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oneuncomfycat · 2 months ago

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Reflections On Therapy: Revisited in 2025

Today, I am in need of reflection on what it means to do the work of therapy.

Nothing exists without context. What is featured in italics are my thoughts about my profession–social work–written during some of my last weeks at my last job. It was April 2023. One of the last clients I opened was graduating from the partial hospitalization program I had worked at. Those kids, and those coworkers, were my witnesses. I saw the power of group work in therapy and teamwork in all things. The last client I opened had a chemistry with me in that he was uniquely earnest and distraught over the lack of it in all other parts of his life. In the moment, I was also looking for earnestness and wanted to protect what of it that he had. He was referred due to experiences of violence in his school and neighborhood. His therapy centered largely on grieving why it was so hard to find safety, sincerity, and community.

It was January, now February, 2025 when I revisited this. I moved from the city I thought I’d call home. I am at a new job, still in social work. I asked to be a part of a community and to build new programming that centered just that. Donald Trump was inaugurated for a second time, and I am doubtful of the future of American democracy as we know it. I have become tired of this world imagined for me by egos who could never survive the life I have. In the last year, I moved in with my long-time partner, took in two friends (at separate times) in an attempt to normalize what it means to show up, answered to crises, and got married. I am reconciling with the idea that my physical health might already be declining.

I miss old internet blogs and the exploration of the self. I am tired of social media and the performance of self and the branding of personhood. I miss writing like I used to when I wasn’t sequestered to an over-crowded space. I want to return to a time where ideas and imagination are welcomed and I am not burdened by the white-supremacy norm of not trying without the guarantee of perfection. So much of the world now asks us to remove us from ourselves.

At this time, disability advocate Mia Mingus’s blog title comes to mind: in my writings, I am leaving evidence that I, a small thing, thought things of the world. And that my earnestness is something to preserve.

My understanding of the work of therapy is to help the client to listen to themselves. We do this by listening, reflecting, and bearing witness. My understanding from academia and my seniors in this field is that it is to help. I find it important to clarify my definition of the word help, as the word can so often be misappropriated into saviorism, capitalist currency, or fulfillment of a personal insecurity or ego. Help, in my understanding of my field, is to be the mediator between a person’s current skill set and access to the future version of themselves that has an expanded skill set that allows them to operate in a way that is more sustainable for themselves. Or, as my Human Services 101 Professor, Chip, once said: the work of helping is to put yourself out of a job.

This is not a novel concept. Helping, in my field’s definition, is not unlike the shorthand, “teach a man to fish.” It is better to empower others and allow them to show up for themselves. I think ‘help’ has become watered down to ‘rescue.’ To rescue would assume the person has no other recourse and needs external intervention to survive. There are times when rescue is necessary: natural disaster efforts, CPR, or even a cat stuck in a tree.

I can see how, in late-stage capitalist America, ‘rescue’ has become favorable to help, for both those in power and the subjugated. Systems have robbed most Americans of resources like food, housing, utilities, education, and time. We’ve heard all the statistics: more empty houses then unhoused, the dwindling social security available for each generation, the grossly unfair, yet somehow aspirational, hoarding of wealth to a small, elite class. It almost feels as if there is no other recourse but rescue, when all the tools of survival are taken away.

In addition, the systems created to help people are so aggressively gate kept by bureaucracy and outdated. In 2025, the government’s social security website lists the maximum amount of household income required to qualify for federal disability services is $2700 a month. With a minimum wage income, that means they expect applicants to only be working 17 days a month. Now imagine if they made above minimum, or were–god forbid–promoted? Or married? Would they have to choose between part-time work, that already isn’t obligated to insure them, their love life, or their health and livelihood? And after insurance, what does a person with disability’s co-pay or deductibles look like? With a family, what does that income look like?

The max gross income for food stamps in 2025 is $2510 a month. And that’s only for a household of one. The average apartment in America goes for about $1500 a month, then factor in the cost of incidental medical bills–with or without insurance-, gasoline (thanks to America’s aggressive car lobbies, with have suffocated public transportation infrastructure), transportation or car bills, cell phone bills, other utilities, and the cost of joy–yes, the cost (didn’t I say this was capitalist America?)–meaning access to third spaces, hobbies, and just pure time for one’s self. If you are seeking the safety of socially inclusive areas (sanctuary cities, lgbtqia+-friendly neighborhoods, populations that reflect your own identities), there may be an additional premium.

