Group vs. One-on-One: Being Aware of Lenses

I've written a few posts about my new job working with teenagers with Asperger's Syndrome. Today, yet another insight dawned on me on the drive home. I've worked in the human services with people in groups before, but never in a psychological setting like this, and of course, the experience is bound to give rise to a few realizations.

Today, I realized that some of my campers aren't too terribly different in age and functionality level from some of the clients I had this year at the university counseling center where I interned. Then I realized that those same campers would look radically different to me in that dyad format.

Since the university is small, I occasionally had the chance to observe my clients interacting with their friends around campus. Occasionally, I was quite surprised to see someone behave quite differently than I expected. Folks I had worked with at the counseling center who were polite and eager-to-please sometimes behaved quite differently with a group of their peers. By the same token, when we counselors have a one-on-one conversation with any of the campers this summer, they almost always come across much more intelligent, kind and aware than they present while in the group.

Though we are taught this in school, it's coming home to me now in a three-dimensional way. As I grow as a counselor, it'll behoove me to bear in mind the settings in which I don't get to see the client. It's often in their day-to-day relationships that folks experience their psychological distress most acutely. If I only see them one-on-one in a quiet room with a professional atmosphere, I need to do a lot of translating while they give accounts of their daily lives.

By the same token, if I only see them working it out within the bump and bustle of group dynamics, I might miss the graceful intelligence or glowing generosity hiding within their quieter heart of hearts.

Now Entering the Swampy Middle-time

I have to admit, for all my high-minded posts lately about how enlightened I want to be in my approach to my campers, who all have Asperger's Syndrome, or something similar (but a few of whom are also just annoying teenagers), I'm not doing very well walking the walk.

I know they might be reaching out for connection through their oppostional behavior, pseudo-violence, and inappropriate or profane language. I know that being a teen is hard, and that being a teen with a disorder that makes you even more "weird" than typical teens feel is even harder. I know that I would be better off "going with the flow," (as I wrote about so elaborately on Sunday) and letting them blow off steam, and come around to us on their own terms.

See? I know a lot of wise things. And I also know that, by the end of the day, it's all I can do to keep myself from yelling my head off at them. They do wear me down.

It's great to remember that various of the less trouble-making kids have taken some wonderful and visible steps forward in just the 10 days since we started. Certain parents have written high praise for we counselors in their responses to our daily notes. And also... tomorrow's another day.

On a more global note, I never cease to be impressed by the difference between knowing all about a disorder intellectually, and actually being in the room day after day with someone who has that disorder. Some of the differences sneak up on me; some have to be pointed out by more experienced counselors, or the clinical director. But when I step back, sometimes I feel the forcefulness of their difference in a tangible way.

I hope I will always feel fascinated and delightfully challenged by such differences.

Asperger's Teens are Also Just Teens

As many of you know, I'm in the process of earning a masters degree in counseling psychology. Along these lines, my new job involves teaching social skills to young people with Asperger’s Syndrome, via theater work. Before I started, I knew a little bit about the disorder itself, and the people who deal with it. I learned a lot more during training week (and all the reading that led up to it). But nothing can prepare one for the infinite variability of real people.

My students are all teenagers, from 15 to 18. I’ve lived with them only five hours a day for a mere two days (and a bunch of talking and writing about them before and after each day, as part of the job). What has struck me more than anything is the same thing that stood out when I started my internship at a college counseling center this past school year: People are people. With disorders, without disorders, these kids are basically typical teens. They are warm, smart, funny and talented. And they are exasperating, underachieving and worrisome. Sometimes all in the same kid. Sometimes all at once.

It’s been very poignant to watch them quickly divvy up into cliques. Each kid is falling into patterned teenage behavior that serves the purpose of identifying them to the larger crew: “I’m a cool kid. You can’t touch me.” Or, “I’m hilarious and over-the-top; I’ll do anything goofy to get your attention.” Or, “I’m mature. I don’t notice the offensive things you do, so don't expect me to join in.”

The particularly difficult thing is to watch the “cool” kids. First of all, they are, of course, anything but. Moreover, though, every once in a while, a little fissure appears in their veneer, and what peeks through is an eager little kid (much littler than the age they are trying to act) who just wants to play. One of our projects in our brief time with them (the summer session lasts only six weeks) will be to see if we can help those young people to let out their inner kid, before society gets them to squash it for good.

That’s a pretty good description of how I want to approach them. I’ve already slipped into a more parental, finger-shaking mode, and I know very well that will just put us on opposite sides of a six-week war, with no winners. We don’t want to represent “society” to them. We want to help them at least take another step in learning who they are, and bringing that wealth to each interaction out in the world.

More thoughts on this anon.