Shame Part 2: Shame Proneness

Megan came into session and sat down. Her eyes wandered around my face, but didn’t meet mine when she said, “I did it again. I went back to him.”

“Tell me,” I said, leaning forward.

“I’m a – a loser. I can’t stay away from him even though he’s bad for me.”

Megan had come into therapy after failing to sever ties with her most recent boyfriend, Tim, a man who repeatedly left her feeling emotionally abandoned and worthless. She reported a history of tumultuous intimate relationships that consistently left her feeling lonely and dissatisfied.

Tim was no different. Every time he dismissed her or invalidated her, it tore a little more of her heart out. Worse yet, it confirmed her inner fear: She was worthless and no one would ever, could ever love her. Trying to repair fractures to her self-esteem, she would search for the next man to love her, only to find herself in another relationship where she felt dismissed and worthless.

This isn’t unusual. It’s certainly a story I’ve heard variations of many times as a psychotherapist. Megan, who was thirty-five years old, reported that she had been going through this cycle since she was a teenager. She felt hopeless that she would ever find the stable, loving relationship she so wanted. I felt it as soon as we started our work together. Shame.

In my last blog post, I discussed the shame that entered the room in early sessions, when patients began exposing themselves. Megan’s shame was more complicated. Normal shame is transient, but for Megan, her inclination was to experience shame in all ambiguous situations. This proclivity has been assigned various names. I like to call it shame-proneness, which is the term June Price Tangney, one of the leaders in research on moral affects, (shame and guilt), named it.

When Megan came into situations that naturally elicited self-assessment, her emotional response would be feeling bad, small, defective. Self-esteem is a cognitive evaluation of the self; shame, on the other hand, is an affect, and therefore, permeates the entire self, spilling into every crack of someone’s being, coloring all their experience-darkly.

On some level, Megan believed that she deserved poor treatment from men, causing a repetition of the very pattern she was trying to stop. No matter how hard she tried to find a different outcome, she was always confronted with the same feelings of shame. Thus, the narrative – I am bad – that she desperately wanted to change, perpetuated itself.

Megan explained that she went back to Tim during the week when he promised it would be different, only to be left again. This was the fifth time she went back only to be left.

“He threw me out.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “See, I’m weak. I’m a failure at everything. I’m never going to find what I want. It’s me.”

Her feeling bad about herself in the Tim situation pervaded other aspects of her life. That is, she felt bad all around, not just in relations to Tim.

I knew I had to help her see how her self-perception created a type of self-fulling prophecy. So, I reminded her of what we had been working on. “Remember what we talked about?” I often use psycho-education with patients, even when I’m working more psychoanalytically as I usually do with a shame-prone patient. I don’t find that keeping the nuances of therapeutic work undisclosed helps, especially for patients who feel so exposed already. It’s like throwing them outside in the cold without a coat, alone.

Megan and I had discussed shame. She knew that it tied back to early experiences of emotional neglect and abuse, where she unfortunately heard messages that she was bad and wouldn’t be anything different, ever.

“I remember, that just makes me feel worse. I should know better by now,” she whispered. This is where shame is so tricky; it’s very hard to intervene without evoking more shame.

I addressed her experience in the room. “We knew it would be hard not to go back if he called. Intellectual insight comes before the emotional connections that make change easier. You are working very hard to undo a narrative that took years to build. It takes time.” I leaned forward, again. “Remember, what we talked about last session, during the break from Tim.”

“Yes, I’ve – gosh, I can’t believe I forgot.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a schedule of all the workouts she had done the last week. Megan had been very athletic. I encouraged her to go back to exercising.

I wanted her to feel her strength and resilience. I wanted her to find her value in her activities. One of the most effective ways to help people combat these shame narratives is to help them access and activate their natural strengths, the parts of them that weren’t fostered, because no one acknowledged them when they were younger.

It’s our job as clinicians to discover these natural endowments and cultivate them for all of our patients. Shame-prone patients need more help figuring out what they are and more time to develop motivation.
Megan smiled as she showed me what she had accomplished that week. I saw pride glowing in her eyes. I observed it with her. “What are feeling?”

“I feel good.”

I smiled, thinking that we had found a space for Megan that was shame free. “What’s it like to feel good?”

“It’s something I knew I wanted to feel, but I could never quite find.”

“Now that you know what it feels like, it will start to get a little easier. Be hopeful.”

“I am.”

*Megan is an amalgamate of patients suffering from shame-proneness.
 

Shame Part 1: Walls are Fears Disguised as Safety

The wind blew in strong gusts, howling and shaking the windows. Tracey pulled her cardigan tighter, then rubbed her arms with her hands. “I hate strong wind. It feels like the walls are going to come down.”

Interesting, I thought, we’re getting closer. This described exactly what was happening in the room.
Tracey and I had been working together for four months but had barely scratched the surface. She discussed work-related stressors and dating. She would go into detail about the many men she dated, but she never described her feelings. I wanted to know more about her inner life, but I felt her guardedness. She had a wall up. And I had to respect it.

Walls are fears disguised as safety.

But why are they there in the first place? When patients come in, but have trouble disclosing, this is the question.

We call it defensive structure or defensive mechanisms or resistance, this wall. We have words, but one I rarely hear that is significant, is shame. My dissertation topic involved a thorough analysis of shame and I have continued my research. Every time I’ve presented on the topic, students and established clinicians alike ask the same question: “Why aren’t we having classes on shame?” It’s important.

Shame is the deepest and most painful affect, as it involves an evaluation of the entire self. Whereas guilt assesses what we do- “I shouldn’t have done that”, for example; shame evaluates the entire self: “I shouldn’t be that.” Guilt says, “what I did is bad.” Shame says, “I am bad.” Shame pervades our sense of self – entirely.
Shame also involves the real or imagined perception of another. It’s the reason why infants and toddlers will run around nude without feeling exposed. They haven’t reached the developmental stage where they recognize themselves in the eyes of others.

The essence of psychotherapy requires that patients come in and reveal their innermost self, layers of secrets, elaborate fantasies. We are asking them to tell us the very thoughts and feelings that are usually hidden, because we don’t want others to see. Shame inevitably arises as the bricks come down and the patient feels exposed.

For patients like Tracey who have never been in psychotherapy before, this is often even more difficult. Additionally, unresolved shame creates more psychotherapeutic challenges. Unresolved shame (which I will discuss in the next blog), develops when injuries to the self occur over and over; any type of emotional abuse will leave people with some unresolved shame, which is woven into the very fabric of their identity.
In a lecture I had given some time ago, a psychodynamic student asked if I thought it was our own shame that made us avoid discussions of shame. I hope not. We need to afford patients the luxury of a safe room, where we are sensitive and cognizant of the shame that naturally arises as disclosure increases.

I had to help Tracey feel safe enough to slowly remove the bricks she felt were loosening. I went with the metaphor. “What do you imagine would happen if the walls came down?”

“I dunno.” She crossed her arms tighter.

“Are you feeling that right now, like the walls are coming down?”

She diverted eye contact, picking at a string on her shirt. “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. I feel crazy sometimes.”

I leaned forward. “I know this is hard. Everyone that comes in here feels like their thoughts are crazy. I have thoughts sometimes that others might think were crazy. It’s normal.”

She looked back at me. “You do? But you’re a doctor.”

“We all have ideas and thoughts and fantasies that feel bad or scare us sometimes.” Small self-disclosures to normalize the situation and show patients that we are also vulnerable to emotions helps ease shame-ridden angst. Also, keeping the dyad collaborative instead of hierarchal reduces shame.

“I have thoughts like that all the time.” She placed her hands over her face. “There are things that I’ve never told anyone before. I know I should tell you, but it’s very hard.”

“I know it is. Maybe we can start with what you’re afraid I will think.”

“OK,” she said with a small smile. I felt a few bricks had come down as I acknowledged her shame. I knew that the more we discussed her fear, the safer she would feel to explore what was behind the wall. It would be two bricks down, one back up, but at least we were finally at a start.

*Tracey is an amalgamated example of patients during early sessions struggling with shame. 

Teen Heroes with Feet of Clay: The Dilemma of a Pop-Culture Psychotherapist

Recently scanning the Internet, I was dismayed although sadly not particularly surprised by the glaring headline which read “Demi Lovato rushed to hospital for possible overdose.” My first response was “damn, poor kid!”

The next flurry of thoughts closely paralleled my own varied life roles. The father in me remembered my kids’ shock upon learning that this same celebrity, former Disney actor/singer used to cut herself. The pop-culture author in me reflected on the writing I’ve done around superheroes who are often deeply flawed characters. Finally, the teen therapist in me wondered once again how to bring the stories of popular culture icons like Demi Lovato into the therapy room. As examples of the challenges and pitfalls of high achievement and celebrity? As cautionary tales to those who would model their lives and mold their dreams in the images of superstars? Or simply as examples of people more alike than different from them, who struggle to regulate anxiety, depression and the accompanying demons by using, cutting and killing themselves.

Heroes abound in popular culture, exceeded only by those who have fallen hard and as such are in no short supply. As I watch the 2018 Tour de France, I remember Lance Armstrong’s substance-enhanced fall from grace. As I read more deeply into the life of Demi Lovato, I think about Justin Bieber’s near-death automobile escapades, Britney Spears’ seemingly unending brush with the dark side and the terrible fate that Heath Ledger, aka the Joker met; not to mention the myriad music legends whose lives were cut short by their own hands- Kurt Cobain, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson and the artist who will forever be known as Prince.

Just today, a soon-to-be twenty-year-old asked me (in my professorial role) a poignant question about adolescent identity formation. A question she would like to have asked her developmental psychology professor, I believe she was reflecting on her own journey to personality coherence on the road to adulthood. We concluded together that there are many influences that shape who we are and who we become during our formative years, not the least among which are popular culture figures both great and small, evolved and base, and those who succeed and ultimately who fail…terribly.

