HOW HAVE I GROWN OR CHANGED SINCE THE FIRST DAY OF CLASS

****Spoiler Alert**** It’s not what the program of study promised.

 

Although I have spent many years navigating the system, nothing quite prepared me for how deeply embedded the silencing could be—even in a field that claims to be about empowerment and advocacy.

I was taught to advocate… until that advocacy turned toward the institution itself.
That’s when I learned the difference between theory on paper and truth in practice.

I watched education silence and shape people—and not always in ways that liberated them.
I watched my peers shrink. I felt myself shrink.
I saw how conformity is rewarded, and how realness is often mistaken for rebellion.

At first, I was changed in ways that didn’t sit right with me.
I started to doubt myself. To second-guess my voice.
It didn’t feel like social justice—it felt like oppression with a degree attached.

That was my wake-up call.

I’ve grown by learning to trust my voice—even when it shakes.
To honour my lived experience—even when it’s inconvenient.
To stop apologizing for being the kind of social worker who refuses to wrap harm in policy-speak.

Yes, I’ve witnessed the gap between the values social work preaches and the practices it upholds.
But instead of getting lost in that gap, I’ve used it as fuel.

So how have I changed?

I’m louder.
I’m clearer.
I’m rooted in who I am, not who I’m told to be.

I am proud of who I am

And I’m NOT wrapping that in silence.

 

I WILL NEVER AGAIN LET MY SILENCE SPEAK LOUDER THAN MY TRUTH

A LETTER TO MYSELF

1 OF 3

Dear Me, 

I see you. 

I see you walking into this practicum

holding years of  lived experience, carrying the kind of wisdom that can’t 

be taught in textbooks.

You showed up nervous, not because you didn’t believe in your heart, but because you’ve been made to question if it’s too much.

Too loud. Too honest. Too raw. But look at you now. You’ve taken everything they tried to use against you and turned it into a toolkit for advocacy. 

This practicum hasn’t been easy. You’ve been challenged in ways that poked at old wounds.

You’ve had to navigate systems that

preach empowerment but reward silence.

 

2 OF 3 

 

You’ve had to sit in rooms where

“professionalism” meant biting your tongue when everything in your spirit screamed for justice.

And yet—you didn’t shrink.

You didn’t silence yourself.

You learned to choose your battles with intention,

not fear.

That’s growth.

I’m proud of how you connected you became with the kids from the Homework

Club program—not from a place of authority, but from the same sidewalk.

You didn’t look down on them.

You looked with them.

You didn’t try to fix them.

You listened. 

You laughed with the kids.

You helped parents who reminded you of your own mom, your own struggles, your own journey as a mother trying to survive systems 

that weren’t built to hold you. 

 There were moments when the trauma in the room mirrored your own. And still, you stayed. You didn’t run from it—you let it shape your practice.

 

3 OF 3

That’s not weakness. That’s strength.  You’ve been showing people what real social work looks like relationship centred, anti-oppressive, rooted in truth.

And sometimes, that means challenging the very field you’re trying to belong to. That’s no easy task.

But you’ve never done anything the easy way. You’ve done it the real way. 

Here’s what I want you to remember as you graduate and move forward:

don’t water yourself down to fit someone else’s mold. Your edge is sacred. Your fire is necessary. Your grief is a teacher.

And your story—it isn’t baggage; it’s a map. 

 

And this has all played a part in how you changed and grew.