Josie A.

I never write. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I always want to write. So, this feels nice.

Awake! At 5am. Silly little word games, 5ish minutes of meditation maybe. Catch up on everything that happened after 9pm last night because that is usually when my eyes close. I can’t believe how late people stay up. If I learned one thing from this – y’all are up LATE.

Running by 6am the absolute latest. My usual 5.5 mile loop to see the sunrise at Race Street Pier. My version of prayer. Some mornings I don’t run. Some mornings I read. Depends on how much couch time my schedule allowed the day before. Couch time, my other version of prayer, is essential. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

By 7:20am I am in my office. My first office. Well, today, my only office. I am here for the women. All women clients. I hope you know them. They are the most impressive people I know. Women, mothers, truly fucking warriors. I wish I could tell you every single one of their names and stories and details and strengths. That would be very illegal. I am lucky to be their secret keeper. It is the greatest honor of my life. To earn the trust of people who have been through so much? Who have been hurt by so many? To hold hope for them until they say, “give it to me, I can do this!”??? Sheeeesh! You will not find a better gig.

Somedays I got to office #2. I hear more stories. Different, and still human. It’s all such a privilege. Some people returning to the process, some people trying it for the first time. I listen. I offer what I hear. It’s often not what they heard themselves say. I hold hope for them, too, though in this setting they tend to have a few more supports around them. Less pressure on me.

This is my seventh year in this type of job. I have heard so many stories of the human spirit. Of the lowest lows, the most broken brokens, the breeziest moments of relief, the purest joys, the sourest resentments, the ugliest judgements, the harshest critics. But always, bravery.

I have questioned everything about my own humanness. You have to. To make sure it doesn’t get in the way when someone is sharing their humanness. 

The clinic is busy and loud today. Pretty standard for a Friday. Lots of women who are not scheduled with me also stop into my office. So their kid can say hi, or so they can get a cup of coffee, or they can give me an update on a truly non urgent matter. I wanted to sneak out early. But someone needs help transferring to the ED. There’s probably close to ten people involved to coordinate the care for this one woman. There are not enough of us in this work. It’s an uphill emotional battle. I’m still home around 4 which is probably very early compared to most corporate people. But none of those corporate people had to enter a new world every hour on the hour, and remember every detail about that world, while also not mentioning any of the other worlds they were in today (probably). 

Friday night is sacred. Time to return to my emotions and my world. I’ll have some fleeting, worried thoughts all weekend about the women I’m most worried about. I’ll have some more lingering, theory related thoughts about the folks from office #2. I’ll always have gratitude for all of the stories I hear and worlds I get to be in. I have a Steve Powers print in office #1 that says I WANT TO THANK YOU. 

I guess I took this opportunity to write about a work day with pretty minimal detail about Philadelphia. It should be noted I fucking love it here. It’s a 14 year love affair (so far). I have just as many reasons that I hate Philly, let’s be honest, but holy hell are those reasons for love heavier on the love/hate scale. The attitude, the reputation, the trolley tracks that almost take me off my bike every day. The yit trees in the spring, the fact that trash/recycling pick up always manages to be delayed on the windiest days. The smell of meat at the intersection of 11th and Washington. The old guys drinking tall boys that give me high fives and cheers when I go for long runs through west philly on weekend mornings. The hill of 34th street approaching the zoo. The heat I catch when I wear my Mets hat (it’s the only NY team I’m not giving up, shoot me, I suffer enough okay?). Black and tans. The rye cookie at Mighty Bread. Acme’s aggressive pushing of those very-just-okay ginger snap cookies the second it’s almost fall. Neighborhood Ramen and no I don’t want to talk about them closing. The freakin Broad Street run. I’ll leave Philly eventually, probably soonish. I’m probably over my halfway point. Honestly, I’ll miss everything. Except Cherelle Parker.

Josie lives in south philly but has lived in north philly and west philly. She thinks (read: knows) south philly is superior. There is a high chance you’ve seen her running if you’re a morning person. And there’s probably an even higher chance that she knows of you through some degree of separation from one of the many, many stories she’s heard as a secret keeper in philadelphia.