07/18/2025
I didn’t always work with children.
Pediatric opportunities were limited when I first graduated. I began my career at a school for children with Autism, but I found the OT role there to be too narrowly defined.
I transitioned into a role working with adults with brain injuries and became the first Occupational Therapist hired at the agency.
One defining moment from that job stands out clearly.
I was asked to assess a man with a severe brain injury who was living with his elderly parents. The man had a history of violent outbursts. For over a year, senior management had debated where to place him in residential care, but no solution had been agreed upon. As the new OT, I was asked to complete an assessment and make a recommendation on placement.
After a thorough evaluation, I concluded that he needed to be placed in the behavioural residence. However, this meant moving another resident who was deeply attached to her apartment. My decision was met with resistance. Some clinical team members were upset—understandably focused on the distress it would cause the woman being moved.
But I saw the situation differently. I knew that placing this man in the wrong residence could have severe consequences for the entire team, and that we only had one chance to get it right. I believed that although the transition would be hard for the other resident, she had the capacity to adapt and ultimately thrive. He, on the other hand, needed the right environment from day one.
So I stood by my decision—unpopular, but rooted in long-term thinking and clinical judgment.
Then came the hardest part: someone had to tell him he was moving. I remember dressing up that day, doing everything I could to present myself professionally—even though I was the youngest member of the clinical team. He came to my office for our usual cognitive training session. Afterward, I gently introduced the floor plan of his new apartment—he had a technical background before his injury, so I used that as a bridge.
Inside, I was scared. I had a mental exit strategy ready in case he reacted violently. But to my surprise, he didn’t. Despite his memory impairments, he somehow understood what I was saying.
After he moved, the next morning, after his first night in the new apartment, he came down the elevator. The doors opened right in front of my office. I held my breath, wondering how it had gone.
He poked his head out, flashed the most genuine look of relief I had ever seen, and greeted me with a familiar catchphrase. But the emotion was unmistakable: I’m going to be okay. Thank you.
In that moment, I knew I had made the right decision. Not the easy one, not the popular one—but the one that would lead to long-term success for everyone involved: the client, the family, the staff, and the agency. And most importantly, the aging parents, who could now have peace knowing their son was safe and supported—even after they were gone.