In his book, Breaking through to Teens: Psychotherapy for the New Adolescence, Ron Taffel encourages all those who work with teens to be familiar with popular culture and its many and often strange inhabitants. He challenges clinicians to regularly assess their PCIQ, or popular culture IQ. As a therapist who specializes with children and teens, I couldn’t agree more strongly. I worked with a troubled seven-year-old who had been alternately diagnosed with ADHD, oppositional defiant disorder and conduct disturbance. He taught me about the struggles Japanese anime character Naruto faced, and in so doing provided me key insights to helping him. And it was the tortured relationship between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker that assisted me in my work with a depressed and alienated adopted pre-teen. Each of these pop-culture characters, regardless of their fictional origins, struggled in very real ways.

So, the next time you have the opportunity of working with a child or teen who identifies with a figure of popular culture–whether fictional or non, elevated or fallen; be prepared to explore the meaning of that identification, whether positive or negative. And be prepared, as I have learned, to sit patiently at the intersection of that client’s and their hero’s relationship in order to gain a deeper understanding of your young client as they wrestle to make sense of themselves, the world around them and the characters within it. Lessons abound.  

Bare: Psychotherapy Stripped

Editor's Note: The following is an excerpt taken from Bare: Psychotherapy Stripped, by Jacqueline Simon Gunn, published by University Professors Press © 2014 and reprinted by permission of the publisher.

I think Dostoevsky was right, that every human being must have a point at which he stands against the culture, where he says, this is me and the damned world can go to hell.
—Rollo May

Please Don’t Let It Be Her

“Jacquie? Is that you?”

Oh no, please don’t let it be her. The voice came from behind me.

But of course it was, the slightly nasal, overly enunciated voice always unmistakable. My body tightened. Of all the people to run into — in Bloomingdale’s, no less — while looking the way I did: sweaty, smelly, and disheveled. Served me right for doing my training run, then squeezing in an errand before showering, while convincing myself I could manage to escape notice of someone I knew. The Big Apple may be big, but it is not that big.

“Jacquie? Jacquie.”

Her voice doesn’t sound close. Maybe if I move fast enough, I can get lost amongst the shoppers. But then I heard the distinct sound of hurried heels clacking on the tiled floor, and
before I could slip into the crowd, a hand touched my shoulder.

“Jacqueline!”

I bolstered my spirits, and turned to face the inevitable. Maybe it’s time I bring this relationship to a close.

Tess was my newest patient. I had just earned my psychologist’s license a few months prior to our first meeting, and subsequently accepted a full-time staff position at the Karen Horney Clinic. I had already been employed at the clinic for two and a half years, first as an intern and then as a post-doc fellow, so when they offered me the position — nearly nine years ago now — the decision to accept it wasn’t difficult. I could continue with my current patients while I received some additional supervision, all providing me with the ability to slowly transition into private practice.

A colleague who had been working with Tess for nearly two years referred her to me. Another client would pack my schedule, as I was carrying a nineteen-patient caseload at the time, so I initially felt hesitant to take on a new client. After extensive consideration, I agreed. “I wholeheartedly believed I was ready to push myself professionally.”

How could I have known what would happen or the effect she would have on me?

My colleague had to prematurely terminate her work with Tess because she and her husband were moving out of state. At my request, she gave me only a small amount of background information; I am not a fan of learning about a new patient second-hand. I have found it more beneficial to be exposed to patients’ narrative directly from them. The referring therapist did tell me that Tess was 61 years old, suffered from chronic depression, and having an inordinately hard time with the aging process.

She added, “You’ll be a good match.” When I wondered why, she responded, “Tess needs a tolerant, warm and empathetic therapist. I think you’ll work well together.”

I was not finding that to be the case.

Appearances

When Tess came in for our initial meeting, I immediately noticed her striking appearance. She was quite attractive, small framed and perfectly made up. What I found most significant was her choice of attire; dressed impeccably, she reminded me of someone clothed for a night at the theater. Though curious about the façade she put on display for the world, it was much too soon for such a personal inquiry, so I held my thoughts and associations in abeyance to be brought up later in therapy.

Within just the first moments of session, however, I managed to ostensibly muck things up. I called her Contessa. Tess does not like to be called Contessa, which I soon discovered. And her displeasure spoke to that fact through her terse reaction. “It’s Tess.”

Though my colleague had referred to her as Tess, I noted in her file that her given name was Contessa. Nicknames can be a highly personal experience, and I did not want to presume familiarity too soon. So I called her Contessa. But I knew better. I should have asked her outright what she preferred to be called. Just like a nickname can be personal, so too can a given name be a source of anxiety, as well as a seedbed of myriad emotional triggers.

“Tess, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you dislike Contessa.”

“I hate Contessa. It’s a family name. And it reminds me of someone who’s ancient and stodgy.”

And just like that, with tightened lips appearing like she’d just sucked on a sour candy; she folded her arms in a resolute stand against distasteful nomenclature.

“Really? I think Contessa is a beautiful and rare name. It evokes such elegance.”

“Nonsense.” She dismissed my opinion with a wave of her hand and flutter of eyelashes. “Now, Tess. That’s fun and youthful. Tess is a model’s name.” Her eyes twinkled when she said that, encouraging me to make the leap, to associate her with models. And honestly, though I am normally savvy enough to avoid that slippery slope, she did carry herself like one. And that is exactly where my thoughts landed. I bet she could’ve been a model in her day. I wonder if she was.

As the session moved along, Tess began describing her long history of depressive episodes, her numerous hospitalizations, and her propensity to isolate from others. I had so many questions for Tess, but I wanted to allow her the liberty to express herself without interruption during this first session. Some clinicians prefer to perform an extensive intake evaluation during the first few sessions, in order to collect adequate background information. I find this sort of structured interview interferes with the patient’s process of describing personal information, so I allowed Tess to tell me her story while I listened attentively with compassion and empathy.

I learned in the first session that Tess lost both of her parents at a young age; she lost her mother first when Tess was 17, and then her father when she was 24. I felt a twinge of pain as she revealed this; it was only the first session and I already could feel the heaviness, the burden she was carrying, and I felt sad as I listened. She was also married for ten years, from 36 years old until 46 — when her husband, who was having an affair during the last year of their marriage, left her for another woman.

Now 15 years later, she still had not recovered from this. I began to notice through her narrative that she blamed herself for the numerous hardships she endured in her relationships — and this was only the beginning. “Throughout our treatment together, I would hear many heart-wrenching stories from her past”, as well as experience and bear witness to her suffering resulting from some serious and frightening occurrences that happened during our course of therapy.

As I listened, I also wondered about her feelings surrounding the termination with her previous therapist. I found it significant that she didn’t bring this up. In my experience, premature termination most often brings up mixed emotions for our patients: abandonment, anger, betrayal, loss. Why wasn’t Tess bringing this into the room? We were near the close of our session when I realized this — too late to bring it up now — so I made a mental note to inquire about this at our next session.

With only five minutes left, Tess began to inquire about me. How old was I? Was I married? (She did not see a ring and assumed that I was not.) Did I want children? When questions such as these come up at the end of a session, it is always difficult to negotiate how to respond.

Early in My Training

Early in my training, I almost never answered patients’ personal inquiries. I was trained from a classical psychoanalytic perspective. Residing under this particular model of psychotherapy, personal disclosures are looked down upon and are thought to have a negative impact on the evolving of transference — the response of the patient to the therapist, both conscious and unconscious. This level of neutrality never felt quite right to me; it truly felt inauthentic, but I was still in training and didn’t have the confidence yet to feel comfortable following my intuition. My own way of working, which at times involves personal disclosures, evolved slowly over the years.

Though it was not official at the time, I considered Tess my first private practice client, so I wanted to display a sense of confidence and maturity that I believed I should possess. It was more for me than anyone else, really. I had counseled countless patients prior to Tess, so I was confident about my abilities; however, since I was not yet seasoned, I floundered when she riddled me with personal questions. Tess challenged almost every aspect of the delicate balance that I eventually learned was a key factor in using self-disclosure as a therapeutic technique. In psychotherapy, as in life, experience is often the best teacher. Well, Tess, she was akin to a full-time professor.

I felt anxious; I did not know Tess well enough yet to have a real understanding of what these questions, and my choice of whether or not to respond, meant to her. I acknowledged her inquisitiveness and replied with what I hoped embodied an empathetic tone, “We can talk about these questions at our next session.” What an unoriginal answer. I quickly berated myself, but I really needed to understand her better before I could make a decision about how to handle these quite personal inquiries. By the time she left the session, I was exhausted. I also felt the urge to cry. I really needed to think about what was going on for me; these feelings obviously communicated something quite essential about our dyad.

I would find out soon enough.

A few nights later I had the most unnerving dream. I arrived at an important psychoanalytic conference, preparing to present on self-disclosure in the treatment setting. I walked in, my flowing mint-green dress billowing with each step. My most favorite frock. I felt confident. All eyes were on me. The dress had done its job.

And then my gaze swept across the room. The crowd milled about clad in black (mostly suits), their formal outfits a stark contrast to my lustrous gown! Sudden discomfort settled in. My skin burned from embarrassment.

I woke up drenched in sweat. Even in the dream, I remember thinking, “What a curious dream.” And despite its obvious disconnect from reality, I couldn’t shake the residual uneasy feeling. Quelling all the thoughts spinning around in my mind — I know this dream, there is something so familiar about it — I attempted to set aside my strong desire to self-analyze, and instead prepared to leave for my office with a lucid mind.

Flowing Mint Green Dress

While still trying to distract myself from ruminating about the meaning of my dream, I ruffled through my closet deciding what to wear. And there it hung: my flowing mint green dress. I shuffled past it, searching for the right outfit for Tess — For Tess? Why for Tess? — but my eyes repeatedly returned to the green dress. What an odd juxtaposition. I usually wear my most professional clothes when seeing a new patient (partly to set them at ease, partly to establish professional boundaries), yet here I stand, still trying to divert my attention away from the green dress that hung in my closet before me, hindering my ability to avoid the dream and to find some “appropriate” clothes to wear. My experience that morning, after only one meeting with Tess, already began to mirror the difficult relational dynamic that would infiltrate our journey together.

