoiler Alert) where Michael, the teenage boy, tells his adoptive mom that he’s never had a bed before. I have a special place in my heart for foster kids, and I work with them as a school psychologist all the time. I have had the pleasure of being a therapist for foster youth for the past three years in my private practice. I have had kids tell me horror stories and I have processed their pain with them. I have heard stories of resilience that you wouldn’t believe. And I have, unfortunately, seen kids go through terrible things that they have a hard time recovering from, and their emotional state deteriorates. Just building a relationship with these kids is a challenge, because they have learned not to trust others.
I am reminded of this foster kid I worked with a while back who took about a year to agree to see me. His mom had died and his father had left the family years before that. He was being raised by a single foster mom. In his cumulative folder was a letter from the mom, right before her death, stating her last wishes for her son. I bawled in the archive room reading it, then got it together to get the foster mom to agree to have him see me for counseling.
He refused. I would come to his classroom every week at the same time, and every week he would say he wasn’t coming. I tried giving him a pass so he wouldn’t be embarrassed to have me come to the door. He never came. I did this for a year, never giving up on him. Then, in the spring, his best friend was killed, while they were all playing Russian Roulette with an older brother’s gun. They had seen it on You Tube. He finally came to me. I sat with this boy for hours, and he poured out everything, from the first night he went into foster care to that day. I had never heard him even speak before. He came regularly for a while.
He was acting out in class, as you could imagine. One day, his teacher escorted him and told me all the things he had done in class that were inappropriate so I could talk to him about it. The kid’s head hung in shame. Once the teacher left, I chose a different route than talking about the misbehavior. I said something like, “You know, I care for you when you do well in school and I care for you the same when you act out.” Not looking up, he made a little fist pump to himself and whispered, “Yes!” And then he started talking about his anger and sadness.
I also had the pleasure of working with a young adult client who is currently in medical school. He used to be a foster kid. He had over 15 home placements and 10 or so school placements, a stint in juvenile hall, and a history of running away from foster homes. His parents, his relatives, his siblings were all on drugs or in jail. He turned his life around in his young adulthood and was at a prestigious medical school. I asked him what made a difference for him. He said something so poignant: “When I was in foster care in middle school with this really nice family, I got a taste of normal. I knew I could have a normal life.”
I think that is part of my job as a school psychologist: giving a kid a chance at "normal." Giving them an experience of an unconditional positive and consistent relationship can give them a taste of normal. As one foster care advocate said (best compliment ever, I cherish it and want it cross-stitched on a pillow or something): “You are an island of sanity in a sea of clowns in this kid’s life.” I think we can all be the island for foster kids. We don’t even have to adopt a budding young pro-football player to do it either.
Needless to say, I cried like a friggin’ baby at the part where (Spoiler Alert: Spoiler Alert: Spoiler Alert) where Michael, the teenage boy, tells his adoptive mom that he’s never had a bed before. I have a special place in my heart for foster kids, and I work with them as a school psychologist all the time. I have had the pleasure of being a therapist for foster youth for the past three years in my private practice. I have had kids tell me horror stories and I have processed their pain with them. I have heard stories of resilience that you wouldn’t believe. And I have, unfortunately, seen kids go through terrible things that they have a hard time recovering from, and their emotional state deteriorates. Just building a relationship with these kids is a challenge, because they have learned not to trust others.
I am reminded of this foster kid I worked with a while back who took about a year to agree to see me. His mom had died and his father had left the family years before that. He was being raised by a single foster mom. In his cumulative folder was a letter from the mom, right before her death, stating her last wishes for her son. I bawled in the archive room reading it, then got it together to get the foster mom to agree to have him see me for counseling.
He refused. I would come to his classroom every week at the same time, and every week he would say he wasn’t coming. I tried giving him a pass so he wouldn’t be embarrassed to have me come to the door. He never came. I did this for a year, never giving up on him. Then, in the spring, his best friend was killed, while they were all playing Russian Roulette with an older brother’s gun. They had seen it on You Tube. He finally came to me. I sat with this boy for hours, and he poured out everything, from the first night he went into foster care to that day. I had never heard him even speak before. He came regularly for a while.
He was acting out in class, as you could imagine. One day, his teacher escorted him and told me all the things he had done in class that were inappropriate so I could talk to him about it. The kid’s head hung in shame. Once the teacher left, I chose a different route than talking about the misbehavior. I said something like, “You know, I care for you when you do well in school and I care for you the same when you act out.” Not looking up, he made a little fist pump to himself and whispered, “Yes!” And then he started talking about his anger and sadness.
I also had the pleasure of working with a young adult client who is currently in medical school. He used to be a foster kid. He had over 15 home placements and 10 or so school placements, a stint in juvenile hall, and a history of running away from foster homes. His parents, his relatives, his siblings were all on drugs or in jail. He turned his life around in his young adulthood and was at a prestigious medical school. I asked him what made a difference for him. He said something so poignant: “When I was in foster care in middle school with this really nice family, I got a taste of normal. I knew I could have a normal life.”
I think that is part of my job as a school psychologist: giving a kid a chance at "normal." Giving them an experience of an unconditional positive and consistent relationship can give them a taste of normal. As one foster care advocate said (best compliment ever, I cherish it and want it cross-stitched on a pillow or something): “You are an island of sanity in a sea of clowns in this kid’s life.” I think we can all be the island for foster kids. We don’t even have to adopt a budding young pro-football player to do it either.
Saturday, 8 January 2011
It's Here! It's Here!
My book, The Teachable Moment is available on Kindle! And if that weren't fancy enough, it is FREE until January 17th, 2011. I know, free. You can either go to Kaplan's website or straight to The Teachable Moment on Amazon.com.
If you're like me, and Santa didn't bring you a Kindle (did he get my list?), but you have an iPhone, you can download the Kindle app to your iPhone and then download the book to your your iPhone.
Enjoy the free inspiration! Oh, and if you like the book, feel FREE to post a review on Amazon.com. Thanks!
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Free inspiration!
I fear this post will go to everyone's junk mail, because it is an offer of something for FREE with no strings attached! My publisher, Kaplan, is offering my book, The Teachable Moment: Seizing the Instants When Children Learn for FREE this week on the following e-readers: Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iPad, and Sony eReader! So if you got one for Xmas, load it up!
So sorry, the book is not available on Kindle yet, but feel free to tell Amazon.com you want it on Kindle here. Just click on the lower left hand corner text box requesting it to be made available on Kindle.
The book will be available from January 4-10, 2011 at www.FreeKaplaneBooks.com. There are also another 129 titles for free, so browse around.
Go get yourself some free inspiring stories of reaching the difficult-to-reach child for FREE! Or as my yoots say, you can have it all for "Free.99."
Happy reading!
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