avatarMichelle Marie Warner

Summary

The author reflects on the challenges of maintaining patience and clear boundaries in high-stress caregiving roles, particularly when working with developmentally disabled adults, and the importance of self-care and setting personal limits to prevent resentment and burnout.

Abstract

The author, who has worked extensively with developmentally disabled adults, shares personal insights into the difficulties of upholding patience and boundaries in such demanding roles. They acknowledge their own impatience, especially when boundaries were crossed, and how this led to resentment despite outward appearances of patience. The narrative delves into the author's experiences with the mentally and physically challenging aspects of caregiving, including managing aggressive behaviors and personal care tasks. It highlights the dysfunction within the caregiving industry, such as low pay, lack of professional support, and the hiring of inexperienced staff. The author emphasizes the necessity of self-care and strong boundaries to maintain genuine patience and avoid being taken advantage of in both professional and personal settings.

Opinions

  • The author initially prided themselves on their patience but later realized they were seething inside, indicating a disconnect between their perceived and actual emotional states.
  • They express that the patience expected of them in caregiving roles was often a facade, and the job took a significant emotional toll.
  • The author suggests that many caregivers in the industry struggle with personal issues, including addiction and codependency, which complicates their ability to provide care effectively.
  • They criticize the lack of prioritization for the care of disabled individuals, pointing out the low wages and minimal training provided to caregivers.
  • The author believes that clear boundaries are crucial for both the caregiver's well-being and the proper care of those they serve.
  • They advocate for the importance of self-care in maintaining patience and serenity, and for the value of knowing one's limits to prevent being hurt on the job.
  • The author admits to having a short patience meter in certain situations but accepts this as part of their growth and recovery process.
  • They encourage others to recognize when their patience is tested and to take action to address it, rather than allowing themselves to be treated as doormats.

When You’re Impatient Because of Unclear Boundaries

It’s time to reestablish limits to get your needs met

Photo by azeret33 on Pixabay

Sometimes I have the patience of a toddler.

It’s normal and expected for toddlers to be impatient. It’s the nature of their stage of development. It’s not expected of me, however, at the ripe old age of 48.

Once I became a parent, I recognized my impatient streak, usually with them. Everything can start to feel like we’re moving at a snail’s pace. I run on a high-speed internal motor, often wanting everything to happen instantaneously. Perhaps it’s because I’m an addict. I tend to be impulsive when my patience runs thin enough.

Extreme impatience can be a signal to reestablish limits. It’s a sign I’ve let someone cross my boundaries, and become resentful. I used to pride myself on my deep patience with others. Honestly, I was seething inside. I stayed patient too long and suffered as a result.

Years ago, I worked with developmentally disabled adults.

They needed a range of care, including guidance with social interactions, conflict resolution, and managing symptoms of various mental illnesses. I would help them at their supported living homes, take them to job sites, and teach them at their day programs. I’d take them on outings, and help them grocery shop.

I helped many of them with personal care. I’m embarrassed to admit it was the most grueling part of the job early on. I got used to it, though. Yes, we acclimated to changing adults’ poopy diapers. It ended up being easier than the rest of our responsibilities.

I enjoyed problem-solving within the realm of personal relationships. I could facilitate communication and healthy coping skills. I was brilliant with conflict resolution. However, my patience decreased when they got mentally stuck.

I got anxious when they refused to ride the bus or screamed and pulled my hair.

Don’t get me wrong. I was highly skilled at deescalating. It doesn’t mean I was patient. I’m not a saint. And this kind of shit takes a toll.

I merely gave the veneer of patience with them. I’m talking about everyday activities and bodily functions they had no control over. And violent or bizarre behaviours they often had no control over. People were right when they said, “It takes a special person to do what you do.” What they don’t realize is why we’re “special.”

We were martyrs.

Many of us struggled with addiction and codependency. We came to work loaded or hungover numerous times. We loved these folks, it’s true. They were the most unique individuals I’ve ever met to date. They held value not everyone could see. We saw their true selves. Yes, we were special. Maybe it’s because we related to their internal struggles.

I used to refer to work with them as my favourite line of work. I did find it rewarding and felt accomplished and bonded with them. Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I needed to continue.

I’m calling myself out.

I was either bored out of my mind or extremely irritated at these jobs. I love all the people I worked with, and I learned a lot. There were fun times, but mostly it was one challenge after another. For most of my career in the field, I was struggling with alcoholism. I have reason to believe it was easier because I was numbing my feelings.

When I returned to the same job years later, I was sober and baffled by the dysfunction still happening. The clients were the same. It was the staff who had unresolved issues.

Suddenly, I realized what world I had entered.

The staff stayed after multiple encounters with psychotic breaks and violent outbursts. The staff stayed with little professional support when these incidents occurred. And they had personal problems themselves.