Tess came to our second session flawlessly dressed and made up. Again, images of my flowing mint-green dress distracted me. However, this time I associated thoughts of the dress to the feeling I had when observing Tess’s attire; she looked lovely, but over-dressed for a therapy session. This time I observed her posture and cadence as she walked in. It was incongruent with her impeccable makeup and high fashion. She walked with her head down and back slouched, a remarkable difference from her model-like stature of the previous session. I associated her demeanor with someone who was just beaten up.

She slumped into the chair.

“I’m boring, right? I have nothing in my life except my dog.” She frowned and averted her eyes.

“Boring?” On the contrary, you’re absolutely fascinating. “It actually seems that you have quite a bit to talk about. Where is this feeling coming from?” It was then that she began to tell me about what I eventually dubbed “Her Fall from Glory.”

Tess had been a well-recognized author and editor; she and her former husband actually met while she was working as an editor of a reputable magazine. She also published a book about her personal experience battling and overcoming breast cancer when she was 49 years old. Before her breast cancer, which eventually led to her losing her breast (she made sure to add that she had an implant), she had many friends, an exciting social life and a loving partner who stood by her through her year-and-a-half ordeal.

““I was beautiful, so beautiful; I had many men. Many.” Her pain permeated every word.” “Now men don’t even look at me when I walk down the street.” She sighed, heavy and long. “See? I have nothing.”

Now this is a telling statement!

“Nothing.” She repeated, overly enunciating it, drawing out, then punctuating, each syllable — each sound — with the kind of attention to detail one might find in a pillow embroidery.

My mind raced with all the different paths of inquiry she left open for me to explore, but the amount of information she generously offered so overwhelmed me that the session ended before I realized it, leaving me no opportunity to explore any of her story or encourage her to elaborate. I did want to give her something to leave with. This is vital to the therapeutic process — giving the patient a part of you by acknowledging what they have shared and offering some empathetic insight.

“You’re a fascinating woman, Tess, and I have so many questions for you.” I noticed her curious expression. “You’ve been through so many hardships.”

“Interesting? Really?” Her remark took a sad turn. “But I have nothing now, Jacqueline. You’re young. Don’t wind up like me.” Is that a little envy in her tone? Or was it hostility? And she just glossed over my comment about her hardships? She gathered her belongings, moving with slow sadness, and left looking even more broken-down than she did when she came in. Again, I felt like crying. And again, I forgot to ask about her experience terminating with the previous therapist.

Tess began therapy with me on a twice-weekly basis. I typically prefer to understand a patient’s internal dynamics and interpersonal style before increasing the frequency beyond once per week. What one might think would be helpful for a patient — added stability, consistency and containment — may be too much for them in the early stages of the treatment. But since Tess was seeing her previous therapist twice a week during their second year of treatment, we collaboratively decided to keep this therapeutic frame. As I thought about Tess after our second meeting, I sensed that twice-weekly sessions were ideal for her, but I did wonder if it might become a bit overwhelming for me.

The content of her narrative — losing her parents at a young age, cancer, divorce — as well as the feelings being evoked while sitting with her, already felt overpowering. “During the first month of treatment with Tess, she spoke endlessly about her “Fall from Glory.”” I sensed that she felt shame about where she was in her life now; in order to sit with me and expose her current situation; she desperately needed and wanted me to know who she was prior to her “fall.” I would later understand that this “fall” happened as a result of losing her breast, coupled with her almost complete emphasis on her outward appearance as defining her. For Tess, I came to understand relatively early in our treatment, outward appearance was all she believed she had to offer; it was who she was. This was at the core of all her issues and eventually established a quite frustrating dynamic between us.

Having conceptualized her dynamics early on, I decided that my therapeutic position should be to listen attentively to who she was prior to her breast cancer. I believed it would help her feel less shame when, in later sessions, I would be encouraging her to focus on where her life was in the present. Through this active listening, I gathered a lot of background information; although I did notice that when I tried to explore her early childhood experiences, particularly her relationships with her parents, Tess met me with harsh resistance. Okay, so I guess this is important. Though I made a mental note, I didn’t push her; this was obviously an area of great devastation for Tess. We would get to this material at some point, but definitely not yet. She had other, more pertinent, news to share with me.

“Everyone cheats.” This came out of her mouth with the nonchalance of someone placing a dinner order. She wasn’t making an observation solely about the men in her life because “everyone” included Tess. During her ten-year marriage, she confessed to multiple liaisons with other men. For some reason — likely having to do with my sense that she thrived on external validation of her desirability and worthiness from men — this information didn’t surprise me in the least; but it piqued my curiosity.

“Tell me more about this?” And she did. She went on to describe the many sexual partners she had through her twenties and thirties. In fact, all her friends had extra-marital affairs and, she reiterated, cheating was merely a part of marriage. I experienced a visceral reaction as she provided this information. How strange to hear those words come from this 61 year old woman sitting across from me.

“I pondered why I felt strange learning about Tess’s clandestine liaisons.” I don’t get it. I’ve heard countless stories like hers, especially from all those sex workers I’ve counseled who have repeatedly described having sex without any emotional connection. I guess this Tess, the Tess-Post-Fall-From-Glory, is not the same woman who enjoyed those extra-marital affairs. This Tess is depressed and broken. I found it difficult to imagine her with the sexual prowess she described, of being a woman who ostensibly detached emotion from many of her sexual experiences and enjoyed sex for the pure physical pleasure it offered. It was clear that she did; that is, before she came to see her body as deformed.

One of the men she had an affair with, Barry, was the man she eventually developed an ongoing and quite serious relationship with after her divorce. She described Barry as “the love of her life” and the man who stuck by her during her fight against her breast cancer. He eventually left her for another woman once her battle with cancer was over and she was healthy again. When Barry informed her a few months later that he was married to this other woman, Tess described feeling abandoned and devastated. This, too, added to her “Fall from Glory.” Tess was 51 when this relationship ended.

“I haven’t been with another man since.” Tess broke eye contact with me. She focused on the floor and kept her gaze there.

Interesting. Men make up such an integral part of her life. She thrives on their attention and affections. That’s a long time to keep yourself alone.

The Healer that is Hurting

Life’s a beach, or so I’m told. Paradoxically, death may draw many apt analogies from this image.

This summer, my work was humming along to the tune of vibrant pulsing music, much like a beloved beach getaway. My client load, lightened by family vacations, left breezy spaces in my schedule for unpacking course development and writing projects that had been tucked away for a while and for unfolding new ideas I had been eager to examine in the full light of day.

The sun shone brightly down as I played with the projects like beach volleyballs in the ocean, keeping each in the air with my respective co-teachers and co-authors until they skidded across the water before me with large splashes of inspiration, ready to be passed, set, and attacked in turn with greater intention.

And then, I woke up one morning this week to an email informing me that a buddy of mine who has been battling brain cancer for more than a year is now in end-of-life care. In cruel and rapid succession, thirty minutes later, I learned by telephone that my mother-in-law died peacefully in her sleep the night before, after her own two-year fight against cancer. Despite the battles my loved ones had been fighting, the news of these events was both sudden and unexpected, like going for that ball in the water and falling off the sandbar that I didn’t even know I was on into the depths of the ocean, scrambling to find solid footing again.

Anticipatory grief was launched from the American side, where my buddy is from, and was amplified by the full force of the shipwreck of my mother-in-law’s passing on the Swiss side, where I now live. It has been two and a half years since my last family loss, my maternal grandfather, my last grandparent. I remember that it hurt to lose him – an enormous, ocean-sized bucket full – but I had forgotten how ravaging grief feels in the moment it is felt. Until now.

Grief is often described as coming in waves. I had forgotten how bone crushing and soul squelching the break of those tsunami-sized waves feels until I received news of these recent events. Gasping. Sobbing. Roaring. Crashing. Crushing. Overtaking. Undertowing.

The former lifeguard in me recognized the drowning person’s combat, wordless and writhing under the weight of the wave of grief, struggling to keep her head above water, breathing in fits and spurts. Time is different in that space and place, seemingly at a standstill in the struggle to get to the surface, to figure out which way is up again. Until grief, finally deciding to subside… leaves the body limp and devoid of form or feeling, like seaweed tossed upon the shore both as an afterthought and as a reminder of the power of the wave that has (temporarily) receded.

I am still on this sober beach, lying on the sand in the ebb of the tide in the interim between my mother-in-law’s death and burial, her demise and our ceremonial remembrance of her. I am experiencing the void of losing her and the unbearable anticipation of the loss that I know is still coming – the next hard wave that will hit when I want to pick up the phone after work to pass the commute home in her company – only to realize that I will never be able to do that again. I am also in anguish about what I cannot see coming – how I will react to the funeral rites I will experience for the first time as a family member in Switzerland. I have attended funerals here before, but not for someone within my family.

Despite my full integration into this Swiss society I’ve called home for over a decade, the subtle differences in rites and rituals here contrast from those of my home Appalachian culture and signal my otherness, and aloneness, to me. Certain differences in the timing of things and in how the ceremony is performed are culturally and painfully dreadful to me, like skidding against hard rocks at the bottom of a crashing wave without choice or conceivable resistance to the process.

Thus, documenting my feelings, resonances, and imaged analogies while I am still in the throes of fresh grief will serve to remind me, the healer that is hurting, that it is important to let people feel what they feel, to ask them to describe their resonances in whichever directions their sensations take them, to explore what grief and loss mean to them and how it is expressed in their culture(s), and to bear witness to their pain and struggle without trying to fix what is ultimately unfixable.

I will sit with my pain and accept it as the old acquaintance it is, letting it accompany me on this voyage to the beach and home again in the full consciousness that the length of this journey is unknown and impressible. I will also bear in mind that, at some point, I will not remember it as vividly as I feel it in this moment, and I will try to take some small comfort in that. I will eventually be able to feel the warmth of the sun again, despite its continued shining. And, when I sit as a counselor with grieving families, I will not soon forget – and will never minimize – the impact of the roaring waves of grief that cover them until their seas eventually calm again, even if just temporarily.

A Barbie in Paris

Barbie girls do not visit my therapy room that often.

