Motivational Interviewing in End-of-Life Care

Betty: A Case Study

When Betty answered the door and welcomed me into her living room, I couldn’t help thinking she looked almost like a different person from the Betty I’d seen just the day before: a neatly dressed, very composed 80-year-old woman. Today, her clothes were messy, her hair was disheveled, and she had bags under her eyes. Her husband, Frank, was resting in their room after his morning nursing visit. He had been diagnosed with prostate cancer a year earlier, and the treatment had been unsuccessful. The hospice team of which I was a member had been called in to assist with the final few days of his life, which is why we had met Betty and Frank the day before.

The nurse, spiritual counselor, and I had visited the couple in their home, as this was where Betty and Frank preferred for him to pass away. During the initial visit, Betty had engaged appropriately, was very pleasant and cooperative, and asked common questions about what to expect in this process. She had hired a caregiver for further support. She seemed to be coping well and had a strong supportive network with her children and neighbors. Frank had been a bit lethargic, but was able to engage with us as we discussed his care over the next few days. The visit had gone smoothly; we hadn’t expected any unusual problems.

But the morning after the initial visit, the nurse called me explaining that she had completed her daily visit and Frank had declined significantly overnight. He had been very lethargic and difficult to arouse during her assessment. Betty had asked the nurse if she could feed her husband, since he had only a few bites of food at dinner the night before and had not had breakfast. The nurse had informed her of the risk of feeding when a patient is closer to death, but felt that Betty was very resistant to this information. The nurse was calling me to ask if I could meet with Betty to address this resistance.

As a social work intern, this would be my first meeting alone with a client. As I was simultaneously enrolled in a graduate course on Motivational Interviewing, I decided to put my beginning skills to use.

Engaging the Client

I began by checking in with how Betty had been feeling since our visit the previous day.

“I feel good,” she said, “but I had a hard night last night with Frank waking up several times. He was moaning and confused, and even tried to climb out of bed. It really scared me, but I was able to call hospice and they walked me through giving him some medication to calm him down. It worked quickly and I was able to get some rest for a few hours.” She paused and touched her forehead absently. “I’m glad to have our caregiver here this afternoon so I can lie down and get more sleep. She was so helpful yesterday.”

I remembered from my MI course that open-ended questions, affirmations, reflections, and summaries (OARS) are key to building rapport and conveying empathy and understanding. When clients feel heard, they are not only more inclined to engage with the practitioner, but they are also more comfortable processing their ambivalence, and eventually reaching a resolution. I knew that Betty had had a fraught conversation with the nurse that morning, and that she must be feeling overwhelmed, so even though we had limited time, both in the session and in terms of Frank’s life, I began slowly.

“Wow,” I said. “It sounds like you had a difficult night caring for him. Caregiving for someone in the dying process is challenging. I’m really impressed that you’ve been doing this, while also recognizing you need some help and have hired a caregiver. I’m glad you called our main line for support, too. We’re always available to help.” The simple reflection and affirmation I used helped us start the visit well. Betty knew I was present and listening to her. I was also able to validate and affirm the challenges of providing caregiving at end-of-life and how well she was doing.

“I understand you met with the nurse this morning,” I continued, now that I saw Betty relaxing a bit in my presence. “How did that go?”

Betty paused and her voiced dropped. “Fine. She told me I should stop feeding my husband, but that’s hard because he could be hungry.” She paused again and then raised her voice. “She said that feeding him could hurt him, though. I’m not going to be the one to kill him!”

I reflected that Betty felt confused about what the nurse had told her about feeding.

Betty raised her voice again and spoke more quickly. “It’s really confusing. And it’s like she doesn’t really understand where I’m coming from.”

“She doesn’t see how much you value feeding Frank,” I nodded.

This exchange confirmed for me that Betty was struggling with understanding and accepting that her husband no longer needed to eat or drink as he was declining quickly. As the nurse had explained to her, feeding him would have likely caused more harm because as his body declined, it would not metabolize food and fluid as well, which could cause increased toxicity, pain, and discomfort.

Given the medical nature of this information, and especially because of the urgency of the situation, with Frank having only a few more days to live, it would have been tempting to believe that Betty’s inability to understand could be solved by intellectual persistence: maybe if someone explained the details to her again, she’d “get it.” But using an MI framework, I saw clearly that Betty needed to be met emotionally in her struggle before she could comprehend the medical problems that continuing to feed her husband would create.