So there are systems in place to help that are also systems designed to be broken. Two things can be true. The system is broken enough that it has now become an industry in itself to privately fund relief efforts in the form of healthcare access, case management, therapy, education, and more. Keep in mind, that we are all trying to survive in this system. Which means that resources are finite for all and are not equally distributed. This means that, if it is on the individual to help uplift others in the system, individuals must have enough of their finite resources to do so. It becomes “luck” if you are able to help and “luck” if you are given help. Help then becomes currency, which some have in spades, while others–whom capitalism has decided don’t have much to offer–suffer in poverty.

As we say in therapy, when you set a rigid boundary to protect your inner peace–in this metaphor, let’s say that’s privatization of everything–what are you also keeping out? In Abraham Maslow’s visitations to the Blackfoot Tribes, he developed a western understanding of fulfillment: Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. The top of this famous triangle implies that there is an ultimate goal of self-actualization. Social acceptance and belonging is tertiary to the foundations of basic needs (food, water, etc) and safety (health, shelter, etc). With the rapidly disappearing middle class and the dystopian (and hypocritical–’protectors of republic and democracy’ my ass), the foundations of basic needs and safety are essentially sand. Easily eroded, blown away. A suffocation by a million tiny grains.

What Maslow misunderstood, or failed to illustrate, or intentionally bastardized from Blackfoot wisdom was that there was no basic needs or safety without social acceptance and belonging. Without community. In his studies, Maslow learned that the Blackfoot people had no direct translation for the word, “poverty.” The closest translation they had to poverty was “to be without family.”

Riane Eisler aptly points out in The Power of Partnership a similar message: that survival cannot, logically, be about domination and violence. If it was about killing everyone, humans literally cannot progress their generations. Survival is in nurturing and partnership. Survival is community. Her writings go on to name that these traits are normally held as feminine and, non-coincidentally, are valued less in white supremacist, patriarchal capitalism.

Eisler once wrote of the double standard held against Israel to uphold peace in Palestine, particularly in the 90s (which is the only article authored by Eisler that I was able to find on the issue). At the time, she denounced the virtue signaling of people telling Israel to be non-violent and explored if that was fair to ask of a people who have been brutalized. In 2025, I am not sure where she stands in this conflict. The global, economic, and military power of Israel in comparison to Palestine is significant and the number of Palestinean deaths has long surpassed Israeli casualties from the attacks on Israel in October 2023. And yet, as Americans, we continue to see our own resources sent in support of this violence while we cannot even feed the mouths on our domestic soil.

And then there is the Luigi Mangionne of it all. When the CEO of United Healthcare was murdered on his way into work, there was a media frenzy I was not necessarily expecting. Many thought of Mangionne as a vigilante–someone with little recourse but enough privilege to attempt a rescue of the millions of Americans brutalized by the American Healthcare System every day.

He was hard not to empathize with. Who among us had to choose between our health or our wallet–a choice that was less about thriving and more about which we could stand to suffer better? Who hasn’t had a loved one come back healthier, only to be whittled down further by the stress of medical bills and American labor? How many millions of Americans are left for dead by the corruption and greed of snake-oil insurance companies and capitalization of medical care?

But then the media–even outlets with self-proclaimed leftist objectives like Vox, NPR, or CNN–were espousing the troubles with our “black-pilled” generation. They criticized our schadenfreude, naming it the harbinger of an immoral America. They believed social media was desensitizing the people, as if social media and desensitization are not a mere reflection of America’s violence. People I interact with regularly were questioning how I, someone who can’t stomach the gratuitous violence in shows like Netflix’s Daredevil or HBO’s Game of Thrones, couldn’t see the obvious moral violation of Luigi’s murder? Death is death, morals are morals, and there are universal absolutes we can rely on.

Right?

Nevermind the media’s villainization of black murder victims, at the hand of the American police. Nevermind the entire nation watching murderers in blue uniforms walking away free or suspended with more pay and pension than any other public service position. Nevermind the millions of gallons of water wasted by millionaires while LA burns. An area, mind you, that is built off the cultures of immigrants and people of color that you will never see unless its been commodified by celebrity culture. Nevermind the thousands of dollars spent a month on homeless encampment sweeps in major cities like Seattle, San Francisco, and Oakland–and god knows where else. Nevermind that sweeps are proven ineffective and rob these people of their dignity, limited belongings, and communities. Nevermind the millions of Americans who have had similar stories to Luigi. Nevermind the millions of Americans who continue to suffer every day under systems maintained to keep them suffering by Big Pharma, Big Tech, Big Insurance, Big Banks… Nevermind that all these Big Guys are probably just the same white guy photo copied and shoved into one massive trench coat.