This one was from a Fashionista kind – perfectly blond and dressed up for a lunch in town with her equally well-groomed girlfriends on stilettos.

This is the unkind thought that crossed my mind as I opened the door and greeted her. I felt bad; a spark of shame made me smile a bit more broadly to her than I would usually do. How could I reduce this person to a soulless doll? Nadia (no, she was not called Barbie) was probably suffering – otherwise why would she be here?

She was a Russian-American living in Paris. Her parents had immigrated to Texas when she was eleven; and this is where she had grown up – she stressed at the very beginning of our session. She felt American and preferred to speak English with me, if I did not mind. I did not.
Her English was perfect indeed, with a subtle Southern twist.

Ignorant of my inner thoughts about her, she sat down, crossed her long legs and kicked off:

– I hate everything here.

This was a rather unusual beginning. My American clients are typically fascinated about Paris, though, sometimes, this initial idealization turns into disillusionment or frustration about the French administration or widespread snobbiness.

– Everything?
– Yes, I hate French people, I hate French food…
– Is there anything you might like about Paris?
– Nope.


She sounded certain; the frozen frown on her perfect face confirmed this commitment to disgust. I believed her feeling. She looked fed up with trying to fit into a place she did not belong to.

The only reason Nadia was still living in France was her French boyfriend.

At first she had found the idea of following this Frenchman to Paris rather appealing. Her Texan girlfriends were finding it exciting, they could not hide their envy. This sat well with her – she was into fashion, and Paris was the place. She could picture herself working for one of the luxury brands, wearing a Chanel jacket and some fine jewelry…

Who was this man? How did he connect with her? What did he appreciate in her apart from her looks?
I did not get much out of her: he was rational, well-organized and made good money.

Is it ever possible to love someone and completely dislike the culture this person belongs to? Having loved France and a French man for twenty years, I naturally doubted that, but Nadia’s story was different: they had met in her step-motherland, the US, and her knowledge about France was limited to Hollywood movies and her mother’s dream to visit Paris, an impossible fantasy during Soviet times.

But Nadia was not interested in philosophical questions. She made it clear – she just wanted me to tell her that “her feeling was normal” and would pass with time: should she stay and give France another chance, or return home? She was desperately homesick.

Was this place rejecting her? Probably. This had been my first reaction after all – Paris is not to welcoming Barbie girls – its well-known lights can be disappointing and lack the promised glamour. My own Frenchness, acquired through hard work, had rejected the way she was exhibiting herself.

She stubbornly rebuked my attempts to enquire into her relationship with her original home, Russia. She did not have much recollection from her first years of life there, and had never given it much thought. She insisted on being happily American. Could it be that her current exposure to another strong culture was threatening her American identity?

Working on this is possible in long-term therapy and can be painful at times. I suggested that, as long as she was ready to commit.
Nadia was resisting taking any responsibility for the flaws in her relationship with France, she just could not do anything else than hating the country, the people, or the food here.

After going in circles for an hour, we did not manage to move an inch beyond this initial point. I sat there in front of her, moving closer to the realization that I could not help her without her cooperation.

When I finally closed the door behind her, I felt exhausted and relieved. My guess was that she would not be coming back. I felt used by her, and as result mildly ashamed.

Shame is a tricky but always informative feeling.
What was it about? Maybe this shame was something Nadia was experiencing deep down under her tight red top, under her perfectly tanned skin?

Reflecting on our session, based on the very little she had shared with me about her past, I could imagine the young Russian girl brought by her parents to a new and probably alienating place. She had mentioned that the first year had been hard – children at school mocking her for her wrong clothes and wobbly English. But she was a tough kid, and soon enough she had joined the group of the ‘popular girls’. This had come with a cost – losing weight and learning how to play totally new and strange sports among other things …

Thinking about this teenager dealing with her new immigrant condition that she had not chosen, I could finally feel some compassion.
Here in Paris, the adult Nadia was certainly feeling as inadequate as the younger Nadia during her first years in America. The fact that this time she was the one making the choice to move did not make it any easier.

My intuition was proven right – Nadia never came back, neither did she follow up on our unique encounter. This happens rarely, and every time it does I am left with more uneasy questions than answers. Did I fail her somehow? Should I have done something differently or was I simply not the right therapist for her?
Even now as I am writing about Nadia, I feel an uneasy feeling, a mild embarrassment about failing to connect with her, to feel for her more in the moment. Had I been able to connect with the young Russian girl, ridden by the feeling of being too different from other truly American kids, would it have gone any differently? Perhaps her Barbie-like façade was the only way she had found at the time to fit in, to belong. How desperate she would have been to fit in to adapt her own personality to this caricature of a perfectly American girl. Had she played with foreign-looking Barbie dolls as a little girl back in her native Russia?

Most probably I will never find answers to these questions, and as any other therapist, I had to learn how to deal with such frustrations and uncertainties – they are part of my job.

I hope that one day Nadia is safe enough to get in touch with her shame about her imperfect origins. After all, she chose to contact me – a Russian become French, rather than one of the many American psychotherapists in Paris. Maybe a well-hidden part of her wanted to connect with her ‘shameful’ roots; but for now this part was too small and too insecure. I had to accept that and hope that in the future she will give therapy another chance…
 

What Do a Mango Tree and Child Therapy Have in Common?

I am from Brooklyn. While a tree might have grown there for someone else, it certainly did not do so for me. A few shrubs here and there, some weeds poking up in the cement cracks perhaps, but nothing more verdant than that. I was thrilled, upon moving to my current home in Florida to have a mango tree on my property.

Everything I ever needed to know about therapy I’ve learned from that mango tree…but more about that in a bit. Each year like clockwork, the tree blooms, fruits, sheds and ultimately yields. And each year like clockwork, I worry that for a variety of reasons, it will not actualize its mission. And each harvest season, I must remind myself that this magnificent living thing has its own rhythm, its own wisdom and needs me there simply as a witness, unassuming caretaker and gentle guide.

In similar cyclical fashion, right around this time for the last two years, I received a call from Jamie’s parents. “Hi Larry”, says Tom, Jamie’s dad, “Jamie just finished 4th grade and asked to see you; he misses you.” Tom went on to describe how his creative, playful and precociously intelligent and self-aware child had flourished and evolved despite the challenging climate of public school. Now, a rising fifth-grader, Jamie was again expressing anxiety over leaving the familiar landscape of fourth grade.

I first met Jamie when a mere sprig of a second-grader, who at the time was nervous at home and at school, fearful of making mistakes, prone to clashes with his parents and the occasional classmate as well as very sensitive to criticism. Our therapeutic play was at his pleasure, not my design, as I believed a client-centered approach best fit his growing needs. I trusted that through his drawing, role-plays, arts-and-crafting as well as popular culture-based story telling that he would play out exactly what he needed to express; and that my non-directive feedback would provide whatever additional insight he might have needed.

It was now two and-a-half years later, and there stood Jamie in the middle of my therapeutic playroom, surveying all the possibilities before him. Without flinching, he quickly went to work; reminding the bobo doll who was boss, animating a group of hand puppets in lively conversation about fears, worries and confidence, and finally turning to me saying “I’m done, let’s go talk to my parents about why they brought me here.”

And so it was! This little mango tree named Jamie told me exactly what he wanted and needed, reminding me of my role and its limitations while imparting a simple lesson that applies to mango trees and child therapy alike. Trust in their wisdom, potential to grow and ability to tell you exactly what they need. The measure of the bounty will be its own reward.  

Allen Frances on the DSM-5, Mental Illness and Humane Treatment

Where DSM-5 Went Wrong

Lawrence Rubin: I first became familiar with your work around five years ago when I was teaching abnormal psychology. So, I’ll start off by saying that you’ve had a very interesting professional evolution. You were involved in the preparation of the DSM-III series, chaired the DSM-IV task force, but then became a strident critic of its successor, the DSM-5. Were you as critical of the DSM-III and IV, as you were of 5?
Allen Frances, MD: Well, I worked on the DSM-III, and I was one of the conservative voices trying to restrict the enthusiasm for expanding diagnoses beyond what I thought would be reasonable. I did my best, mostly unsuccessfully to provide the check on what seemed to me to be an ever-expanding diagnostic system. For DSM-IV, we established very high thresholds for making changes. And it turned out that we included only two diagnoses from the 94 that had been submitted to us as suggestions. We told the people working on DSM-IV that they would have to prove with very careful literature, if you used data reanalysis in the field trials, that any change would do more harm than good. And when you have high standards, very few new innovations get included.So, my concern about DSM-5 was that the experts doing it were given just the opposite instructions; to take the diagnostic system more as a blank slate and to be creative.

And if I’ve learned anything during these 40 years I’ve worked on DSM’s, it’s that if anything can be misused, it will be misused, especially if there’s a financial incentive.

And pharma, the big drug companies, have a tremendous financial incentive in making sure that every DSM decision is misused by expansion, so that people who are basically checked well are treated as if they’re sick. They become the best customers for pills. And drug companies have become experts in selling the ill to peddle the pill. So, I was very concerned the DSM-5 would have the negative effect of opening the floodgates even further to what seems to me to be fairly wild diagnosing, excessive use of medication, especially in kids, but also in adults and geriatric populations.

LR: So get as many new diagnoses out there as we can; make money, comport with the drug companies.
AF: I think that’s a misunderstanding. The people doing this were not doing this as an effort to curry favor among the drug companies, although many of them had some connection, a financial connection with pharma. I don’t think that that’s the motivation that lead to the DSM-5 expansions. I think intellectual conflicts of interest are much more important, and much more difficult to control than financial. And the experts in the field are always in the direction of expanding their pet diagnosis. They can always imagine a patient they’ve seen, who couldn’t fit into the existing criteria, and they worried very little about false positives.They were much more concerned about missing a patient, than mislabeling someone who shouldn’t be diagnosed. I think the people working on DSM-5 were honest. I don’t think that they had any inclination to help the drug companies, but their own experiences as experts in the field don’t generalize well to average practice.So, if you’re working as a research psychiatrist on a very exotic condition at a university clinic seeing highly selected patients, having lots of time with every patient, using careful diagnostic instruments, you get an idea about what might make sense. That’s completely inappropriate for primary care practice, where most of the diagnosis is done, and most of the medication is prescribed. I think experts were making decisions that might be reasonable in their own hands, but that would be absolutely dreadful once used widely in general practice.

