Some relationships in this work are not linear.
He moved quickly between liking and disliking me, depending on where he was in his psychosis. There were hours, sometimes days, when he was kind. He smiled, asked how I was, and engaged in small talk. Then, without any clear trigger, he could not stand to look at me. I had heard him mumble about my “energy” when he was upset with me. In his world, that explanation made sense.
I never took it personally. Instead, I adjusted and found different ways to support him depending on where he was at. For about a week, I had been asking other clients to bring him dinner just to make sure he was eating when he was not open to interacting with me.
One day, I had extra sandwiches and gestured to him, asking if he wanted one. His response was immediate and aggressive. I do not remember the exact words, but I remember the tone. It included the word “fuck,” and it was not kind.
Before I could respond, two other clients stepped in. They told him firmly that he was not to disrespect me. They reminded him that I was out there working to support him and that he needed to speak to me respectfully. If he did not, they told him, he would have to answer to them.
I had not asked for that. It was not prompted. It just happened.
I thanked them, and they brushed it off like it was nothing. But it was not nothing. It stayed with me because in this work, it is easy to question whether what you do matters. Not because the work is not meaningful, but because the impact is not always visible. Progress is inconsistent. Gratitude is not guaranteed. Outcomes are often out of your control.
But respect shows up in different ways. Sometimes, it looks like people having your back when you did not even realize they were watching.
Later that same night, he came out after getting some sleep. He grabbed a cookie off my cart, and I gently called him out. I told him he looked like a new man and asked if he had slept well. He smiled, a big genuine smile, and said that he had.
A few minutes later, he came back and politely asked for dinner. I handed it to him, and he said, “You look sharp today.” I let myself enjoy that interaction.
About twenty minutes later, he returned again, this time just to talk. We made small talk for a bit before he said, “I just came over here to flirt with you.” I smiled.
Normally, I would have redirected that kind of comment, set a boundary, and named the inappropriateness. But with him, nothing was static. His connection to me shifted constantly, and in that moment, what mattered most was that he was connecting in a calm and trusting way. So, I let it pass without correction. It felt more important to preserve the interaction than to interrupt it.
Since the other clients spoke to him, I noticed something shifting. There was a little more consistency. A little more respect. Time would tell.
I found myself thinking about how to work with him in a way that did not follow a traditional path. Maybe it was not about structured appointments or formal plans. Maybe it was slower than that. Maybe it was one question at a time.
What would he need to make a change?
Was change something he even wanted?
Was it something he believed was possible?
Or was he, in his own way, content where he was?
This work does not always offer clear answers. But sometimes, it offers moments of connection that remind you why you keep showing up. Sometimes, those moments are enough.
At the time, there were far more questions than answers. Looking back now, knowing he is in recovery today, I think about how change often begins quietly, long before anyone can clearly see it.
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