We are not a country of morals. We are a country of convenience. We are helped only when it is convenient for the powers that be. Any attempt to help ourselves or our peers is immoral if it is done without the oppressor’s stamp of approval. The decisions made for this country are not made for “the survival of the fittest” as social Darwinism (which is also white supremacy, btw) would have you believe. The decisions being made by the current powers that be are made for comfort; comfort and a fear of actually having to survive if they played by the rules they set for the rest of us.

This is not a denouncement of global aid or a defense of violence, but rather an indictment on the misappropriation of help and community. Again, when you privatize help, normalize violence, and romanticize survival, you draw hard lines in the sand–in the foundations of need. Who do these boundaries keep out? What do you think you are protecting? And does the door you closed keep out all the cries for help?

And so, despite all of America’s gambits to help people being just one search engine away, many people don’t bother to look for help. I’ve seen it with multiple clients and coworkers of mine. They thank me profusely for thinking to google something as simple as, ‘housing assistance gross income” and I realize I have taken hope for granted. Why would they ask for what they need? Nothing in their American life gave way to an idea that there was help or that there are resources for their needs. Nothing in their American life tells them they are cared for or even deserve care.

So, to clarify: we are ‘black-pilled’ for finding relief in an attempt to dismantle bloated powers, yet there is no concern for the learned helplessness of our people?

And then America wants to talk about loneliness.

[...] the removal of the self becomes a skill for a therapist. We should not share so much that we take up more space than the client in a session. We should be aware of ourselves enough to know when we are taking up space and then not do that. We should be warm enough that clients feel comforted but not so comforting that they can’t comfort themselves. We must pace our own thoughts so that we are following or alongside the client, not leading them in our own direction. So much so that we are taught, in the classic empty chair sense, to be everything and nothing to the client at once. I, and many of my contemporaries, are taught to fear countertransference. A close beast after is transference. We are asked to see clients as they are, not as shades of our past in another hat. We also must be vigilant of how the client sees us. We must be aware of all biases, that is to say much of our own individual perceptions, and put them somewhere. The where can be unclear. Do we suppress our perspective? Eliminate it? More realistically, we could utilize it. Though, in fear of counter/transference and our own biases, we are not always taught how. All of this is said with some implication that the client is less aware of all this than we, providers, are.

Something I am reminded of in my clinical practice is that even if you are not self-aware, people are still aware of you. They may not know who you are any more than you do, but they will still recognize things unbeknownst to you: ego, strength, in-congruence, insecurity, desire, fear. The lesson I take from this is that we do not exist in a vacuum. One of my social work professors once caught wind of my own fear of not being as self-aware as I thought myself to be. She reminded me that true self-awareness is knowing one’s self, and knowing who we are to other people. We are witnessed, even if we are not always accountable.

Again, this is not a new concept. The phrase, no man is an island, comes to mind. The Blackfoot concept of poverty comes to mind once more, too. Ignorance of the self may be bliss, but it also seems quite lonely.

The oppressed will always consider, empathize, and/or attempt understanding of their oppressor more than the other way around. For me, it is about finding humanity, but more specifically? I want to find evidence and reason that the reasons things are so hard for me are not my fault. Why do they treat us this way? How do they not know?

In 1998, Fellows and Razack coined the phrase “the race to innocence.” The race to innocence describes the PR-esque urge to distance oneself from alignment with the oppressor by citing one’s own marginalized experiences and identities. As if they cancel one another out. The term was coined specifically in regards to white feminists’ outrage over misogyny that took up so much space it left no room for accountability of their dalliances with racism and other bigotry, nor the voices of other groups experiencing other systemic harms.

In 2025, we see many other forms of this “race to innocence,” this smokescreen, particularly on social media. I’m thinking specifically of tiktok sound of a person’s introduction as, “I am a white trans-masculine fem non-binary temporarily, mostly able-bodied neurodivergent obsessive-compulsive...” played over a BIPOC’s caption: “when you upset your yt they/them roommate by asking them to do the dishes.”

