First job

I'm reading a book by Toni Maguire called "Don't tell Mummy". It's about her experience with incest as a child. It made me think of my first job after Marinda was born. It was an office job, transcribing the dictated reports that doctors made on different cases of child abuse. It was very strange, sitting there with a headphone on my head, typing away, while details of the different cases were dictated into my ears. Thankfully, there were no graphic details involved, and something about hearing a monotone voice (even mentioning where to place commas and points) managed to make even the most awful story seem almost humdrum.
I worked there for a year.
I havn't worked with anything even remotely resembling child abuse since then. I don't think I could handle it. Though I am a qualified social worker, getting into the sad details of somebody's life is not something I handle well. Like my friend exclaimed the other day.... "so you're really not a counselor!". No, I really am not. I am perfectly capable of listening to somebody's story and showing sympathy, and I like to think that I can empathize, but there's not enough of that in me to want to commit to personally helping people with therapy or counseling.
I guess I should just be thankful that there is also room in this world for an organizing junky like me, paving the way so that others can do the helping (of which I have been the grateful recipient on many, many occasions).