If my patience dwindled with the residents, it was decimated by the staff. They’d show up late to shifts or forget to do crucial tasks. One of them called at 2 am with a cryptic message. She appeared to struggle with a mental disorder. I often had to take responsibility to set boundaries with my coworkers.

These caregiver jobs started at $7.50/hour back in the 1990s, and I recall making $10/hour in 2005 when this happened. To give you perspective, I made $10.50/hour in my daytime position with the same clients over seven years earlier. They still only offer $11/hour, depending on the state, thirteen years later. They do all of the in-service training, so they’re hiring people with little to no experience.

It speaks to how we don’t prioritize optimum care for disabled people. They’ll hire anybody willing to wipe butts and set behavioural standards. They’ll hire people to do laundry for residents who need to learn to manage it themselves. They’ll forgive transgressions, typically calling for dismissal.

At least in our supported living homes, we helped them do budgeting and practice household chores. When I first started in the mid-nineties, however, we were their housekeepers. They were young and able to manage a job and household tasks. We did them a disservice when we enabled them this way.

Speaking of patience, I’m not sure why I accepted a job with so little pay and high demands. I recall thinking an overnight where I slept over on weekends would be a piece of cake, with some extra money in the bank.

I once took an overnight shift when I was on-call.

I accepted it based on the stipulation I would be able to sleep. The expectation for overnights varied, and this was at a different house than my usual shift. The supervisor told me I could sleep, with one caveat. One must always listen to those caveats. She said Tabitha* refused her meds that morning and was acting out.

Her description of Tabitha’s behaviour was dangerously understated. Why she didn’t consider her high-risk on this particular occasion is beyond me.

I arrived at the house with Tabitha yelling nonsensical things and arguing with the staff. I had known her for years at this point and had never seen her acting so erratically. Mind you, none of us were trained professionally in psychiatric care. I used whatever tools I had, and they still weren’t enough to help her calm down.

I had periodic training, and personally have a lot of education and experience, but her psychotic episode was beyond my scope of expertise.

The staff left, as her shift was ending. Tabitha badgered me for over two hours, relentless and threatening as I tried to sleep on their couch. I knew she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. I called and left messages for all the staff, supervisors, and the director of the program.

Frankly, I found it unacceptable that they place me in such a predicament, and I said so. The supervisor begrudgingly came back to the house and let me leave.

I never went back to working with developmentally disabled adults in this capacity.

I was an instructional assistant in special education, specializing with exceptional teens at-risk when I quit the overnight position. That classroom was my best fit, and I’ll probably return to working with teenagers in the future.

Whenever I was offered a one-on-one position with a student with similar needs of my former clients, I cringed. Would I be able to tolerate an entire school day with them? Everyone respected me for my experience and endless patience.

Here they are again, claiming I’m patient. I wasn’t patient, only good at hiding my displeasure. Because I’ve had a knack for staying calm under a variety of unusual situations, the teachers believed I’d be the most effective aide for the job.

I was fortunate to have two students who were a good match. Both of them were autistic and didn’t threaten to hit me. Another student wasn’t ready for conventional schooling, which was fine with me. She was out of control, and I’m not sure how long I would’ve agreed to work with her.

I developed and maintained clear strong boundaries.

My work doesn’t have to be hazardous for me to use my skills and talents with others. My students tested my limits all the time. They needed me to show them my parameters so they could have a structure in their environment. I needed them so I wouldn’t let myself get walked on and resent them.

Our classroom was a therapeutic environment, set up to serve the mental and emotional health needs of our students. There were times I lost my patience there, too. Yet, the more I took care of my personal needs, the easier it was for me to detach their story from mine.

I’ve found my patience comes and goes with my children. The underlying current is such that I know to check my internal meter for times I need self-care. It’s the key to unlocking the adult-sized patient part of me. It’s the key to my serenity under any circumstances.

When I pay attention to my boundaries, I provide my own structure for how to proceed.

If they offered the same job now as they had back then, knowing someone might give me a black eye or tear my shirt off, they’d hear a big “No, thank you” from me.

I no longer take jobs where I expect to get hurt. It’s a boundary that won’t budge. As a result, I’ve grown more genuinely patient when faced with challenges. I know what I’ll tolerate and what I won’t. Isn’t it great to (mostly) know what to expect?

Where is your patience meter? Does it change with your elevated level of self-care? What other factors enhance or detract from it? Wherever you find yourself, know this. Patience may be a virtue. It’s also a bullshit meter. Since I’ve been in recovery, my tolerance for bullshit like what I went through at work has lowered considerably.

I still have the patience of a toddler in some situations. I’m ok with it. I know toddlers grow up. I know they’re adorable, even when they’re expecting something to happen yesterday.

If you find yourself impatient because someone has pushed your limits, give yourself a break. Expect and accept impatience. It’s the best way to step up and stop whatever nonsense someone else is pulling. I’d rather be an impatient toddler than a doormat.

*Name changed for anonymity

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Life Lessons
Self Improvement
Self-awareness
Mental Health
Patience
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