If you work with the most vulnerable young people, you will deal with metaphorical and literal puke, piss and poo. You will have to clean it up. You will deal with heroin rigs and crack pipes. You will be told to Fuck Off and you will have stale bagels thrown at you. If this is a problem for you, do something else with your life. If you work with the most vulnerable young people, you will see kids you care about going to jail, into foster homes, disappearing under bridges for months at a time, sold for sex, selling others for sex, selling themselves for sex. If this is a problem for you, do something else.

If you work with the most vulnerable young people, you will hear the most horrible stories. Things you imagine happening in the most destitute ‘third world nations’ happening in the same city that puts up such a fancy farce. You will hear about abuse like you never thought possible. You will wonder how this person before you is even alive. And you will hear about death. Young people you know will die. Some will kill themselves on accident or on purpose, some will be killed by other kids you know, someone with developmental delays might be stabbed and burned alive after being kidnapped by a street gang (I wish I was exaggerating but I’m not). If this is a problem for you do something else. 

If you work with the most vulnerable young people, you will be compensated poorly. Poor wages and poor gratitude. Sometimes, your work will even be questioned by others who should be on your team. You will be told you are doing it wrong. You will have to translate the people you work with and their stories into data and dollars to convince bureaucrats you are doing the right thing. And they will question you. If you have a problem with this do something else. 

If you work with the most vulnerable young people, you might think you can handle it. Your daughter might ask you one morning before taking her to school, “Are you ready?” And you say, “No, but I’m going to do it anyway.” And then it will hit you like a punch to the face. All the shit and death and treating each other badly and you melt and you bury your face, trying to be tough, because you’ve got to get your daughter to school. If you have a problem with this do something else. But every once in awhile you might give someone the keys to their first apartment, you might help someone get a scholarship, you might be the first adult they’ve felt safe enough to talk to about real shit, you might get cooked an amazing meal by someone who spent the last year living in their car. You will see some young people blossom and bloom, creeping out of protective shells and taking steps towards being healthy human adults. You will witness amazing resilience. Amazing feats of survival, survival, survival. Someone who never talked to you during the years you worked with them and just communicated with methamphetamine-affected grunts comes back and says, “Thank You.” And you wonder how the hell did I help you? And they say, because you were there. You showed up, ready or not and you did it anyway.