LR: So, just a seeming disconnect between the researchers in these rarefied atmospheres and those frontline folks seeing people day to day!
AF: Exactly. And I think that this goes for all manifestations; what we see in psychiatry is not at all special to it. That every single branch of medicine has an inherent systematic bias towards overdiagnosis. Recently, the new guidelines on hypertension resulted in something like 40 million additional people being called hypertensive.Guidelines should not be left in the hands of professional associations. They should be done by people who are neutral. And use experts, but don’t allow them to call the final shots

A Diagnosis Should be Written in Pencil

LR: Have you seen any discernible impact of your anti DSM-5 sentiments in the last five years since its publication? Has the field shifted back to listening to some of the concerns that you and others have had in terms of overdiagnosis and lowering thresholds?
AF: Yeah. And again, it’s not just psychiatry. This has been a problem in every single medical and surgical specialty. And there is an increasing chorus of Davids fighting the huge Goliaths. The huge Goliaths in this case are the drug companies and the professional specialty organizations who have vested interest. The medical industrial complex is now a $3 trillion-dollar industry. And it is most profitable when people who are basically well, feel sick, and get treatments they don’t need. And so, its tremendous budgets are expanded by the demand of all medicine in the direction of increasing patienthood and recommending ever more expensive treatments.The Davids fighting this are just a small group of people with very limited budgets, but sometimes right does make for might. And the medical journals in general have become much more aware of overdiagnosis. I’ll be at two meetings this summer, one in Helsinki, and one in Copenhagen, both focused not just on psychiatry, but across medicine and surgery on the topic of overdiagnosis. There’s an institute called the Lown Institute that’s working very hard to promote right care rather than excessive care. And there’s a wonderful initiative called Choosing Wisely, in which the various medical specialties are identifying those areas, where there’s excessive diagnoses and treatment.And I think in psychiatry and psychology, there’s been an increased realization that there are risks to diagnoses as well as benefits. And seeing any individual patient, it’s very important to adapt the general guidelines to that person’s specific situation, and to ensure that a diagnosis will be more helpful than harmful. It’s the easiest thing in the world to give a diagnosis. It only takes a few mindless minutes, and very often diagnoses are given precisely that way. Eighty percent of medication is dispensed in primary care practice, often after visits of less than ten minutes. A diagnosis once given, can have terrible consequences that haunt and last a lifetime.

And so, from my perspective, a diagnosis should be a very particular moment in a patient’s life. It should be, when done well, a very important positive moment.

A good diagnosis leads to feeling understood, to no longer having a sense of confusion and uncertainty about the future.  It helps the patient develop, with the doctor or the psychologist a treatment plan that may have a tremendous positive influence on their future. An inaccurate diagnosis carries unnecessary stigma and the likelihood of medication that will do more harm than good. And again, that haunting inability to ever get it erased. Because things evolve over time and people change from week to week, people usually come for help at their worst moment, and how they look at that moment may not be characteristic of their past or predictive of their future. I think it’s crucially important to take diagnosis seriously. A great way of putting this is a diagnosis should be written in pencil.

LR: I like that.
AF: Especially in kids.

On the Diagnosis of Children

LR: It seems that what you’re saying is that there’s this overt and covert attempt to enfeeble consumers. And you’ve written a lot online recently and seem really upset about what’s going on with children. Research seems to say that one in five are diagnosable, and one in 68 is on the autism spectrum. And you talked about stigma lasting a lifetime. Do you see that this is particularly the case when we hand out diagnoses to kids at very tender ages?
AF: First of all, never believe survey results that say one in X number of kids has the diagnosis. There’s an enormous systematic bias in all epidemiological studies. These are usually done by telephone, or by self-report, and they can never judge clinical significance. So, they’re only screeners that would at best provide an upper limit on the regular diagnosis, never a true rate but they’re not reported that way. And once it gets out, you know, it used to be that 1 in 2,000 or fewer kids had a diagnosis of autism. We changed that. One of the changes in DSM-IV was adding Asperger’s, which did dramatically increase the rate. But we expected the rate to increase by three times, not to go from 1 in 2,000 to 1 in 50, which has happened over the period of these last 20 years.And I think that some of that is identification of people who previously didn’t get the diagnosis and needed it, but a lot of it has to do with wild generalist diagnoses, and survey methods that are very misleading. I think that kids are very changeable, from week to week, and month to month. There are changes in development that are responsive to family stress and school stress, peer pressure. And what happens instead is we have wild overdiagnosis in attention deficit disorder and autism and this is done in a way that doesn’t respect the fact that these are young brains.We don’t know the impact of long term medication on the developing brain. It’s like a public health experiment that’s being done without informed consent. And all the indications for ADHD is that the beneficial results are short term. That academic performance over the long term is not positively impacted. That we should be a lot more cautious, both in diagnosis and in treatment, especially with young kids where diagnosis is so difficult, and where treatment may have negative as well as positive impacts. The most dramatic example of this is attention deficit disorder. There are five studies in different countries with millions of patients – not millions of patients, but millions of kids –and these have found that the best predictor of getting a diagnosis of ADHD and being treated for it with medication is whether you’re the youngest kid in the class. The youngest in the class is almost twice as likely to be diagnosed and treated than the oldest kid, which is clear cut proof positive, slam-bang evidence of overdiagnosis. Their immaturity is being turned into a disease, and kids are being treated with medication for basically just their immaturity. And the fact that the classrooms they’re in are too chaotic, and don’t have enough gym time, and don’t have enough individual attention.

LR: A woman wrote a chapter for one of my books, Mental Illness in Popular Media, on the use of adenoidectomies and tonsillectomies in the early part of the 20th century to deal with the seeming epidemic of kids who would today be diagnosed with ADHD. There seems to be this history of medicalization of childhood that you’re alluding to, and this perverse need we seem to have to enfeeble kids. And if anything, it seems that it will keep them more dependent, less productive, and less competent than ever before-an unintended side effect.
AF: I was one of the kids, who might have gotten the tonsillectomy.
LR: Me too.
AF: I remember that well. My father said “no, we’re not going to do that,” but the doctor recommended it, and all the kids on the block had gotten tonsillectomies. Medical diagnosis and treatment tends to run in fads. Over the course of history, there have been diagnoses and treatments that have sudden runs of popularity that now seem absurd. And some of our practices today will seem very troubling when looked at in the coming decades.
LR: Do you see Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder (DMDD) as being part of this fad bandwagon? And even though it’s got this fancy name, it’s still considered child bipolar disorder, and that’s really damming.
AF: What happened here was really nuts. There had been suggestions by psychiatrists heavily funded by the drug industry to include the child version of bipolar disorder in DSM-IV. And we rejected those suggestions, fearing that it would lead to a tremendous overdiagnosis of bipolar disorder in kids. Despite our rejection, the diagnosis suddenly became popular, partly because the drug companies finance these guys to go around the country giving conferences and partly because child psychiatrists can sometimes be very gullible. And very young children, even infants were getting antipsychotics for a fake bipolar disorder diagnosed in the early years of life. The field of child psychiatry became concerned about this and wanted to correct it, but the fix in DSM-5 was exactly wrongheaded. What should have been done is a black box, a warning in DSM-5 about the overdiagnosis of childhood bipolar disorder. And the caution that the kids should be seen carefully and over long periods of time, and that they should meet criteria before a diagnosis of bipolar was made.
LR: A black box warning?
AF: There should have been a warning about the dangerous fad. Instead, they substituted a new diagnosis that essentially is childhood temper tantrums, hoping the kids who previously had been mislabeled bipolar would get this lesser diagnosis instead, lesser because it wouldn’t imply the need for mood disorder medications that would imply a lifelong course. But why substitute a new diagnosis for temper tantrums that can be so easily misused.The system tends to accrete, rather than to sunset diagnoses. It tends to always be adding new things, rather than warning about, or eliminating things that are already in the system that may be dangerous. So, parents have to be very well-informed about their kids.

LR: And they’re not.
AF: And the concern often is, if I don’t get my kid a diagnosis, say of ADHD and medication, he’ll be behind in school. I think parents have to have the opposite concern, as well that the medications are being given out way too loosely, and they need to protect their kids from medication that may not be needed.That said, I get more criticism, from people who feel I defend medication too much. I’m absolutely convinced that medication is useful, when given carefully to the few. That it becomes harmful only when it’s handed out carelessly to the many. And the people who go in either direction, either blindly supporting the use of medication, or blindly opposing it, I think of both as extremist, and they do harm to the real needs of the people. But there will be, and are, a large number of people who need medication and can’t get it, either because of inadequate resources or problems with financing treatment. And we have to worry about the people who are neglected very much. At the same time, we have to be mindful of the fact that we have the paradox of over-treating people, who are basically well, while we’re neglecting those who are really in need and desperately unable to get the treatment that would be helpful for them.
LR: You wrote a blog post titled, “Please empathize with me, doctor!” And from what you’re describing Allen, it seems that we are struggling with a societal empathy deficit disorder. There seems to be a preference for scientizing our relationship with kids and with our patients at the expense of understanding, at the expense of taking the requisite time. And at the really painful expense of not empathizing with these people, who are just going to be tossed into the system with labels and scripts. Empathy deficit disorder, maybe it will be in DSM-VI, or DSM-2.0.
AF: We could use it for our president.
LR: We’ll save that for later.
AF: Actually, the issue goes all the way back to Hippocrates, the father of medicine 2,500 years ago.

