Shhh…. I have a secret

Ok, this is what is happening now, in real time.

I haven’t said much about who I am now, or what I do. I just really haven’t addressed it. I know a while back that I mentioned (a few times) that I am a social worker. Obviously, I work with children (and some adults) with behavior issues.

At least I did before the pandemic hit. I was mainly doing social skills classes at that point. Unable to gather meant the end of that.

So, during lockdown, my alma mater sent out a letter introducing a new doctoral program for social workers. I have always wanted to get my doctorate, and my father-in-law repeatedly told me I needed to do it. The last time we saw him, he told me two things: get my doctorate and care for my husband and his sister. I now think he knew it was the last time we would ever see him. And he was right; we never saw him again. He was the type that would wake up in the morning and decide to drive 2000 miles across the country, on his own, to see a relative, an old friend, or just because he felt like it. Which was exactly what he did. He went to Arkansas, was there for two days, and headed back home. He died traveling in Montana. Alone. In a rest stop. They said that he had an aneurysm and that it was probably quick and painless. But he was alone.

The grief was paralyzing. He was a wonderful man that wholeheartedly accepted me and my children into his family. I loved him.

But I digress, I will talk about him at a later date.

Anyway, I was looking at the info that the university sent me. My husband looked at it too and told me I should do it. He knew I wanted to, and why.

See, as a mere clinical social worker, I couldn’t formally diagnose Autism. A lot of parents brought their kids to me for an opinion as to why they were having issues. If I suspected autism, I usually asked if there had been any testing done. 90% of the time the answer was no. I told them they needed a Doctor, psychiatrist, psychologist or a GP to do a formal diagnosis, or even have their school had a specialist come in for a second opinion.

I learned early on that my word as a clinical social worker who specialized in autism meant little to nothing. Parents were often turned away. I had to teach them how to advocate for their child.

It was frustrating.

But with a doctorate, I would be listened to.

So, I started looking into programs. Early on, I decided that I wanted a doctorate in psychology rather than social work. It just made more sense. I found one that I liked, and now I am done with the pre-dissertation classes and working on my dissertation proposal.

I have three and a half years invested in this process, with at least another year to go. I am exhausted! And stressed out beyond belief.

This proposal might just kill me.

I know what I want to research. The problem is that in order to produce a dissertation, I have to be able to back up the research. In other words, in order to produce an entirely new piece of work, I have to base it on research that has already been done.

Basically, I produce an original dissertation based on work that already exists but put a spin on it that has not been done yet, that I have to prove with either existing studies or experiments.

Yeah. Doesn’t make sense to me either.

Mostly.

Right now I am looking for a ‘gap’ in the current literature. I found one. But do you know how hard it is to prove something doesn’t exist? It isn’t easy. It’s like trying to prove you are innocent: proving that you didn’t do something. It’s so much easier to prove you did.

Right now I am supposed to be writing and ‘elevator pitch’ to give to the oversight committee so that my research will be approved.

Two minutes (long elevator ride) to prove I know what I am talking about.

Oh, and a podcast.

All due by midnight tonight.

And I am sick. Possibly with covid.

Sigh. Why can’t anything ever be easy?

Either way, it’s back to work, even though I would really rather sleep or just stop being dizzy.