Step Into New Perspectives: Let’s Explore Belonging

When we started shaping our approach to diversity and inclusion in social work, there was this real sense of standing at the edge of a forest—plenty of good intentions, but not much certainty about the paths ahead. Some of us thought we’d just need to “cover the basics,” like cultural competence or anti-bias tools, and that would be enough. But early on, it became clear that the learning process is messier and more personal than any checklist could capture. I remember a moment—a workshop in late autumn, the kind where fluorescent lights and tired faces make everything feel a little raw—when a participant quietly admitted they were afraid of saying the wrong thing. That confession, half-whispered, broke the ice. Suddenly, people started sharing real doubts and stories of stumbling through awkward conversations with clients. That’s when our “career_development” materials took a turn: less about presenting polished answers, more about sitting with uncertainty and building the habit of asking, “What am I missing here?” Over time, certain techniques kept resurfacing as genuinely useful. Reflective listening—sounds simple, but it’s surprisingly hard to do well under pressure—came up again and again. Not just parroting back what you’ve heard, but tuning in to what’s not being said or what’s being said between the lines. And then there’s the value of discomfort, which we don’t celebrate enough. It’s tempting to want quick fixes, but the truth is that meaningful inclusion work almost always involves a good measure of confusion before clarity arrives. For instance, an exercise where we asked people to map their own social identities—something that seemed a bit “academic” at first—ended up sparking some of the most honest conversations we’ve had. One participant even doodled a tiny coffee cup in the margins, and later explained that, for them, coffee shops were the only places they felt safe growing up. Not exactly part of the curriculum, but it shifted the mood. It’s these sideways details that stick with you. We’re still learning, honestly. And sometimes we get it wrong, or miss an angle that later feels obvious. I used to believe that empathy alone would carry me through every challenge, but I’ve learned that context—history, policy, even the mood in the room—matters just as much as good intentions. Our “career_development” sessions shift each year, shaped by both participant feedback and the subtle changes in what the field demands. I’ll admit, I’m most enthusiastic about the moments when confusion gives way to that quiet “aha”—not always dramatic, but real. If there’s a limitation in our approach, it’s that we can’t guarantee everyone will end up feeling comfortable. And maybe that’s okay. Sometimes, discomfort is what nudges us to pay closer attention, to notice the things we’d otherwise ignore.