Now juxtapose this with the equally pervasive right-to-moderate-winged derision of “identity politics.” I remember when one of my friends, a fellow very much grappling between the intellectual (and privileged) pursuit of academia and the allure of a $200k plus salary in the industry, realized that identity markers were, as he put it, “descriptive, not prescriptive.”

“Yeah,” I said bluntly, “We didn’t ask to be called ‘Asian-American. Or gay. Black people probably didn’t call themselves black before they met white people. The word for “Korea” in Korean isn’t Korea. Race, as a system of hierarchical structure and systemic power, was made up. And not by the people at the bottom of it.”

He pushed back a bit, saying that there were probably words for “black” and “Korean,” before race.

For people to identify themselves within their own communities? Yes, they probably had some form of the word, “people,” or “human,” before they knew to compare or were forced to compete.

But we are forced. And so when we, people of color, name our heritage or when we queer people, disabled people, impoverished, and more name our identities, it is with pride. It is with the acknowledgment that we see and witness these tools of oppression. That we have become smart to the game.

You are not upset that we have adopted the labels you gave us. You are upset that we know we are bigger than them.

So when you place concepts like, ‘the race to innocence’ next to the derision of ‘identity politics’ all you will see is white and/or privileged folks trying to find humanity while refusing to ask for directions. We keep telling them that humanity is right here, and yet they don’t listen.

I think white people are also upset that they’ve made themselves invisible. That, in labeling us to ‘other’ us, they forgot the lines they drew for themselves. What have you kept out?

Sorry that you don’t know what to bring to culture day, Becky. I think it’s because when they defined ‘white’ as the default, they forced other caucasian-european cultures to get with the White American program or be persecuted with the other BIPOC. I can’t blame them for playing the game that way, but for the same reason that men not crying is also the fault of misogyny and the patriarchy, my sympathy is limited.

One day, 2 hours into my 6 am wake-up call, I had an epiphany. I was walking down a hospital corridor with my roommate as we made our way to our second doctor’s appointment for the day.

“Do you think white people want to center their suffering and be persecuted because, in our deeply colonized world, they no longer worry about survival and have practically become gods? And that, on their thrones, they feel empty and lonely and are attempting to humanize themselves by condescending to us and trying desperately to suffer? Because all they see in us who are below them is suffering?”

I was not even high when I wrote this but the thought still haunts me. It could be that. Or it could simply be the fragility of an ego built on lies.

Or, another therapy-ism comes to mind: hurt people hurt people.

Real eyes Realize Real Lies.

And the value of cliches once again proves to be less about creativity and more about overwhelming truths of humanity.

I am unpacking my own counter-transference at the moment. I feel I must say this, or this espousal will lose all weight. I find myself experiencing miraculous joy and draining heartbreak when with my youth at the moment. As I move from my adult home, and move from my community, these feelings compound. It makes me reconsider the work as I know it. My life on its face, I am content. I have built a loving network and community of people who I think know the version of me I am most proud of. More so, with the help of my own anxiety, I've tried to make decisions that would make me feel most congruent. I am someone I am proud of. I am my own content. I am satisfied. And yet, each time I meet a new youth, I find my capacity for joy grows. My capacity for love, in the purest sense — a desire for someone to be cared for in this world—grows. And with each client that leaves, my vessel is poured out. It is larger than it was before this youth, but with less inside. Emptier. Expansive.

In my work, people often ask me how I keep my head above water. They remind me of how much I hold for the children I work with, how much I hold for others. The reminder is kind and I often have to remind myself that it is, because my instinct is to rebuff them. Kindness is easy. What makes it hard is the conflation of kindness as weakness or finite, and consequently, kindness as labor.

Again, two things can be true: Kindness, in its raw form and in my own nature, is easy. And, kindness in our society is conflated with labor. So their question remains fair: how do I find myself able to hold my community?

The answer is the same self-interested one that brought me to this work: I try desperately to see people as more than their tragedy. It was all I wished for as the young “girl in the wheelchair” who just wanted to be a kid. And a kid who wanted her sadness validated because she was more aware than adults thought. And as a depressed teenager who wanted people to know she could create joy in humor. And as a clown who wished she didn’t have to perform ease to comfort those who found her life–which they would never have to actually live–too uncomfortable.

