Insights from My Work as a Career Development Practitioner
🧵Part 1 – When He First Walked In
Once, during my work as a career advisor, I met a client I’ll never forget.
He was young — just 21 or 22 — and had left school at an early age. Since then, he had been unemployed for what felt like forever. He came to us through a government referral. He wasn’t coming by choice — the system pushed him, and it showed.
At his intake appointment, it was clear he was completely disengaged. Head down. Shoulders slumped. He barely made eye contact. He seemed withdrawn, even depressed, like everything around him was dark.
I tried everything. I changed the topic several times, avoided personal questions, and gently searched for something — anything — that interested him. But nothing worked. He stayed quiet, barely speaking, just nodding here and there.
So I took a different approach.
“You know,” I told him gently, “you don’t have to share anything today. If you prefer, go home, take your time, and when you’re ready, you can call me. I’ll book another appointment for a time that feels right for you.”
That changed everything.
For the first time, he looked alive. His face lit up. He stood up quickly, smiled, and said, “Thank you, thank you!” Then he left.
But I didn’t stop there.
🧵Part 2 – A New Appointment, A New Spark
I couldn’t just let him go — we were expected to explain the process to all referrals and support them all the way to employment. So I waited the standard two weeks and then sent him a gentle reminder email about our next steps. I didn’t push — I just reminded him that I was still here when he was ready.
A few days later, he replied. He wanted to book a new appointment.
I booked an appointment for him right away and replied to his email with the suggested date and time. I also asked him to confirm if it suited his schedule — and he did.
The day of the appointment came — and there he was, right on time.
First, I appreciated his punctuality. That alone said something had shifted. But it wasn’t just that. He came in looking like a different person: clean, well-presented, and a little more confident. Not too much, but just enough to notice. He wasn’t the same shy, closed-off young man from before.
It felt like he had practiced — maybe rehearsed how to speak, how to respond. I couldn’t help but wonder if someone had helped him in the background. I didn’t know for sure yet, but it was the first thing that crossed my mind when I saw him.
We started the second meeting with some warm-up topics — just a few light questions about how he’d been since our last appointment.
To my surprise, he was… chatty. Not fully open yet, but talking. More than before. He said, “I’m okay. I’ve been thinking a lot about myself, especially after what I heard from you.”
He went on:
“When I went home, at first, I didn’t think about anything. I just wanted to rest. But after a few days, your words came back to me. I started asking myself questions — like why am I here? What am I doing? What do I want? I started remembering things from my younger years… what I used to like, what I was good at, what I dreamed of becoming.”
I was stunned — in the best way. This was a breakthrough.
I smiled and said, “Excellent. That reflection, those questions — they’re exactly what brought you here today. I’m so proud of you. It means you really listened, and you didn’t just hear my questions… You turned them over in your mind, you sat with them, and you let them guide you. And one question led to another, and another — until you decided to reach out again. That’s not a small thing. That’s a milestone. Well done.”
I asked him softly, “Are you ready to share what’s been holding you back from achieving your employment goals — or even just your personal goals?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Before we went further, I suggested, “Would it be okay if we start from the beginning — from your childhood — so we can understand the full picture together?”
He agreed.
Then he opened up.
🧵Part 3 – The Story He Never Shared Before
“Unfortunately, I had a very difficult childhood,” he began. “Both my parents were alcoholics and drug-addicted. The Ministry of Child Protection eventually removed us from their care and placed us with my maternal grandparents.”
He paused.
“They were elderly — too old to care for three young children. I was eight, my brother was six, and my sister was just three. It was too much for them. After about six or seven months, my grandfather passed away. My grandmother couldn’t manage on her own, so the social worker had to take us back.”
He looked down for a moment, then continued.
“They couldn’t find a foster family willing to take all three of us. So, they split us up. Each of us was sent to a different family. From that moment, everything in me changed.”
“I grew up full of hate, hating that they took my brother and sister from me. Hating my parents. Hating everything. I became aggressive. I jumped from one foster family to another because of my behavior. I couldn’t settle. I never felt like I belonged. I can’t even remember a good day from my childhood.”
Then he said something I’ll never forget:
“Ever since they separated us, I never felt like I had anything to do here — like I had no place in this life.”
He continued, “I left school around sixth or seventh grade… and I never went back. I never felt like I understood anything — or even tried to. Nothing made sense to me.”
He said his social worker stayed in contact with him over the years. Whenever a foster placement didn’t work out — and there were many — she’d get involved, trying to fix things or move him somewhere new.
“She tried many times to get me back into school. She’d tell me that getting my Grade 12 would help me find my path. That it would open doors. But I never listened. I just couldn’t see the point.”
Then his tone shifted — subtly at first.
He spoke about one of his last foster families. “They had two boys and two girls. I got along really well with the youngest son — we were the same age. He loved technology. So did his older brother. They were into computers, video games, fixing things.”
“That family…” he paused for a moment, “felt different. Warmer. The parents treated me like I was one of their own. I had my own room, my computer, and even a Nintendo Switch. We used to play together.”
His eyes began to light up as he spoke.
“That’s when I fell in love with technology. We’d sit for hours troubleshooting issues, opening up computers, and learning what every part did. The older brother was amazing — he used to teach us and always called us his ‘little brothers.’ I loved that.”
He smiled as he said it — the first real smile of the session.
“I stayed with them for about three, maybe four years. It wasn’t forever, but it was long enough. Long enough to fall in love with computers. Long enough to find something I was good at.”
As he described fixing computers and solving tech problems, I noticed a transformation. His voice became more animated. His body language is more open. His eyes sparkled with passion.
That moment told me everything I needed to know — his strength, his skill, and the seed of his future had always been there, buried under years of pain. And now, finally, it was beginning to emerge.
As he continued talking, he shared something that made me smile.
“I actually took a few computer courses,” he said. “They were through some government programs — you know, those free training ones. I finished a couple of them. Got a certificate too.”
That was a key moment. It told me two important things: first, that he didn’t just have a passion — he had taken real steps to build on it. Second, despite everything he’d been through, he hadn’t given up on himself.
To me, this was confirmation: he was ready. Maybe not for a full-time job right away, but he’s definitely ready for a real-world work placement — something small, structured, and supportive. A chance to apply what he had learned and build his confidence in a safe setting.
I looked at him and said gently, “You’ve done more than you think. You’ve taken action — that matters. And now, I believe you’re ready to take the next step.”
He didn’t say much — just nodded. But this time, the nod was different. It was steady. It was real. It was the quiet confidence of someone who was starting to believe in themselves again.
…To be continued