Hi. My name is Wayne. Hi, everyone. I've been a social worker for over 20 years. I've worked in a psychiatric hospital, drop-in center for people with mental illness, and a therapeutic community for men who struggled with criminal conduct and substance abuse, and that was a really fun job. I'm also a writer. I like to read stories and write stories. As soon as I became a social worker, I realized that social work is about listening to stories. So what I want to talk about tonight is a hazard that affects people who do social work, psychotherapy, counseling, all the professions that work with people who are in crisis. It's called Vicarious Trauma. But before I tell you about that, I want to tell you about the first last great book that I read. It was a memoir by Eve Ensler, who's a playwright and an activist. She talked about going to the Congo and talking with and listening to girls and women talk about their experiences. These were women who were brutalized by atrocities. Atrocities, we can't even imagine. When a survivor talks about an injustice or a suffering that happened to her, we become part of the story. When a survivor feels hurt, she's able to take the story to a new place, often a more hopeful place. Listening in this very present way that I'm talking about is actually an act of social justice. I know that that sounds kind of weird. Social justice is supposed to be about redistributing income or overthrowing desks or everybody getting health care. But there's an intangible side to it as well. When I go to the grocery store, I will often notice a man with a sign who looks really tired and hungry. And even though I think of myself as a really nice guy, when I'm rushing to get my own groceries, I will often not make eye contact with him. I rush right by and I become part of the problem. Any social worker will tell you that it's not easy to pay attention. If you want to understand that this whole syndrome of Vicarious Trauma better and you don't do this kind of work, all you have to do is remember how you felt when you heard about the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School. You weren't physically there, but you kind of were. Brain scientists have discovered these things called mirror neurons. When I listen to someone talk about an experience of injustice or suffering, mirror neurons fire in my brain in the same area where suffering occurs. I feel what they feel. Now empathy is great. Our intelligence as a species is a social intelligence. We stay connected to survive. But imagine those mirror neurons firing in your head in the same place where suffering happens all day long. Social workers talk about compassion fatigue and listening to the stories can make you feel numb and empty and hopeless. Then there's this hormone called cortisol, which is great if you're in an emergency and you need a superhuman burst of strength. But if you live in a constant state of emergency because you work with people in crisis, then your body is bathed in cortisol. It affects your sleep and your appetite. It can make you jittery and it can make you fat. What I do these days is I go around to agencies talking with them about Vicarious Trauma. And I'll be honest with you, I do meet some social workers who are kind of jaded, kind of cynical, kind of burnt out and kind of exhausted. These are folks who need a vacation, a career counselor, or maybe a job as a barista. But more often, I meet extraordinary people, wholehearted people who are living from a deep sense of purpose, folks who have figured out exceptional ways of taking care of themselves. And it never ceases to amaze me. No matter in spite of all the hardships of doing this work, people still choose to do it. A while back, I heard about this event called World Social Work Day. And I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I got a little bit excited. One of the drawbacks of being a white middle class guy is that we crave attention. We wash a dish and then we wait for the applause. So World Social Work Day came and it went. There were some speeches somewhere by somebody. There was some talk about vision, but what I really wanted was some dark chocolate, a gift card to pals, or maybe a race. But I don't think any of that's going to happen. I have a different idea. When I was growing up and I met a veteran, I was told to say thank you for your service. And even though I never agree with the reasons we go to war, when I meet a soldier, I am all struck by the sacrifice they make, I put politics aside and I say thank you for your service. As World Social Work Day rounds the corner again, I want to make a suggestion that we thank those people who make a choice to do social justice work. It doesn't pay a lot. It isn't glamorous and the hazards are great. It's a post-industrial, capitalistic world that doesn't make a place for everybody at the table. It helps to correct a deep imbalance. So I want to start this tradition by saying to my family, my friends, my neighbors, my colleagues, and my students who brave the hazards of Icaria's trauma to do social justice work. Thank you for your service.