Insert the trite, “we contain multitudes,” here. Because we do. And the same children that are beaten down every day are the same children that are going to try their best to show up for themselves tomorrow. It is a disservice to see the kindness of my profession as a one-sided act of labor. Being able to witness people so intimately every day is a gift that allows me to plan what it means to live.

And my vessel is strong, but it feels their absence. More will be poured in, but the space is tragically and beautifully not replaceable. I am only ever expanding to hold more, and realizing, in the same vein, that I will never stay full. I am better for having known them, and they are gone. There are infinite futures before us both, but this is where our paths diverged. And I know, because of that connection, that I am better because of them. In the granular differences in their speech patterns, their affect, all of it. I learned from all the spaces in between.

In my field, we are taught that discharge planning begins at the first intake. We are here to put ourselves out of a job. Our clients should not be reliant on us. And so, knowing it is all meant to end, we are asked to be intentional about how we show up. The emphasis is usually put on boundaries: knowing where things stop, knowing what is enough, knowing what not to do.But to teach that an ethical discharge is simply about stopping is like telling a toddler to stop without redirection!

When I teach my interns now, I ask them to envision what they want for their client when they leave the office. What do you want to stick? The first answer is often a recitation of the treatment plan: that the client is able to cope independently. And the bigger, more ephemeral answer, is that we are giving the clients a reason to cope.

And that reason does not need to be ourselves. That reason could be their own self-worth. That reason could be showing them all the connections they do have and how love looks and feels differently all the time. We, as therapists, may be a part of it in a simple way: by showing up authentically and proving to them that someone in the world was once capable of holding them in all their vulnerability.

And if someone cared authentically once, then maybe they aren’t as alone as they thought. It creates a hope that these children are capable of the same courageous love. And it is hope that they may find this care again.

That brings me peace. In our separation, I know some form of them shaped me. They have molded their prints into the rings of my bones. And so I think it is imperative that we, as therapists, leave our youth with the same peace. I want my youth to see the details in how we each take care of them. Our different approaches. I want them to know that no two people will ever hold them the same way. That each person is a novelty, including themselves, making something alchemical with each interaction. I want them to feel the intention, and the nuance, and know that no matter how singular this moment in their lives is, it mattered.

The truth is that there is enough for all. We know that police departments are overfunded compared to education, social programs, or just plain old civilian pockets that are the true foundations of our society. This means that police answer most emergencies and concerns, even though a lot of such crises may be better answered by the empowerment of education, mental health professionals, or–and especially–friends or family. We know that a third of the world’s food goes to waste. We know that there are 28 vacant homes for every 1 unhoused person in the country.

It is so frustrating to me to spend sessions explaining and normalizing the “fight or flight” (or freeze or fawn) response to threats to survival, knowing that so many of these threats are not just man made, but completely abstract. The money that so many struggle to see, the borders that people lose their lives crossing, the hatred of the unknown projected onto those around us–all of it is made up. Yet we run back to this imaginary friend–this lie–because even though it hurts us, we can at least pretend to understand it.

Because failing to understand this lie leaves only the truth: that we have allowed, with eyes wide open, such atrocities to befall us and our people.

Ignorance may be bliss. But damn, isn’t it so fucking lonely?

So let us weed through these lies that leave us dissonant, incongruent, and isolated.

The lie is that we, the people, are not deserving of enough. It is a lie that in order to sleep satisfied, we must first pull up our bootstraps, center our work, and run ourselves ragged. It is a lie that it is our fault, our moral failing, if we do not have enough even after working three part time jobs with no healthcare. It is a lie that our success is ours and ours alone, the same way that it is a lie that our failure is ours alone to bear. It is a lie that no one should show up for us. It is a lie that, because if it is not personal glory, then it is fault. And it is a lie that in fault, we are not worthy of basic dignity, respect, or needs.