But First, Do No Harm

LR: Do no harm.
AF: Do no harm. He also said that it’s more important to know the patient who has the disease, than the disease the patient has. I don’t trust clinicians who only do DSM check lists. They don’t know the patient. I don’t trust clinicians who don’t know DSM and do free-floating evaluations that don’t take into account the ways that the individual may have a problem that’s been well described and has a set of guidelines that will be very helpful. I think that every clinical encounter needs to be a combination of close person-to-person collaboration, that the DSM guideline should never be applied blindly to each individual because they vary within themselves. It has to be customized for that particular person’s own situation. At the same time, not knowing the DSM diagnoses is likely to result in missing things that would be crucially important in treatment planning.
LR: False negatives.
AF: Good interviewers are people who are able to form great relationships with their patients, work collaboratively in understanding the diagnosis and planning a treatment and able to use the DSM without worshiping it.
LR: It seems that what’s needed, as you say is more time, a deeper understanding and a reluctance to jump into a diagnosis. This seems antithetical to the way that psychiatry and even psychology are practiced today. And clinicians are under more and more pressure to assign a rapid diagnosis and develop a treatment plan within the first session or two. What advice do you have for clinicians who are under this type of pressure, and may not have the luxury of flexibility and time that we know is necessary?
AF: Well, first-off, the system is crazy. Insurance companies do this because they think it will restrict costs, but it has the perverse effect of forcing people to make premature decisions that often will result in more costly treatment. Giving a person a medication is likely to create a commitment to see that patient over a long period of time. Diagnosis can increase the lifelong cost of taking care of that person. If the insurance companies gave more time for evaluation, many, many of the problems that get a diagnosis and long-term treatment would pretty much go away on their own with time and simple advice.The system is counterproductive; the more time we spend upfront with people in the evaluation process, before diagnosis and before treatment, the fewer diagnoses will be necessary, the less lifetime treatment will be needed. And it will actually be much more cost effective to give people time to get to know the situation at the beginning. I think for practitioners, it’s important always to underdiagnose. That it’s crucial to first of all rule out the possible role of medication and symptoms. You know, very often, hundreds and hundreds of times in my career, new symptoms have been due to medication.
LR: Iatrogenic?
AF: The average person over 60 to 65 is taking five, six, seven pills. Recent studies showed how many of them have depression and anxiety as side effects. And the older people particularly are less able to clear medications. So, you have a combination of a bunch of medications that can cause side effects, and a person not being able to clear those medications. And new symptoms are often treated with yet another medication, rather than realizing it’s a side effect. I think that it’s important to rule out medications. It’s important to rule out substances. It’s important to rule out medical problems. That has to be done during the first sessions. I think that’s crucial. But beyond that, I think it’s important not to jump to lifelong diagnoses based on very limited information. And to tend, at the beginning at least, to normalize, rather than to pathologize the situation.We see people on the worst days of their lives and tend to draw conclusions about them. And their futures are often inaccurate. They look very different days and weeks later.

Mind, Body or Both

LR: How can the average psychotherapist develop a healthier relationship with the biopsychosocial model? I know you said, you have to look for substance abuse. You have to look at the iatrogenic effects of medication. You have to look at the psychotropics that they’re on. So, how does the average psychotherapist, who is not particularly savvy when it comes to psychotropics, really have a full biopsychosocial understanding of these complex organisms that are people?
AF: I think one of the great losses over time has been the biopsychosocial model, particularly because of the mindless warring between people who have narrow views that are biological, or just psychological, or just social. I think that it’s impossible to understand the complexities of human nature and of how we function and dysfunction without taking into account the biological, the psychological, and the social, and sometimes there’s spiritual issues that people come with. And I think it’s just as important that psychiatrists be good psychotherapists and understand the way that social pressures result in symptoms. And it’s equally important that psychologists understand diagnosis and also the use of medication. Even if you’re not prescribing it, it’s very important to understand when to and when not to use medication. If for no other reason, to make sure the patient’s not getting too much medication, as well as knowing when to refer. I think every clinician needs to be complete. I don’t think that training in one discipline gives permission not to be aware of the tools that are available more widely across disciplines.
LR: Do you think there’s such a thing as a psychosocial reductionism? I know there’s biomedical reductionism. Do you see a danger at the other end of the extreme, of psychosocial reductionism?
AF: Oh, definitely. Psychosocial reductionism, yeah, it’s alive and well, particularly in Britain where there’s an ongoing back and forth. An active segment of British psychologists has taken a pretty radical view that psychosis is on a continuum with normal. That biological elements have been way over-emphasized in schizophrenia. And that most of the problems patients present have to do with childhood trauma. And again, every point of view has value, but no one point of view is necessary and sufficient.
LR: There are many truths. There’s just as much psychosocial reductionism as there is biological reductionism in many of these debates. You know, talking about biomedical and psychosocial reductionism, I remember when, around the time that DSM-5 came out, NIMH really took a stand and said, “Yeah, nice work boys and girls, but we’re going to pretty much move to the RDoC.” A lot of psychotherapists practicing day to day, who don’t work in academia, don’t read a lot of the scholarly journals, don’t have the bloodiest idea of what the Research Domain Criteria is. Do you see that system as useful or valid? Specifically, how useful do you see it in alleviating some of these ills of overdiagnosis and wrongheaded treatment?
AF: Well, the DSM had tremendous promise as a research tool, but it’s failed in that the complexities of brain functioning, of genetics, have been so enormous, the more we learn, the more we realize how little we understand.The brain is the most complicated thing in the known universe. It reveals it secrets very slowly.  And it turns out that there are hundreds of genes involved in schizophrenia and every other psychiatric disorder, not just a few. And all of the neuroscience research has been remarkably productive. One of the great intellectual adventures of our time is the research that’s been done on how the brain works; however it hasn’t helped a single patient!

I think we have to be aware of the fact that there are no low-hanging fruits. That we’re not going to have breakthroughs that will explain schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. That each of these conditions is probably hundreds of thousands of different conditions that share some clinical features, but probably have very different biological underpinnings. And we shouldn’t be so dazzled by the science that we lose track of taking care of real patients in the present. I think there’s so much promise, so many high promises in the future, and our NIMH budget is being spent almost exclusively on basic science research, almost not at all on clinical research, that we’re ignoring the needs of patient today.

To me, it’s a tragedy that we have 350,000 patients in prisons, and 250,000 homeless on the street that we’re taking minimal care of, we’re neglecting people desperately in need. And that most of the research has its head in the air trying to find out things that maybe are going to be helpful to a tiny percentage of patients in the future. Meanwhile, we know how to take care of people now, we’re just not doing it.

We’re not making the investment in community treatment, housing, recovery programs, that would be necessary to eliminate the shame on our country. Almost every other developed country takes much better care of their mentally ill than we do. The U.S. is the worst place in the country to be severely ill. And it’s not a matter of neuroscience or science in general, it’s just the common sense, practical taking care of people and treating them as citizens, not neglecting them. And what we do in this country is provide almost no funding for community treatment and support

LR: It goes back to this idea of empathy deficit disorder. You talk about science, I like the point you make about the RDoC. That it’s a magnificent academic tool, but maybe in the year 2635, we’ll find a gene for some component of bipolar disorder, but how many people are going to struggle and lose their lives before that?
AF: And I don’t think we will find the gene. I think what we’ll find, it’s like breast cancer, we’ll find that there are certain genes predisposed in a very small percentage of the people who have the disorder. And that’s the complexity. There’s a paper that came out that had 250 authors that found 105 genes for schizophrenia, each of them a tiny bit different than normal. And the permutations and combinations of those genes would be astronomical. What that says is that the complexity of these disorders is so great that there will be no simple answers. In the meantime, we shouldn’t be allowing people to not have treatment and not have housing and to wind up in jail. And the resources, the techniques, the ways of preventing this, of making our country less of a shameful outlier in how we treat the mentally ill are perfectly obvious, it’s just a matter of funding and political will. And the severely mentally ill are the most disadvantaged, the most vulnerable population in our country.

It is the Relationship That Heals

LR: I find a bizarre paradox in all this. When I think of psychosocial treatment, I think of the amount of money, time, resources, the human capital, that’s being spent to develop these empirically supported treatments, and ultimately you end up with cognitive behavior therapy at the top of the heap. There seems to be this manic pull in psychology and psychotherapy to develop empirically supported treatments, which many argue take the heart and soul out of the human connection, out of psychotherapy. Do you have any thoughts about this scientific perversion and how it’s affected the field of, and the practice of psychotherapy?
AF: I don’t think it’s so much scientific perversion. I think it’s economic pressures; that every therapy wants to gain a list of insurance companies who will pay for it. And this leads to a kind of competition to prove that your work is validated. I’ve been following this field now for 40 years. I was on the NIMH committee that used to fund psychotherapy projects that no longer exist, of course, because of NIMH’s current focus on the brain. But the overwhelming finding in the literature is that all of – this is a paper that was published 40 years ago by Lester Luborsky – all have run, all have won, and all deserve prizes. That all psychotherapies can be helpful. More of the outcome, of the variance in outcomes is returned by the therapist through a client relationship, than it is by specific techniques. That it’s kind of silly to have a competition amongst therapy techniques because all are necessary.I think to be a therapist, you should be well-versed in every single type of therapy, because patients vary between, and also even within themselves and what they need in a given moment. And it’s not as if one, as if cognitive techniques are inherently better than techniques that focus on psychology or the social situation. Different techniques are going to be different at different moments. And the technique in general is useful only in the context of a relationship that’s nurturing and healing. And the most important thing in the healing of psychotherapy is probably the nature of the relationship, and the need for a personal match between the two people. I think that it’s been an unfortunate – there’s been an unfortunate tendency to develop competitions. Competitions between medications versus psychosocial approaches. Competitions among the various psychotherapy techniques.A really well-rounded clinician has to be good at everything, and especially has to be good at relating to the people that they’re trying to treat.

