"Yeah," I say, "That was a good one." I hold our student's left hand while she holds his right, and I keep my answers ambiguous. Mental health professionals aren't supposed to have mental health issues. I squeeze our kiddo's hand and hope she won't ask what she's about to ask.
"Did you do that to yourself?"
I smile and say nothing and look at anything that's not her.
"[Client's name]", my boss instructs our kiddo, "say, 'I love you, Amanda.'" He parrots the statement, not because it's true, but because he has learned through contingencies of reinforcement and punishment that parroting is easier than not parroting.
I smile wider.
I sat in a four hour long IEP meeting today. IEP, for those of you not in the know and also too lazy to Google it, stands for Individualized Education Plan, which stands for several opinionated professionals in a room together arguing for what's best for the child, the school, or both.
"I'd like to hear from ABA", the family advocate said, looking at me.
"Yes, great idea," said the district representative, and the whole table looked at me.
I turned my wrists over to hide the scars.