I pour my client water because many in this world know he needs it; it is necessity. He can pour it himself, but so much of our world asks he do things, everything, himself. As if he will always be alone. But I believe in the following truth more than I believe in the ability to hide our humanity from our kids: we will never be alone. Not if we, as humans, are all doing our job. Not if we teach each other how to do this job. And so I pour him water. In my own philosophy, if I am meant to witness my clients, I want to do it humanly. I am not a selfie-camera, or an empty chair, or big brother hidden in the right upper corner of the room. I am a human that appreciated them. That reciprocated their existence. That held their energy and returned it, warm and different. Call it my post-modern therapy era, but I am no longer going to pretend I am above the human connection. I did not enter this field to do a job. I entered this field to find humanity—in myself, in others. If a social worker's job is to put ourselves out of work, this is how we begin to undo it. To see it not as a job, but as a function of humanity. We are humans who are meant to heal and to nurture. And I want to question the way we view connection. I understand the need for boundaries. And I don't mean for this new conviction to belittle the power dynamics I partake in daily. Clients are vulnerable in that they share everything that is not working, everything that makes them feel about themselves, and they are just asked to trust we will hold them with dignity and care. In this culture that so heavily emphasizes social darwinism, this asking for help is seen as a weakness. The therapist holds a lot of power and privilege, despite the fact that we are but employees of our clients. And, yet, I do not think these systems should overtake the humanness of my open heart when I see these kids and want to give them care. In measured intention, I can understand what I have to offer and nurture it in them so that they learn that this kindness can be easy.

There was once a client I worked with that I was discouraged from checking in with because he could “ruminate” and get lost in his own thoughts. If these 10 pages are not indication enough, I could see why my supervisor asked me to steer clear.

But then he asked to speak with me. He wanted to know why he should keep living if it was only a stall to the inevitable. Living is not sustainable, he said. And what kind of therapist would I be if I did not meet him where he was at?

And so we discussed the idea of purpose. What was he good at? Who did he care about? If all of that was enough. And if it wasn’t, was the curiosity behind this question enough to keep him going?

At our end-of-day staff meeting, my supervisor expressed concern of where such an existential question would leave this youth mentally.

The next day, the first thing he did was ask to check in with me again. I was nervous, and with my supervisor’s eyes on me, I obliged.

He asked to discuss the dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) concept of radical acceptance.

“I think I need to radically accept that I am alive.”

What did he mean?

“I clearly have accepted, or at least am very aware of the fact that I will die. That we all die. And I can’t change that fact. And so I don’t ask why. So why do I need to know why I am alive?”

He acknowledged there were things that he could do to not be alive, but then he asked himself, “Are any of those things actually easier than just . . . I don’t know, living? Like, why don’t I take myself to a movie instead, you know?”

This, though a bit reductive, was a true and earned statement. I could concede that. And so what was he to do with this revelation?

“I think that’s it. I don’t know. I think that’s the purpose.”

Now, some people arrive at this conclusion without the suicidality and the teenage laissez-faire. And wouldn’t I love if we could all arrive at this conclusion without all that fanfare. But how lovely that I got to watch this youth come across this epiphany honestly.

I know I am not a sustainable connection to these youth, but I am a connection. We are connected. And if we are to believe that nothing lasts, we must show them what matters is what feeling we put into this moment. If given in it's purest form, is the energy I give them not transferable? Not some kind of sustainable? I know I, myself, am not sustainable, but I will not minimize myself to ease that transition.

I sometimes want to ask others how they keep their head above water when they do not have the privilege of holding their community so closely. Whether or not they are engaging actionably with the care they feel, they cannot deny it is there. I’ve worked with depression long enough to know that the people who claim with urgency that they “don’t even care” or “don’t have time to care” are actually being choked out by how much this all matters to them. And so what do they do with it all so that it does not feel so burdensome?

For our own sanity, we oppressed will always empathize more with our oppressor. But is it just a tool for our survival, or is it kind of the whole thing? Would we have survived at all if we moved as they did and failed to see our humanity? If we met destruction and isolation with more destruction and isolation, would there be any life left?

I do not believe any longer that we will find the key to survival in the oppressor’s playbook. I think we must return radically to our roots and imagine a different way of being. We need to care. We need community. This, I know, will be laborious, and painful, and difficult to access–but that does not mean it is unnatural or unproductive.

Why would I deprive my people of connection just because it will be materially gone? That is like asking a person not to eat. It will disappear, but because it is meant to in order for us to receive the energy we need. I am not their family, I know this. I am, instead, someone who showed them that more than just a handful of people will care. And that it should matter when people do, because too many people don't. The goodness and the pain of living is to care. I wish so desperately that these kids knew that every bit of care they got was genuine. That in their worst moments, they still deserved every morsel of good. That we should never regard one another as perfect or infallible and therefore we should never measure our worth by such metrics. I want them to care for all their pieces, and know that they were once held as precious. I hope so earnestly that they see they were cared for once before and so, no matter how cruel life becomes, they believe they deserve care always. I do not need to stay with them, I know, but I want these feelings – of being loved, of being nurtured, of being a part of some exchange – to stay. God damnit. I know these aren’t my kids. But these are our people. Is it so wrong to hold this much love for them? Is this, my dream for the work, sustainable? We are our people. I want to believe that. Maybe the work of therapy is to allow others to believe that, and live that, too.