LR: I have to tell you Allen, it’s refreshing to hear a medical man, a psychiatrist in particular, especially one who is that connected to the history of the DSM know about the Dodo effect, and to really appreciate that. So, you have the average therapist working in the average practice in a community mental health center, maybe even in a homeless shelter, recognizing that the technique is not nearly as important as the relationship. And then they come across a client, who seems psychotic in the moment, or seems to have a history from limited information of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, and their knee-jerk reaction may be “I have to get this person to a psychiatrist. I have to find out what’s medically wrong with them.” What does that average line worker do, knowing in their heart that their relationship is critical, but that they have this biomedical pressure to refer to a psychiatrist, or even a primary care physician?
AF: Well, I think everything is important. You mentioned primary care physicians. People with schizophrenia die 20 years earlier than the rest of the population. And that gulf has increased in recent years and is much higher in the U.S. than it is in other country, because we neglect the people so much. There isn’t one answer.

Taking it to the Streets

There’s not one size fits all. And there isn’t one answer to people who have tremendous problems at every level. I mean, the first thing with a homeless person might be sharing some orange juice. It’s forming a relationship. It’s finding out a way where they can have housing. It’s not as if the answer to our blanket neglect is going to be getting an appointment once a month with the psychiatrist and getting a pill. That may be a necessary part of the plan, but certainly won’t be sufficient.

Los Angeles is now embarking on what may be the most encouraging experiment in taking care of the severely mentally ill that I’ve seen in this country in the least 40 years. It will be an approach that will be actually a combination of getting out to where the people are who need help, figuring out what they want, and helping them get it. You know, maybe the first step is providing showers, and a welcoming environment, and a place to have lunch. And the housing is going to be probably more important than treatment.

If you can’t get someone a decent place to live, the rest of the treatment is going to be very hard to carry out.

We have to figure out a way of getting the patients out of prisons and getting the people on the street into decent places to live. We had all of this until the Reagan Administration in 1980. The community mental health centers and housing were an increasing and exciting part of the care. We led the world in the ‘60s and ‘70s, in trying to devise community treatments. And now we are at the very bottom of the pack, one of the most heartless places in the world. One of the worst places in the world if you’re mentally ill. It’s not going to be a solution that takes into account just one need. It’s going to have to be a kind of total approach that includes the police, the sheriffs, the prisons, the district attorneys, the judges and the politicians. And that’s exactly what’s happening now in Los Angeles, and that may serve hopefully as a model for the rest of the country.

LR: As a psychotherapist, I listen to the inflections and the changing tone in your voice. And there’s such enthusiasm and energy when you talk about all that can be. And there’s a discernible lilt in your voice, almost a down-turning in your overall demeanor when you talk about the way things are.
AF: I think one of the things that’s crucially important to understand is that the symptoms we see in the very ill aren’t necessarily inherent to their condition, but rather maybe a reaction to the social context in which they’re living. The example 60 years ago was we kept people warehoused in terrible snake pit state hospitals. And the observation was that the hospitals were making them sicker, because of the social neglect within in. What’s happening now in the United States is that by neglecting people and leaving them without treatment and without housing on the street, we see much sicker patients here than in other countries that provide better care.So, the paradigm of good care here is Trieste. And I’ve heard over many years, how wonderful the Trieste system was in treating the severely ill, without hospitals, without restraint, and with minimal medication, but not the high doses and multiple medicines that are given in the United States. And I never believed it until I visited. And now I’ve been there three times over the last five years, and it’s an absolute miracle. Trieste takes good care of the people with severe mental illness and treats them like citizens. It has social clubs for them and a career path. The Trieste Mental Health System runs two hotels, five cafes, a car service, and a landscaping business, so that people who start out as patients, wind up working in the system. They have housing. They take good care, and they treat people with respect. And their patients are a lot less sick than ours.They just don’t get to the levels of psychopathology that we see in this country because there’s such neglect along the way. And the message in this is, treating the casualties, the train wrecks, is a lot more expensive and heart breaking than doing the right thing at the right time, earlier in the course before the illness progresses. I think there is a tremendous shame as a civilization that what we’ve done is fail to provide.

Ever since the Reagan Administration, we’ve failed to provide community housing and community treatment, rehab, and recovery. And instead we hospitalize hundreds of thousands of individuals in prison.  We’ve imprisoned hundreds of thousands of individuals, who should be in community programs, and maybe very occasional inpatient stays. We see them on the street every day and I just pass them by. My hope is that Los Angeles will be a beacon that things can be different.

LR: Is the Trieste system similar to L’Arche?
AF: It actually started in the ‘60s, with the closing of the large mental hospitals in Italy. And the system is based on the idea that everyone can be helped, everyone’s a citizen, everyone deserves respect, and that the community funds adequate social programs and treatment programs, and housing programs, and job programs. And they make the assumption that each person can be a useful citizen in the community. And when people get sick, instead of throwing them in a hospital and keeping them there for a long time or throwing them into prison which is what we do, or instead of keeping them on the street, there is tremendous concern for them and individual attention for them in figuring out a way back to health. And it just works. It’s miraculous. And people don’t ever get as sick as the people we see on the streets and in our prisons and our emergency rooms, because they’re treated with respect and care.

Reaganomics and Mental Health Care

LR: What do you think happened back in the Reagan era that directed us away from compassion, and away from potential? What happened?
AF: I mean, it’s very clear, this history couldn’t be more explicit and disheartening. The Kennedy Family, because they had mistreated one of their family members, had a huge personal interest in this themselves. In the ‘60s, there was the first use of medications to help people who were previously hospitalized to live in the community. And there was a bill, the Community Mental Health Center Bill that established all across America, the notion that we could help the individuals better in the community than by warehousing them in state hospitals. The money was meant to come from the state hospitals, so it seemed like and was a tremendously cost-effective transformation that we would close the state hospitals, and instead spend the money on community services and housing. And with the provision the medication people could be managed, creating for them to live much better lives outside of hospitals than within, and it would be cheaper.All of this was working. I worked in places in the ‘60s and early ‘70s that were quite remarkable in helping people find new lives outside the hospital. What Reagan did in the ‘80s was to send block grants, and this should sound familiar because it’s exactly what Trump wants to be doing now. Instead of providing federal support for these programs, Reagan said we’ll take this money and send it back to the states and them let them spend it the way they want to spend it. And what the states did almost uniformly was either use the money to reduce taxes, or use the money for other priorities or general funds. And the community mental health centers were gradually defunded and privatized. And private systems will never take care of the severely ill, because they’re expensive to take care of. So, the community mental health centers that survived, did so by restricting themselves to healthier patients, who had more money and fewer needs.And some went out of business altogether, some switched into behavioral health centers, treating people who were much healthier and neglecting those who were really ill. So, what we did in the ‘80s was destroy what in the ‘60s and ‘70s was the most innovative and one of the most effective [community mental health] systems in the world. The rest of the world continued to care for the mentally ill in a much more humane way, and it gets much, much better results. And the paradox in the states was that with the closing of the community mental health centers, many of the individuals untreated on the street committed petty crimes and sometimes not so petty crimes that resulted in their being in prison. And we’ve had this tremendous increase in the number of prison beds so that the LA County Jail is the biggest psychiatric facility in America. And in many states, the biggest psychiatric facility is now a prison. That the money that should have been spent on community treatment that had been spent on snake pit hospitals is now spent on prisons, and there’s kind of prison industrial complex that keeps that going.

LR: So, it’s a reactionary swing back to the early part of the 20th Century, when criminals and the mentally ill were merged. And a misappropriation of funds.The Republican agenda to decentralize the federal government, combined with various historical, sociological and financial factors, and these poor people were and are just caught in the crosshairs.
AF: Yeah, until the early 1800s, psychiatric patients were criminalized, along with prisoners and the poor in horrible facilities. The father of psychiatry is Pinel. And in the early 1800s, he freed the patients from the chains, treated them like decent human beings and citizens, and got remarkable results. And that led to the state hospital movement which was originally a positive movement…
LR: A community.
AF: Yeah, gave people a place to live and work. And they usually had farms, they had workshops. And it was only if these became overcrowded in the early parts of the 20th Century, that they turned into snake pits and asylums. That led to the deinstitutionalization movement that began in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. And it led to a community mental health center movement that was really quite encouraging and effective in the ‘60s, ‘70s, and early ‘80s. And that was pretty much destroyed from the mid ‘80s on. And at this point, we have very few effective community mental health center initiatives in our country, and we have lots of prisons treating the mentally ill, and the mentally ill on street corners in all the major cities.
LR: A reactionary swing back to the past.
AF: Privatization doesn’t work. I mean, if we’ve learned anything about healthcare, mental healthcare, and healthcare in general, it is that a for-profit system will result in way too much treatment for people who don’t need it, and way too little treatment for the people who do.
LR: So, we need psychotherapists out there as social workers more or less. Maybe more training at the graduate level, at least in psychology and counseling in the direction of community mental health and social advocacy.
AF: In all of the mental health fields, there’s been way too much attention to treating the easy patient and the well-paying patient, and way too little of taking care of the people, who really need our help. And I think that the most wonderful experiences of my life have been the saves of people who seem to be beyond saving. And anyone can treat someone who doesn’t really need treatment.
LR: Right.
AF: We should be trying to focus our attention on those who really need us.

The Twilight of American Sanity

LR: We’re sort of winding down and I wanted to ask about this irrepressible current in you…about the impetus for writing Twilight of American Sanity: A Psychiatrist Analyzes the Age of Trump, and what you think is going on in government and in our society? I see Trump as a symptom rather than the disease, but would you mind talking about what you think is going on, from a psychiatric, psychological point of view?
AF: I started writing the book well before Trump began running for office. I’m concerned for my children and grandchildren, and the future generations more generally, about the fact that our society was delusional in ignoring global warming, overpopulation and resource depletion. And a bunch of other problems that are so obvious and common sense just sliding right by, as if we can hand on to the next generation a world that’s degraded and dangerous. And so that was before Trump. Trump is a mirror to our soul and the reflection ain’t pretty.And he is a symptom, not the cause, but he’s certainly making the disease much worse. I think there has never been a threat to American democracy like this one since 1860. And this election, this midterm election is to me the third most consequential election in the history of our country, the other two being 1860 with Lincoln’s election, and 1932 with Roosevelt. I think that Trump is a direct danger to our democracy. His attack on the free press, on the court systems, on the institutional checks and balances is not a joke. And that at this point, the sides are fixed. I don’t think either side is going to give into the others. And I think the crucial thing will be the vote, getting out the vote. And anyone who cares about this country, and cares about – I think that Trump could be responsible for more deaths in the next century than Hitler or Stalin and Mao combined. I think global warming is an existential threat to our species. And that we don’t know where the tipping point is, but we’re likely approaching it without taking out an insurance policy.People in their individual lives have insurance policies even though they don’t expect to die tomorrow, or have a fire, or an accident, you just protect the future. And we’re tripping over the cliff of global warming without taking an insurance policy for our kids and grandkids, that the world will be livable for them. I feel a sense of despair if our country is not able to right itself. And it was a wonderful thing that we were able to elect a black president ten years ago. It will be a much worse horrible terrifying future if at this point we re-elect the people who have been willing to give Trump such a wide leeway in destroying our country and our world.

