Beginning therapists typically struggle with a particular issue that can be the cause of much consternation given that they tend to be “nice” people. You might already know where I’m going with this—therapists struggle with interrupting, cutting off, butting in, or engaging in any kind of behavior with clients that might be perceived as rude.
Under what conditions would a therapist ever need to resort to anything that resembles rudeness? I could give you a number of reasons, but I’ll limit myself to just one. A client could consciously or unconsciously avoid a certain topic for fear that it will be overwhelming for them, or because they don’t want to own up to something or acknowledge the impact of X on their life. A “nice” therapist will not want to upset their client; they will indulge the client’s avoidance by following the client-led conversation along a subject-hopping surface-level path. But ultimately, this is not to the client’s benefit.
We are not in the business of being nice, we are in the business of healing. And healing can hurt. If I am truly committed to the healing of my clients, I have to be willing to be rude, or at least act in a manner that may strike the client as such—to interrupt their avoidance and redirect their attention, sometimes kicking and screaming, to the topic they are sidestepping. My motivation is not to be sadistic, for I know that those areas that clients avoid are usually those that contain the greatest potential for growth and healing. But by indulging in their avoidance, I potentially infantilize my client. I reinforce the implicit notion that they are weak and incapable of facing the issue. Therefore, I have to notice the niceness tendency within myself and purposely tell myself that what feels comfortable is not for the ultimate good of the client. I then have to step outside of my comfort zone and act out a behavior that in most circumstances would be considered rude. This might include talking over my client by raising my voice and refusing to stop until they relinquish the reins of the conversation.
Now, this is where the art comes into play. When interrupting, I am trying my best to be artfully rude, but never disrespectful. I never denigrate or judge my client. I never put them down or do anything that undermines their dignity. Rather, my rude interjection comes from a place of empathy and understanding. I get it! I avoid hard stuff, too! It’s painful to look in the metaphorical mirror and face yourself. But avoiding the mirror only elongates my problems; it only gives more time and space for my issues to grow. So, if I truly love myself, I must drag myself over to the mirror and force myself to look. I need to love my clients in the same way.
I remember working with a middle-aged mother who had recently suffered a number of setbacks in her life. I remember looking at her and thinking to myself that she seemed so sad. Despite my best efforts to focus on and build up the positives in her life, no footing could be found in anything resembling hope. I remember one session in particular, where she kept talking about her knitting group and one group member’s relationship problems. I asked why it was important to discuss this person and not what was going on in her life. She said she was worried about her friend and was really trying to help her. I kept pressing my client to get a better sense of what she was thinking and feeling.
Over the course of our conversation, it became clear to me that my client felt as if her life was over—she had no sense of a future, and she was just trying to help someone, anyone, before she took her own life. She didn’t say this outright, but I could read between the lines that my client was considering suicide. I felt an internal panic when I realized this. I really liked this client. She reminded me of my own mother in some ways. I also felt a tremendous urge to keep the conversation away from the topic of suicide, to indulge my client’s wish of focusing on her friend in the knitting group. I also knew I could not let her leave my office without assessing her risk level. I took a deep breath, and as kindly as I could, I interrupted her and asked if she had been or was currently thinking about hurting or killing herself. The tears started rolling down her cheeks. What followed was a very helpful conversation that involved a safety plan, engaging with a support network, providing contact information in case of an emergency, and pulling in additional services. The conversation shed light on her under-the-radar risk for suicide that had developed over the last few weeks and provided a space for planning and support. That conversation needed to happen.
And I thank the art of rudeness for giving me the insight and words to respectfully interrupt my client and ask a tough question.
File under: The Art of Psychotherapy, Musings and Reflections
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Under what conditions would a therapist ever need to resort to anything that resembles rudeness? I could give you a number of reasons, but I’ll limit myself to just one. A client could consciously or unconsciously avoid a certain topic for fear that it will be overwhelming for them, or because they don’t want to own up to something or acknowledge the impact of X on their life. A “nice” therapist will not want to upset their client; they will indulge the client’s avoidance by following the client-led conversation along a subject-hopping surface-level path. But ultimately, this is not to the client’s benefit.
We are not in the business of being nice, we are in the business of healing. And healing can hurt. If I am truly committed to the healing of my clients, I have to be willing to be rude, or at least act in a manner that may strike the client as such—to interrupt their avoidance and redirect their attention, sometimes kicking and screaming, to the topic they are sidestepping. My motivation is not to be sadistic, for I know that those areas that clients avoid are usually those that contain the greatest potential for growth and healing. But by indulging in their avoidance, I potentially infantilize my client. I reinforce the implicit notion that they are weak and incapable of facing the issue. Therefore, I have to notice the niceness tendency within myself and purposely tell myself that what feels comfortable is not for the ultimate good of the client. I then have to step outside of my comfort zone and act out a behavior that in most circumstances would be considered rude. This might include talking over my client by raising my voice and refusing to stop until they relinquish the reins of the conversation.
Now, this is where the art comes into play. When interrupting, I am trying my best to be artfully rude, but never disrespectful. I never denigrate or judge my client. I never put them down or do anything that undermines their dignity. Rather, my rude interjection comes from a place of empathy and understanding. I get it! I avoid hard stuff, too! It’s painful to look in the metaphorical mirror and face yourself. But avoiding the mirror only elongates my problems; it only gives more time and space for my issues to grow. So, if I truly love myself, I must drag myself over to the mirror and force myself to look. I need to love my clients in the same way.
I remember working with a middle-aged mother who had recently suffered a number of setbacks in her life. I remember looking at her and thinking to myself that she seemed so sad. Despite my best efforts to focus on and build up the positives in her life, no footing could be found in anything resembling hope. I remember one session in particular, where she kept talking about her knitting group and one group member’s relationship problems. I asked why it was important to discuss this person and not what was going on in her life. She said she was worried about her friend and was really trying to help her. I kept pressing my client to get a better sense of what she was thinking and feeling.
Over the course of our conversation, it became clear to me that my client felt as if her life was over—she had no sense of a future, and she was just trying to help someone, anyone, before she took her own life. She didn’t say this outright, but I could read between the lines that my client was considering suicide. I felt an internal panic when I realized this. I really liked this client. She reminded me of my own mother in some ways. I also felt a tremendous urge to keep the conversation away from the topic of suicide, to indulge my client’s wish of focusing on her friend in the knitting group. I also knew I could not let her leave my office without assessing her risk level. I took a deep breath, and as kindly as I could, I interrupted her and asked if she had been or was currently thinking about hurting or killing herself. The tears started rolling down her cheeks. What followed was a very helpful conversation that involved a safety plan, engaging with a support network, providing contact information in case of an emergency, and pulling in additional services. The conversation shed light on her under-the-radar risk for suicide that had developed over the last few weeks and provided a space for planning and support. That conversation needed to happen.
And I thank the art of rudeness for giving me the insight and words to respectfully interrupt my client and ask a tough question.
File under: The Art of Psychotherapy, Musings and Reflections