I understand that this is maybe a detective board of half-baked thoughts and connecting, if not contradicting, ideas. It is not meant to be some grand testament or thesis. I am feeling very human right now and want only to leave evidence of this. So I guess this is just an epistle for a future me who will, hopefully, read this and feel vindicated.

- Cat

02.21.2025

#uncomfy!essays #2025 #so far #connection #community #radical care #radical acceptance

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 month ago

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What Happened to GIW Site-13

So! One day, in the middle of a random field in Illinois, there is a Spacial Anomaly that is picked up by the Watchtower's Sensors.

They send a team to investigate, and find a strange facility having suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The Terrain around the Facility seems displaced, like it was dragged along by whatever dropped the Facility there, but the Flora around the Facility matched its surroundings so it couldn't have come from too far away? Where did it come from?

The Justice League doesn't pay too much mind to it at first, busy dealing with their usual mess of problems to do more than contact the local government and send a few Heroes to help with the investigation. It didn't seem to be an active threat at the moment, so sending a few superpowered Heroes are a precaution was seen as a good enough response for the time.

When the first Expedition Team went missing, they took a bigger interest.

They made contact with the Agency that was leading the investigation, a smaller agency known as the GIW that was focused on studying Supernatural Anomalies. They usually wouldn't have been the first choice, given their niche focus, but this was a special circumstance.

The Facility that had been discovered both markings stating that it was "GIW Research Site 13", however the Records they had stated that this Facility was never actually built. There were Plans to build it, but the Agency was hit with Budget Cuts after they failed to provide adequate evidence of the Supernatural, and it was scrapped. They had no explanation for how a Facility that never existed suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

They decided to send in another Team as Investigation and Rescue, this time equipped with the latest technology they GIW had developed called "Ecto-Tech", as well as a Magic User from Justice League Dark for insurance. They managed to maintain Video Contact with the Team thanks to the Ecto-Tech Cameras they had, and what they saw did not sit right with any of them.

The entire Facility was built like a Prison.

Prison Cells, or to be more accurate, Cages, lined the Walls of the section they had entered. Evidence of previous inhabitants Littered the Cells, scratches on the metal and green glowing blood staining the floors were just some of the things they found in those Cages. One of the Technicians on the Team identified the Cages as having been built with Ecto-Tech, despite the fact that the Ecto-Tech they had spent years developing was nowhere near as advanced as this.

As they continued they found Walls covered in more Glowing Green Blood, spelling out haunting messages. "They never wanted to Investigate", "Guys In White", and the most common "What F̷E̴N̸T̴O̸N̷ happened to Site 13"

Delving deeper into the Facility, they eventually found a working Computer Terminal and downloaded as much information as they could, sending it back up to the surface wirelessly, before turning around to begin searching for the other Expedition Team. But when they tried to follow they path back to their starting location, they found that it had changed. The Hallways they had just passed were missing, there were new branches in the path that never existed, and their equipment suddenly told them that they halls they were standing in didn't exist according to the Blueprints they had.

The Camera's didn't last long after that, and the last images sent through the feed were of a glowing green figure slowly approaching the Team from down a dark hallway. It seemed to be dripping with blood. Non-Green Blood.

Of course some of the League wanted to immediately rush in to save them, but it would be too dangerous without knowing more about the situation. They looked at the files they had received from the Team before they disappeared.

From there, they formed a timeline of events.

It seemed that the Facility came from an Alternate History, or another Dimension, similar to their own but with a few changes.

By all accounts it seemed like the timeline of its Original Dimension followed their very closely, until one day in the 80's when the first major discrepancy appeared. On Febuary 12th, 1989 that Universes version of the GIW reported "A True Emergence of multiple Ectoplasmic Entities reported in Amity Park, Illinois, 2:31 PM".