LR: Well said. I think that we have a responsibility as therapists, as mental health clinicians to be aware of what’s going on because many of our clients are the day-to-day recipients of some of the changes in policy that are being created. I think psychologist, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, need to be politically aware without becoming politically depressed.
AF: I think it’s important not to be psychologically name-calling Trump. Thinking of Trump as crazy, tremendously underestimates his evil and cunning. We have to fight Trump with political tools, not with psychological tools. I think as therapists, we need to help most of our patients – I think you can’t politicize treatment.And so, a good therapist should be able to treat someone who is a Trumpists and should not try to get into political discussions with their clients and patients. I think as citizens, it’s an important thing for every therapist who cares about the social safety net of our country. The biggest factors with mental illness don’t come from within psychology and psychiatry. The biggest factors of mental illness come from social forces.Inequality or poverty are tremendous drivers of mental illness. I think it’s a responsibility for therapists to be political, not in calling Trump names but rather in getting out the vote. There’s the Kansas thing and getting their friends to register, getting their family members to register. Because I think everything has to do at this point with the numbers of people who show up in November. And I think there may be some therapists who support Trump, it’s hard to imagine, but by and large, most therapists and most people they know will be on the side of trying to protect democracy and protect our environment. And so, I think the most important thing a therapist can do at this point is to help get out the vote.

LR: Do you think mental health treatment and funding for mental health at the community level is in danger, with this and similar administrations?
AF: Oh, yeah, Trump recently, yesterday, there was a news report that what the Republicans are going to try to do to cut Obamacare is to cut out the [mental health] parity elements in plans.
LR: All that work! All that work!
AF: And the Medicaid funding of the original Trumpcare bills was to do block grants, rather than to be supporting mental health, which is exactly what Reagan did.Our patients are being targeted by the irresponsible GOP Congress and by Trump.

LR: We don’t want to end this conversation on a depressing note.
AF: Well, the good news is that things are flexible, and that ten years ago we elected a black president, two years ago we elected a black-hearted president. And the country is fickle, and things are very much in the balance. And it is conceivable to me that we’re heading down the drain to a fascist autocracy. And billions of people dying in global warming in the next century. It’s also conceivable to me that there are fixers, and that this is a temporary worst moment and things have to look better. And really, I think it’s in the hands of who votes in November.

The Relationship is All

LR: I guess this is sort of a summary question – if you were to look back and advise a younger Allen Frances, what advice would you have given him early on his career that might have changed his direction, or are you pretty content the way it’s played out?
AF: It played out mostly by accident, and then it’s just doing your job. I don’t think that there’s – I think, there’s actually one advice to people; it’s listening to the clients/patients you’re working with and learn from them.
LR: They’re our best teachers if we let them.
AF: And be yourself. You can learn everything, but also be yourself.
LR: It’s refreshing, again coming from a psychiatrist, just on a personal note, my brother is a psychiatrist, retiring at the end of this month after 40 years. He’s cleaning up his slate of 350 patients. And I wonder what it will be like for him as he looks back on his career. How many did he help, and which ones stand out. Do you have any one particular client story that inspires you?
AF: I think this is the most telling thing, and this might be helpful to people. That I’ve treated people for 14 years and had no impact on their lives. I’ve worked in emergency rooms my whole career. And I’ve seen people for five minutes and they’d come back years later and said, you said that and it changed my life. You never know when what you say may have a tremendous impact on someone. And so, every contact with every person you see, at every moment, you should be thinking about what can I say that may make a difference. And if you treat people as humans, then every moment can be potentially impactful, not every pill, not every symptom, not every diagnosis. I guess the core message in our conversation has been that you really have to focus on the person.I mean, the two words that have had the most impact on people that I remember over the years is “do it,” because people would come in concerned, should I do this, or should I do that? I just say “do it.” And somehow at that moment it crystallized their energy and their motivation to do something that they wanted to do. We shouldn’t be shy in trying to figure out what it is that might help someone do something they couldn’t do.The relationship is all.

Burning Out After Jumping In: Reflections From the F

Some days, I question why I became a social worker. Other days, I wonder why I chose to work at an inpatient psychiatric facility for the past two years of my life. Coincidentally, these last two years were my first years in the field post graduate school. The reason I find myself working at an inpatient facility is a much less dynamic mystery—I was hired straight out of grad school by the hospital I did my first-year internship with. I remember it vividly. I was nearing graduation with a mountain of student loan debt, armed with an Ivy League education and ambition to help others. Secretly, I was crippled with anxiety about exiting the comfort that being in school provided. So, like most people, I jumped at the first job I was offered. Mystery solved.

However, wondering why I became a clinician is a recurring thought. Sometimes I find myself pondering the motivation behind my entire career path. On other more hectic days, I gravitate towards the more stress-fueled variety of that question: Why the (expletive) did I choose to dedicate my life to helping others who, more often than not, don’t want my help?! Why am I swimming in debt to provide services to patients who would rather do literally anything than attend my groups?

It occurred to me recently—can this be burnout so early in my chosen career? Is it possible to be burned out after two years of practice? Apparently so. Okay, so, we’ve established that I’m burned out. The question now evolves to—what do I do about it? I engage in self-care daily. I have a beautiful horse that I ride as much as possible; I have a wonderful husband who supports me in every way; I journal; I participate in mindfulness; I play with my dogs, I don’t take work home with me. But, on the worst, most chaotic days—that’s not enough.

If I’ve learned anything from my years on this planet—what’s right for one is not right for others. I don’t presume to have the answers for anyone but myself. Though, I know I’m not the first to wonder if it’s too late for a career change because I just can’t take anymore (just a side note—I’ve investigated essentially every profession that does not deal with other living human beings). So, I’m not sure if this is the “right” approach, but here’s what I’ve determined: burnout is eased by the days that a patient says, “thank you.” Okay, that’s ridiculously simple and people are rolling their eyes thinking, “Yeah, someone says thank you and then all your stress and compassion fatigue just vanishes?” Definitely not.

But, today a patient walked into my office. Uninvited… sure!, but “come on in” I said! He said to me, “When I first got here, you made me nervous because you are a smart woman. But, I have to tell you that I’ve learned so much from your groups. You have a heart of gold and have helped me more than you know.” This person then proceeded to recite ideas that were shared in my groups and was applying them to his particular situation. He illustrated how certain topics helped him in specific ways throughout his admission. I won’t pretend that this interaction erased the layers upon layers of burnout hovering over me like an aggravating, stress filled cloud. But, I can say with confidence that this conversation reminded me why I became a social worker. This five-minute discussion is the answer to the recurring question: why did I enter this field?

Burnout remains a mystery to me. I know I haven’t introduced an unfamiliar idea into the narrative around this subject. Though, if you’re anything like me, and you feel like you’re doing as much self-care as one human can possibly do yet continue to feel dread as you pull into the parking lot at work—then gratitude is the sprinkle of motivation essential to putting the car in park and carrying on with the day. And maybe it is just enough to keep me moving forward into this new and strangely rewarding career.
 

The Acronymization of Psychotherapy and Mental Illness

According to the New York State Office of Mental Health (I randomly chose New York because it is my birthplace), an acronym is a “pronounceable word formed from each of the first letters of a descriptive phrase or by combining the initial letters or parts of words from the phrase.” Actually, this definition was news to me because what I’m really referring to in this blog is an “initialism”, which according to dictionary.com, is “a set of initials representing a name, organization, or the like, with each letter pronounced separately.”

Oh hell, what’s in a definition anyway and what does this even have to do with psychotherapy, or mental health for that matter? Let’s PTC…. pause to consider. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

Psychotherapy acronyms such as EFT (Emotionally Focused Therapy), ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) and REBT (Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy) share a certain mellifluence. They roll gently from our tongue and offer no mystery to the audience, who instantly knows exactly what complex forms of treatment they represent. Psychotherapy initialisms such as DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy), CBT (Cognitive Behavior Therapy) and CCPT (Client Centered Play Therapy) are a bit harsher on the oral musculature, but like their grammatical half-cousins leave no one wondering about the nature of the clinical intervention.

Psychopathology acronyms like SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) leave us with the comforting knowledge that we have adequately captured the complexity of psychopathology with a catchy shortcut. In parallel, psychopathology intialisms such as OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), while a mouthful in their own right, equally assure us that we “know” the person who sits before us in the consulting room.

I understand the essential reason for acronyms and initialisms in place of their parent terms. They are lexical placeholders; stand-ins for their meatier counterparts that ease communication between diagnosticians and psychotherapists. They are helpers. Or are they?

I think that these otherwise well-intentioned substitutes rather than simplifying, actually obscure, obfuscate and trivialize both psychotherapy and those struggling with psychiatric disorders. Instead of conveying meaning, they commodify the human experience and trivialize psychotherapy. They scientize and sanitize the pain and complexity of human suffering while creating the illusion that the complex and often unpredictable dance of psychotherapy is easily measured and fully understood. These reified and abbreviated pseudonyms, these shallow masks of meaning mis-cast light rather than illuminate, hide rather than reveal and hurt more than they help us to understand.

The solution in my not-so-humble opinion. Call them like they are. JSN! Just say no to acronyms and intialisms and resist the downward pull of simplification and commercialization in the place of understanding and compassion.