Two Years Behind the Razor Wire: The Emotional Price of Social Work in a Detention Center

I was prepared for the emotional process when I started working as a social worker in an administrative detention center earlier on prior to the close of 2023. I had assumed that I could make a difference and was properly trained. My background was not smooth. The tribulations of life taught me toughness, empathy and understanding of others, which shaped me into what I am today. I believed I could keep up with my duty to the detainees with the emotional demands of the work. I mean, I was ready for it, wasn't I?

What I did not anticipate, however, was how exhausting it would be to see human suffering on a daily basis. What they do not teach you in social work school is that you cannot care about others without someday caring for yourself – otherwise you will end up burning out.

The place I was working at detained individuals in administrative detention, some of whom had hearings pending for asylum, deportation orders or having the immigration cases adjudicated. Some of them were not criminals. They were escaping violence, poverty, political instability and they were stuck in a system that seemed to not care about the human aspect. In this place, my job was not only to support their mental health but to navigate an ever-complicated web of legal issues that seemed to move at a glacial pace.

I knew my role was important. I listened to horrific stories every day: a father separated from his children for months, a person who had escaped gang violence, a young lady in fear of being deported to a state where she would be imprisoned, among others. I did everything in my power to soothe them, to struggle for their rights and allow them access to the services they needed. And there were a few detainees with criminal-tinted backgrounds, violence and aggression. I had aggressive, rude or occasionally hazardous detainees to contend with. These detainees, unlike asylees, had histories of violent behavior, criminal records or had very difficult behavior to control. It wasn't always about trauma; others led lifestyles created out of their own aggressive acts or illicit lifestyle.

This produced an entirely new level of challenges. Reflecting on my experience in the detention center, I've learned that social workers, like all of their caregivers, need emotional resilience. The work that we do is nourishing and draining and it is often impossible to fix or correct the immense depth of a detainee's complexity. But this much is true: we will no longer be able to make a positive impact if we don't first take care of ourselves.

As the months passed, I realized that my own emotional health was falling through the cracks. I was always giving but never making time to fill myself up. There was no room for my own emotions, my own struggles.

So I realized the cost in every area of my life. I was on high alert all the time and I was exhausted emotionally. I had no life outside of work. I would go back home and I would be exhausted, too tired to rest but awake, tired by the faces of those I had encountered. I used to thank God to be carrying their suffering for them, as if I was never able to lay it down. I realized the toughest aspect was the fact that, in the majority of the cases, the individuals I was working with were trapped in a system that did not have the capability to offer efficient solutions. I was not a magician. I was not capable of solving their problem regardless of how desperate I was. I could not help but wonder if I was even making a difference at all. Was I really doing some good or just providing temporary comfort only for them to dive back into the grip of the system?

It was on one atrociously dark night – after a tough day of going around seeing detainees, advocating for their cases in court and hearing depressing stories – that I finally knew I had reached rock bottom. I looked at myself in front of me in the mirror. I was exhausted, unengaged and pretty bitter. That night, I made a decision: I must learn to take care of myself (better than I currently do) or I wouldn't be able to maintain this kind of work, any kind of work, much longer.

It wasn't a particularly simple decision to put my own mental health first. It made me feel selfish, like I was cheating the people who depended on me. But as I already knew, if I couldn't put myself first, I couldn't put others first. So, I stepped back. I started resting more, taking more sports (till about 6-days a week, from the earlier 4-days a week) and making time for activities that I enjoyed doing when I wasn't working. Yes, I was already an active man. And as I struggled to rebuild, I struggled to reconnect with the things that initially made me want to become a social worker: a desire to do good, a love of justice, and a belief in the connection among people.

I realized that if I was to be of use to others, then I would need to have a foundation of my own emotional stability and well-being. This wasn't a matter of no longer being concerned with those I worked with – very much the opposite. But what it meant was that I would learn to manage my emotions and care for my own mental health so that I could keep doing the work that I love without sacrificing myself in the process. Reflecting on my two years in the detention center now, I can identify that self-care is not something that is nice to have – it's something that is needed.

Emotional exhaustion does exist and as professional social workers or professionals, we bear more than we must. We soak up others' pain and trauma but cannot give from what we do not possess. I have come to understand that being there for them is being there for me first. And then, and only after that, can I stand before you as the empathetic, capable social worker my clients deserve. I'm still out here in a new career but now with a far more level head.

I've learned to ask for help when I need it, to take a step back when I feel overwhelmed and to prioritize my own mental well-being along the way. It's hard, I know, and the emotional toll still remains, but I am not what I am by how exhausted I am. I am what I am by how committed I am to being a change-maker – for those I serve and for myself. Don't forget, you are not alone. If you are depleted or burnt out, take a step back and look after your needs. You are worth it and your health is worth it. What we do is worthwhile but unless we're taking care of ourselves in the process of doing it, we can't continue to do it and make a difference.