Apparently in that universe, the GIW had been successful in locating evidence of the Supernatural. It seemed like this event allowed them to avoid the budget cuts they had experienced in their own Universe, which was the first major change from their own Timeline. Without the Budget Cut, the GIW managed to build their Facility near where they first spotted the Entity, and from there the timeline continued to diverge.

In that same small town, multiple more sightings of Ectoplasmic Entities were reported, all witnessed to be attacking the civilian population using their abilities. It was also reported that a single Ectoplasmic Entity, thereafter known as "Designation Phantom", was defending the civilain population for unknown reasons.

Eventually the source of these Sightings was tracked down to a pair of Scientists living in Amity Park, who were decades ahead in terms of the study of Ectoplasm and Ecto-Tech, who had managed to open a Portal into another Dimension they called the "Ghost Zone". The GIW Approached them for their research, and eventually hired them on as Scientists. Their names were Dr's Jack and Madeline Fenton.

A quick investigation revealed that Jack Fenton and Maddie Walker did exist in their universe, but Jack Fenton went into Mechanical Engineering while Maddie Walker went into Theoritical Physics. They had never met in the current universe.

According to the Doctors, Ectoplasmic Entities lack the ability to have Sentience, and held a malicious rage to all living beings. They stated that "Ghosts" were simply imprinted memories on Ectoplasm that acted as if it was a thinking entity, and that "Ghosts" should be eradicated at all costs.

Unfortunately, the GIW believed them to be Geniuses ahead of their time and accepted every word that came out of their mouths as absolute fact. Any researchers that protested their claims were quickly fired as to not upset their new Golden geese, and the GIW began to follow their new Mission of eradicating all "Ghosts".

From there was a series of files detailing multiple raids into the Ghost Zone, the capture and detainment of hundreds of Ghosts and "Ecto-Infected Humans", and the gruesomely detailed Experimentation logs of the Dr's Fenton as they studied their Captured specimens.

Many of the people being debriefed later on had to leave the room when they got to that point.

It seemed like the Dr's Fenton were the most proud of the Noteworthy Specimens they had managed to capture and dissect, those which evidence showed were much older and more powerful than the typical ghosts rhey captured. These were collectively designated as the "Ancients" by the Logs.

A Yeti-Entity with Ice Powers. A Shadow-Like Humanoid with Phobokinesis. A Female Humanoid with Draconification abilities. A Four Armed Female Humanoid with Extreme Strength. A Strange Entity with Chronokineses.

But what they were most proud of was one of the first Ghosts ever reported. Designation Phantom.

They particular File was completely corrupted beyond saving, but from the notes surrounding it, it had been a very exciting time for the Doctors.

But now, better informed on the situation and what they may encounter, the Justice League decided on a new plan of action. They still didn't know how the Facility had been ripped out of its Original Universe and into theirs, but for now their objective was simply a rescue mission for both expedition teams while Justice League Dark worked with the GIW on countermeasure for Ghosts. From the Files their Universes GIW had on Ghosts, they were certainly still dangerous, and allowing them to escape the facility would be a problem. So they needed containment measures.

The Justice League prepared for their Rescue Operation, unknowing of the eyes watching their every move.

He had dragged that accursed Facility into this world in an attempt to get help, and now all he could hope for was that this version of the Justice League would act better than their own. And if they didn't, he could always try a different universe.

All would be as it should be. Eventually.

#Dpxdc #Dp x dc #Dc x dp #Dcxdp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Good Guys GIW #At least in this Universe #In the other its a completely different story #What Happened to Site-13 #SCP-1730 #Based on SCP-1730 #Basically in this Universe the GIW remained the Ghost “Investigation” Ward and didn't become evil #Because the Fentons never met and didn't build the Portal so Ghosts weren't as big of a Concern #But in the other Universe the Fentons joined the GIW really early on and radicalized them #They advanced Ecto-Tech by Decades singlehandedly #To the point where they began to capture the Ancients themselves #And Danny #They somehow managed to capture Clockwork using a machine that messed with his powers but it also ruined local reality #Clockwork dragged them to another Universe with the last of his Powers to try and get the help of the Justice League #He does not have high hopes because in their original universe the JLA didn't really care about Ghosts and what was happening to them #The thousands of Angry Ghosts in the Facility are messing with Local Reality to the point where they have trapped themselves in the Anomaly #None can escape #There are also dozens of Liminal Humans trapped in there #They can barely survive thanks to that but they are in a similar amount of Agony as the Ghosts

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