In situations where there is a clear preferred outcome, it is often challenging for counselors and other helping professionals to steer away from what in MI is called the “righting reflex,” the temptation to tell the client what is best for her and what she ought to do. But this technique does not support client autonomy or self-determination, and defies the MI belief that the client is the expert. It also tends to pit the client against the therapist as an adversary or an authority against which to rebel. Telling Betty to stop feeding her husband could have caused her to shut down and damaged any trust she had in me that I understood her situation. Furthermore, the righting reflex may have robbed Betty of the opportunity to process her loss.

Change Talk

 It is important to note that Betty acknowledged that she heard that feeding could be harmful and even said, “I don’t want to be the one to kill him.”

MI emphasizes two concepts called “sustain talk” and “change talk.” Clients engage in sustain talk when they discuss the status quo, or give reasons why they cannot make a change. Betty had been engaging in sustain talk thus far in our conversation, going through her reasons for believing she should continue to feed Frank. Change talk, which is any mention of change as a possibility, marks a client’s willingness and preparedness, however slight or tenuous, for change. A clinician using MI should emphasize and explore a client’s change talk through reflections and open-ended questions. This allows the client to focus on change rather than maintaining the status quo.

Betty’s statement that she didn’t want to be the one to kill her husband identified her ambivalence and was an example of change talk. It let me know that Betty was open to exploring the possibility of refraining from feeding her husband in this final stage of his life, though clearly she had not yet reconciled herself to this option.

Before we examined the change talk, I wanted to reflect Betty’s ambivalence and confusion while stressing how much Betty loved her husband and wanted nothing more than to give him the best care possible. “You’ve really taken on the role of being his caregiver and part of that role is feeding,” I began gently. “The way you see it, just because he’s at the end of his life doesn’t mean you should stop that role now. And as you said, he could be hungry.”

Betty sat forward in her chair. “Exactly!” she exclaimed.

Sensing I had struck a chord with her, I continued. “You also said that you heard the nurse explain that feeding could be harmful.” Here I was able to focus on both sides of the issue: one the one hand, feeding was part of her role as caregiver, and on the other, she was aware that it was risky and could likely cause more harm, which she didn’t want.

“Yes, but I don’t really understand why,” Betty said, her voice heavy now, and she slumped back in her chair a little. “I know if people don’t eat, they die, so I don’t want to have that guilt that I’m not feeding him and he dies. He’s my husband, and I want to do the best job I can.”

Noting that Betty was moving back into sustain talk, I continued with affirmations and reflections to build a sense of alliance. “You have taken excellent care of your husband, and your family, for the sixty-four years you’ve been married. Feeding is not only part of caregiving, but also a way you show your love for him, which is something I definitely understand. It sounds like if you stop feeding him you’re scared that it could hasten his death, which would make you feel guilty, like you’re responsible for him dying.” I was able to use this complex reflection—drawing on Betty’s implied statements and feelings as well as the words she spoke—to assign meaning to the feeding, explore the sadness of her changing role as a wife, and allow her to process the fear of hastening her husband’s death.

“Yes,” said Betty. “I’ve taken care of everything all these years. The cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping. And he likes that I do those things. I want to take the best care of him all the way until his last breath.”

I affirmed her role by saying, “Something I’ve seen from you in the times we have met is that you are a very dedicated, loving wife, who wants nothing more than to care for your husband, especially at the end of his life.” I began to understand that Betty’s roles as wife and mother were not only central to her relationship with her family, but also to her personal identity. Although cooking and her other activities seem like minute household chores, these activities were how Betty showed her love for her husband and children. If she was no longer feeding, how could she express her love, especially at this most intimate time in life?

As I reflected Betty’s deep desire to provide the best care to her husband in his dying process, she became tearful. “I’ve cared for him for so long,” she said, “and I’m feeling very overwhelmed about this. I just can’t believe he’s dying. We’re high school sweethearts. I can’t remember life without him.”

I could really empathize with Betty in that moment. Although she had been able to understand intellectually that her husband was terminal, the emotional impact of the dying process weighed heavily on her. Thinking about what her life would be without her husband was devastating. “This experience has been really difficult and emotional for you,” I said. “It’s hard to even imagine life without him.”

