After several months in which the relationship with my son deteriorated and his animosity towards me grew by the day, I had a 40-minute talk with the (clinical) social worker heading our local mental-health family support center. She is great; has so much experience.

She explained to me how my son must be feeling, at the age of 26, after two psychiatric hospitalizations, now living in supervised housing where he feels okay but of which he says that it doesn’t feel like “home”, and having to cope with this damn, debilitating illness day-in and day-out, while others his age have already completed their studies, have a job, are getting married and are having children. She gave me valuable advice as to how to speak to him and what NOT to say to him. And wow, it works! He is talking to me again. And he even told me he loves me.

Whenever I found myself in need of psychological support it was social workers who saved my soul. If I would start again from scratch and had to choose a profession – social work would be it!

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