Historically, I’ve had a real problem with the word care. Not the warm, fuzzy concept or the ideal of care, but my lived reality of it in this field.

Caring was exhausting. It was one more thing to give, and it was obligation disguised as virtue. Care was the bottomless pit of expectations I could never quite meet.

There were seasons in my career when someone would say the word “care,” and my whole body would clench. My first thought?

“Please don’t ask me to do one more thing — I’m already over capacity.”

Because honestly? Caring hurt me.

(Insert image of woman with head down in front of window)

In agencies, care wasn’t always this beautiful human value.

A lot of the time it was weaponized.

I heard out loud or through quiet expectation:

•  “You’ll take this extra client… because you’re a caring individual.”
•  “You’ll deal with all of this… because you care.”
•  “You’ll put extra attention and effort towards that…if you care about your job”.
  

Care became the currency of overwork.
A quiet expectation of self-sacrifice.
A way to justify chronic strain wrapped in ethical language.

And then there was the guilt.
Oh, the guilt.

I’d ask myself:

• Am I caring enough?
• Am I letting someone down? 
• Am I a good clinician?
  

Care became a test, not a resource.
And perfectionism dressed up as caring ate me alive for many years.

Then I got mad.
Like, deeply pissed off.

Because how dare anyone demand more care from me when:

• we were already short-staffed,
• caseloads were already impossible,
• documentation was endless,
• pay was low,
• and the pressure never stopped.

I was expected to give what I was rarely—if ever—given.

And if it isn’t already obvious, care became linked to:

• exhaustion
• hopelessness
• tension
• fear
• pain
• and the internal scream: “I cannot carry one more person’s issues right now.”
  

And, it hit me hard when my supervisor clearly valued my productivity more than my humanity. Every ounce of care went to the client—as it should—while I was withering on the inside and no one even blinked. It’s bizarre to work in a field centered on well-being and feel completely unseen. I was giving every part of myself to help people heal… and no one showed up for me in the same way. It’s not like we all don’t know burnout is a problem in this field — it’s just ignored in some corners of mental health.

I was in a system that didn’t see me,
but it kept asking me for more.
More and more and more.

So if you’re anything like me, the word “care” triggers:
More to give → Less for me.

How could it not?

Many of us have worked in the opposite of real care. No wonder the word got tangled up with depletion.

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Interwoven’s Reframe: Care That Moves Toward You

So yeah — when people hear that Interwoven is based on the currency of care, I get why eyebrows go up.

It takes a minute.
Sometimes longer.

Because Interwoven is not talking about the old version of care — the one that drained you, stretched you, and convinced you that depletion was noble.

Interwoven care is different.

Care in this model is not a demand.
It’s a resource.

You don’t give it if you don’t have it.
You get it.
You receive it.

And when you’re grounded and replenished, you can offer care from a place that’s real.

This is the care:

• you deserved from the start,
• that restores you,
• that moves toward you — not out of you,
• that holds you, instead of hollowing you out.
  

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What Interwoven Means by the Currency of Care

(Insert two people holding hands – focus on hands in image)

Stick with me.

Interwoven’s currency of care isn’t something you hand out from an empty cup.
It’s the flow of support that makes your work sustainable.

It includes:

• nervous system regulation
• community support
• honest conversations
• role clarity
• moments of pause
• restorative practices
• being witnessed – not just productive

These are not luxuries.
They are the nutrients that let you practice with integrity and humanity.

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Why It Matters

Because your care has value — but it should never require self-sacrifice to the point of depletion that doesn’t have the space or the respect to be restored.

The field asks you to pour endlessly.
Interwoven asks something radical:

• How do we refill, restore, and reconnect with what matters—while still living inside the realities of this work?

And not just in theory, but with actual plans, space, tools, and connections that make it possible.

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The Bottom Line

Care shouldn’t only move outward. You deserve genuine care.

And it’s possible, but, we have to create it. 

slot gacor