With tears filling her eyes, all she could say was, “Yes.”

Ambivalence, Not Resistance

 I was sensitive to not push her too far. We still needed to address the feeding, and if she became overwhelmed with grief, it would have been inappropriate to have that conversation. So I continued to affirm her. “I see just from listening to you that you and Frank are so incredibly in love and have been for a long time. You’ve created an incredible life together, have two wonderful children, three beautiful grandchildren, all are an extension of you two and represent your life and your love for each other.”

Reflecting on the lives patients and families have shared is a vital component in helping them experience a peaceful death with dignity. Processing their lives affirms they were special and facilitates closure. Here, affirming Betty’s desire to continue providing loving care helped her to feel understood and acknowledged. My acknowledgment of the specialness of her bond with Frank seemed to calm her down a bit.

I decided this moment was the opportunity to provide some education about Frank’s state, but first I needed to ask permission. Asking permission is essential in MI because it gives the client control of the session. In a careful tone I said, “Maybe if we could clear up some confusion about the feeding, then that could help you feel a little better and assured that you are taking the best care of Frank. Would it be okay if I shared some information with you about feeding at end-of-life?”

“Yes, I’d be okay with that,” said Betty. “The nurse just didn’t explain it to me well.”

“I can understand,” I said. “Sometimes we think it’s clear because we have this discussion often, but the family needs a little more education and I’m happy to provide that.”

“Yes. I just cannot understand how eating could be harmful.” She had become quite agitated again, her shoulders tense and limbs tense.

Maintaining a gentle tone, I explained, “It seems very unclear because when the body is healthy, it needs nutrients from food. As a person gets closer to death, the body doesn’t need the same amount of nourishment as it did when it was healthy. The body slows down and its metabolism slows down, so the food cannot be broken down at the same speed as when the body was healthy. Now that Frank’s body is slowing down, he can’t digest food in the same way, so the food and liquid gets kind of stuck in the body, causing more harm than good. I know that sounds strange, but does that make sense?”

She seemed puzzled. “So he can’t break down the food?”

“Exactly,” I told her.

I was becoming hopeful that Betty was beginning to understand the risks of feeding and we were about to make a break in resolving her ambivalence. But then she responded, “Well, what if I just give him less food?”

I suppressed a twinge of impatience. That question made me see that she was still unsure and possibly resistant to stopping the feeding. But although resistance can sometimes be frustrating for practitioners, an MI practitioner always rolls with the resistance and should avoid the righting reflex in times of client ambivalence. Betty’s question was simply her way of expressing that she was still unsure what was right.

Resisting the urge to use the righting reflex, I calmly said, “Well, sometimes that can be okay, but if the food is not soft and thick, there is a risk that it could go into his lungs and he would aspirate. That could cause an infection and actually hasten his death.”

My hopes that this education would help move discussion along were quickly halted when Betty said, “Oh. Well I’m glad to know this, but even if I gave him just a little, it couldn’t hurt him that badly, right?”

A Circuitous Route to Change

I was unsure how to move Betty out of her now entrenched sustain talk. Betty was trying to argue for feeding, even just a small amount of food. Sustain talk can be difficult to address, so I decided to offer some compromise and then affirm and reflect. With empathy, I said, “Well that is something that we can discuss with the nurse. I would just like to affirm what the food represents in your relationship. This is the way you’ve shown your love for your whole marriage, so that’s hard to stop that now. I know you don’t want to hasten his death by not feeding, but the scientific knowledge we have indicates that feeding could be more harmful.”

Betty immediately interjected with more sustain talk. “But he may be hungry,” she protested.

“I think that’s a great point,” I replied. “Unfortunately, we don’t know for sure if he is hungry or not.”

Betty interrupted and asked, “Do you think it’s better to not feed him because it’s more dangerous?”

I realized that Betty was looking to me as an expert, and as the hospice social worker, I was more of an expert on the issue. This is another temptation to resort to the righting reflex and simply use my authority to tell her she couldn’t feed him. But I reminded myself that this was Betty’s life and I did not know what was best for her. Any decision I made for her, she could still reject. She had to come to it herself. Furthermore, I needed to support her self-determination and autonomy. “Well, I think it’s better that you do what you feel most comfortable with,” I told her.

Betty appeared to appreciate this point as she sat back in her chair and relaxed her shoulders. My statement affirmed her autonomy and validated that I supported her self-determination. I realized I may not have acknowledged before that the choice had to be hers.

Although Betty had relaxed, she was somewhat hesitant. “I just don’t know,” she said. “This is so hard.”

I knew then that I needed to help Betty navigate the pros and cons of this decision. For this, I used an MI technique referred to as a decisional balance. Betty already had the information about the advantages and disadvantages of feeding and not feeding, but I needed to help her sort through them.

I asked Betty, “Well, what are some of the dangers of continuing to feed Frank?”

Betty reflected for a moment. “Well, he could choke. And you said the food could get stuck and he could aspirate.”

“Yes,” I replied, adding, “The body also cannot digest the food well, so it could store in his body and cause an infection. And what are some of the good things about continuing to feed him?”

Betty looked puzzled, but said, “Well, he wouldn’t be hungry.”

I gently replied, “Yes. If he is hungry, which we don’t know for sure and likely never will, the food could satisfy his hunger. But if the food doesn’t break down correctly or pass through his stool, then it could be more painful for him.”

Using the term “pain” seemed to resonate with Betty. Her eyes widened and she sat up in her chair. “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that. It could cause him pain?”

“Yes, think of it like this: if you eat more food than your body can handle, you get a stomachache. Now imagine not being able to get that built-up food out through your stool. That’s likely what it feels like.”

Betty smacked her arms down on the armrest and said, “Well, I definitely don’t want him to be in pain. Do you think that his pain and agitation last night was because I gave him some mashed potatoes?”

Betty seemed ashamed by this prospect. She moved in her chair and did not make eye contact with me.

Sensing her uneasiness, I softly said, “You know, we will probably never know. I’m glad that you knew to call for help when he was having new symptoms. That was very intuitive and shows that you knew what to do in a crisis.” I did not want Betty to feel guilty, because a number of factors could have played a role in her husband’s symptoms.

I wanted to return to the decisional balance to speed up our arrival at Betty’s decision about feeding her husband. “What are some of the bad things that could happen if you stop feeding him?” I asked.

“Well he could be hungry and that would make him more uncomfortable. But after talking to you, I'm not sure if he would be hungry because maybe he’s just too sick to be hungry,” Betty said sadly.

“So you’re thinking maybe he’s hungry, but we don’t know for sure. You also see that he could be far enough along in the disease process that his body isn’t feeling hungry anymore.” She nodded. To continue with the decisional balance, I asked, “And what would be the benefits of not feeding him?”

“Well you said that feeding could cause infection, so if I don’t feed him hopefully he won’t get sicker. Maybe he would live longer?”

A Breakthrough

I was so relieved to hear change talk: an acknowledgment of the possibility that Betty might stop feeding her husband. I felt that we were finally getting somewhere with her ambivalence. “He could live longer, and maybe even be more comfortable,” I told Betty.

“Yes, I want him to be comfortable,” Betty nodded.

“I want you to know that we really do understand how confusing it is to not feed your loved one at the end-of-life,” I affirmed. “It seems so unnatural because feeding is typically associated with us feeling better. And also with your relationship, feeding is not only part of your role as his caregiver for the past sixty-four years, but also the way you show him how much you love him.”

I wanted to ensure I normalized Betty’s ambivalence regarding feeding at end-of-life, as this is something that hospice clinicians discuss with families every day. Like many therapeutic interventions, normalizing is useful in MI because it makes clients feel comforted that they are not alone. This is especially critical in hospice because family members often feel isolated as their loved ones transition through the dying process. Affirming and normalizing Betty’s confusion regarding feeding, while also providing a complex reflection of Betty’s role as caregiver and how she expressed her love, helped us transition from the issue of feeding to ideas for how Betty could continue to express affection towards her husband in his final days.

“If we can brainstorm together other ways you could express your love,” I continued, “then maybe we can implement those into your caregiver role. Maybe things that are less risky, like reading to him, holding his hand, playing music for him. How does that sound?”

“That sounds nice. He loves reading.” A note of relief emerged in Betty’s voice. “We used to go to the library together and get books. Sometimes he’d read to me at night.”

“Wow,” I replied, “that is really special. So now you could maybe do that for him.”

She paused briefly. “Yes, I think he would like that. But can he hear me?”

Again, I wanted to avoid jumping into an expert role here, especially with what must have been an emotionally loaded question for Betty. “Well, what do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “He doesn’t respond like he can.”

“Would it be okay if I gave you some information about senses that some other families like to know?” I asked.

“Of course,” Betty said, “You’ve been so helpful, I want to know.”

“Well, we always ascribe to the belief that if there is breath, then there is hearing. Some studies have shown that hearing is the last sense to go before someone dies, so I always tell families to behave like their loved ones can hear them.”

“Yes, you’re right. I think he can hear me,” she said hopefully.

Peaceful Passing

Betty’s husband lived just two more days after this visit. I learned from the nurse that Betty’s husband declined even more the day after our visitand was actively dying, so I followed up with Betty and her children with telephone calls to assess the status of feeding and how they were coping. Betty and her children all confirmed that Betty had not tried to feed her husband again after our visit.

I learned from my bereavement telephone call that Betty spent the last two days she had with her husband reading his favorite books to him, writing him a long letter that reflected their life together and the impact it had on Betty, playing their favorite music on an old record player, and holding his hand and providing a supportive presence.

My visit with Betty not only provided her with important education about her husband’s dying, but also helped her process some of that anxiety so she could help Frank’s dying process be more dignified and peaceful. Like so many of the families I see, Betty needed someone to validate what she was feeling and also hear, understand, and affirm what feeding represented to her relationship with her husband.

Motivational interviewing skills, such as reflections and the decisional balance that I used with Betty, have been effective in my clinical practice with hospice patients and families who experience ambivalence with administering morphine for pain, hiring caregivers, or asking family members for help to protect the primary caregiver from burnout, and processing denial related to rapid decline.

Often families I work with are extremely concerned with doing everything “right,” so affirming that they are doing an excellent job caring for their loved one is very important for them because the feel empowered and validated. Although they may not be ambivalent about providing care, they are still at risk for becoming so overwhelmed that effective coping and a healthy life balance are damaged. Emphasizing individual strengths through genuine affirmations empowers the caregiver and results in better care and support for the patient. The patient having a peaceful death with dignity is not only valuable for the patient, but also for caregivers and family members as it decreases their risk for complicated bereavement.

The spirit of MI is rooted in the notion that the practitioner and client have a collaborative relationship. Once that relationship is established, the practitioner is responsible for evoking the client’s motivations, perspectives, and autonomy. Starting the visit with exploring and reflecting Betty’s motivations, understandings, and feelings regarding feeding allowed us to make progress on this issue. If I had come into her home telling her why she should not feed her dying husband, she likely would not have listened. Furthermore, she would not have had the opportunity to process their life and the emotional impact of her husband’s death.

MI techniques emphasize and foster a collaborative therapeutic relationship, which is critical in hospice work, and more generally in working with individuals and families coping with terminal illness. We clinicians are not the experts in our patients and families’ lives or their dying process. Using MI techniques not only helps hospice patients and families process their ambivalence, but are also extremely valuable in conveying empathy in a way that moves towards change.

My work with Betty was the first experience I had in applying MI to my clinical work in hospice. I was initially unsure how the MI skills, specifically reflections and affirmations, would help Betty resolve her ambivalence, but this experience showed me their value. I believe that my ability to avoid the righting reflex and simply repeat back to Betty her confusion and fear helped her feel heard and validated. The reflections also allowed her to process her thoughts that supported the ambivalence. These skills helped us establish a collaborative relationship as I was sure to never make her feel I was the “expert.” Although Betty saw me as more knowledgeable of the issue of feeding, I was not more knowledgeable in what was best for her. These skills allowed me to use the decisional balance, which ultimately led to her resolving her ambivalence and not feeding her husband again.

I feel tremendously honored to have the opportunity to work with hospice patients and families. Being present with patients in their dying process, and supporting their families as they navigate the demands of caregiving and effects of anticipatory grief, is an incredible privilege. I believe strongly that everyone deserves a peaceful death with dignity and am passionate about being part of providing that experience to all of my patients and families.  

Ethics of Treating Two Psychotherapy Clients who Know Each Other

A question was recently posed to us about what to do when you discover in an early session with a new client that they are the former partner of another well-established client. Well, for those of you who actually stopped to think, “Oh, this may be a problem,” then you are certainly one step further away from sliding down the slippery slope of unethical behavior than those who did not recognize that this situation may pose a potential ethical dilemma. Professional codes of ethics (e.g. APA 3.06, NASW 1.06) ask us to be mindful of conflicts of interest that arise and to take steps to resolve them. The best resolution is to refer the new client to another therapist (if possible).

For those of you who can refer this new client to another therapist, then the question arises as to how to do so in an ethical manner. First, remember that you cannot ask permission to disclose your relationship with the other client because this will breach patient confidentiality. You can, however, simply express that in reviewing this new client’s case you believe he/she would be better served by a different therapist who is more closely matched or specialized with his/her needs. Remember, you are not mandated to treat every client who seeks treatment from you. Second, provide the names of two or three therapists who currently have openings for new clients in their practice. It is important that these referral therapists have the capability to accept new clients at the time so that continuity of treatment is maintained and the client’s (potential) feelings of abandonment are diminished. Third, if you terminate in a responsible clinical manner then you will likely be terminating in a responsible ethical manner. Thus, if you terminate in accord with the standard of care for your theoretical orientation, using good clinical skills to transition the new client and allowing them to feel heard about your decision, then you again decrease the probability of the client feeling abandoned which often leads to board complaints. Last, provide a written termination letter confirming the termination of treatment and the referral therapists contact information. Keep a letter in your file as part of the clinical record.

Earlier I mentioned that this situation “may” pose a dilemma because if you practice in a small or rural town then you may encounter this situation frequently since you are one of the few practitioners available. In those situations, if you cannot refer out then it is best to have a clear plan as to how you will keep from falling down that slippery slope of potentially unprofessional conduct. For example, how will you handle information you learn from your well established client from seeping into your sessions with your new client, and vice versa? How will you identify and handle information learned from one client inadvertently influencing how you think about the other client? Consultation, and of course subsequent documentation of decisions and rationale, is a good way to keep your own personal biases and such influences in check.

As a general rule of thumb remember that our professional codes of ethics require us to be mindful of conflicts of interest that arise and to take steps to resolve them. While the best resolution (especially in this scenario) is to refer the new client to another therapist, if this course of action is not possible, and refusing service to a client is clearly detrimental to the client’s welfare, then chart and note the steps taken to minimize potential conflicts and difficulties that arise in the course of treatment. Such documentation is part of good (and mandated) record keeping procedures but also demonstrates your contemporaneous judgment, which is always your best proactive defense.
 

Maria Gonzalez-Blue on Person-Centered Expressive Arts Therapy

Formula for Compassion

Victor Yalom: Maria, as I understand it you’re a person-centered expressive arts therapist. A good place to begin would be to ask you, what is person-centered expressive arts therapy?
Maria Gonzalez-Blue: I'll start with what the person-centered approach is, because that's the foundation. Expressive arts then becomes a tool that's been integrated into the person-centered approach, which was, of course, defined by Carl Rogers. The person-centered approach is based on the humanistic principle that, within every organism, there is an innate movement that will always move that organism towards it greatest potential, if it's given a nurturing environment where that potential can grow. The nurturing environment was defined by Carl Rogers as one that includes the elements of empathy, congruence, and unconditional positive regard.
VY: Carl Rogers is certainly well known by our readers and he's had an enduring influence in our field and in many fields to this day. We’ve just been doing some work with Sue Johnson in emotionally focused therapy, and she gives a lot of credit to Carl Rogers. We’ve also just been filming some videos on motivational interviewing, which also has strong Rogerian roots. What, for you, are the essential components of Rogers’s person-centered approach that you hold near and dear to your heart as you teach and as you work with clients?
MG: I see his emphasis on empathy and unconditional positive regard as a formula for compassion. It requires therapists to consider those things any time they sit before clients, students, or other individuals. If I enter a session knowing that I want to bring these elements in, it forces me to bring them home to myself, as well. I have found that it becomes a way of life and makes you a better person, because you're always conscious of when you're not being empathic or when you're being judgmental.

In my work, what I've seen is that when you listen to someone truly carefully, instead of listening to your own ideas and expectations—when you set all judgments aside, incredible things happen. People contact information that's long been repressed. It seems a simple thing, but I find it has a profound effect on an individual to be listened to with such caring. 

The Intention of Tolerance

VY: Coinciding with the publication of this interview, we’re releasing on video an interview that Carl Rogers did in the ’80s. When discussing these concepts, he clarified his conception of unconditional positive regard. He said something along the lines of, “It’s not that we can always achieve unconditional positive regard, but it’s fortunate when we can have that with our clients.”
MG: Right. And that's what I tell my students all the time: what's important is to hold that intention. Certainly we're human beings—we're judgmental. If we can simply go into an environment with that intention, that is far reaching.
VY: I think that’s an important clarification, because otherwise, people can hear that and think it’s Pollyannaish. It’s an impossible ideal to attain. As you say, we’re human. We have our judgments. We have different feelings for our clients and for different people in our lives.
MG: We have to start with tolerance. I think this is why I am so dedicated to this process, because I feel we need this so much in the world. You can at least start with tolerance.
I don't think it's necessary to accept or condone everything and everyone you meet in a session. But you can keep in mind that somewhere in that organism, there is a desire towards growth.
I don't think it's necessary to accept or condone everything and everyone you meet in a session. But if you can keep in mind that somewhere in that organism, there is a desire towards growth, then that's the part that we as person-centered therapists hold: that seed in there that wants to move towards wholeness. Accepting that that is there requires trust and faith on the part of the therapist. And if the therapist can hold trust and faith, then that can affect how clients feel about themselves. If you as a therapist aren't judging them, then maybe their own self-judgments can start falling away.

Not Just Parroting Back: Reflecting as Witnessing

VY: Another one of the core techniques of this person-centered approach that I think has had a vast influence but also been misunderstood is this idea of reflection—repeating back what the client says. Some people have made fun of this as parroting or being too mechanical. What are your thoughts on that?
MG: That mirroring back of language, for people who haven’t really experienced it or been part of it, is often seen as mocking the individual. But that’s really not the case. Reflecting back the language that a client is using can also be useful, but we don’t always use the same exact words. Often, as clients are rattling off issues, problems, and feelings, they’ll say something that they’ve never said before; in their sharing, they’re coming to insights, they’re making connections without knowing they’re making connections. If you, as a therapist, can reflect back what you’re hearing, then those connections that are being made come to consciousness. Clients are speaking from a kind of flow of consciousness, and
I like to see myself as a mirror that’s reflecting back the wholeness that I see in them.
I like to see myself as a mirror that’s reflecting back the wholeness that I see in them. So that reflection is really important.

What’s also important is that you want to understand. Part of being empathic in Carl Rogers’s process is to see clients’ experience from their own worldviews. If you can really hold that idea that you want to understand, it’s also a way of saying, “Is this what I’m hearing you say?” And that gives them a chance to say, “No, that’s not it.” But, if they realize that that’s not it, then that gives them a frame of reference of what might it be. It’s a stepping stone.
VY: Right; as clients talk, they'll say things they didn't even know existed inside them. And of course, that's always the goal in any kind of therapy—that people will discover new things about themselves. If they're repeating things that they already know, then not much new is happening.
MG: Exactly. It’s like the therapist is walking through the woods side by side with the client, discovering things together. There’s something about that witnessing that can ground those new discoveries in a way that people can’t really do on their own.
VY: That’s a nice image. I’ve seen videos of Carl work and, of course, many other master therapists from different orientations. And what comes through is not his technique or the words he utters. Instead, you get a such strong sense of him really being with clients, listening deeply, committed to hearing and understanding them. I think it’s the intention. It’s the spirit of it, rather than the words that come out, that really is profound.
MG: And for many people, this has never happened. Even your best friends, and particularly family members, have all kinds of biases. They know you as this certain person. Sometimes your best friends want to help you, so they give you advice that may have worked for them, but may not work for you. But when you want to hear your clients, when you want to really see their worldviews and understand them, something shifts.

The Blank Page: Exploring the Unknown with Art

VY: Tell me about the expressive art component and how that is integrated into the person-centered approach.
MG: We just talked about a client discovering buried material, stepping into unknown material that strikes a surface, which is a good segue. Often, clients who enter therapy are approaching unknown territory. Either they’ve left a job or a relationship, or their life doesn’t feel right anymore, so they know what’s not working, but they don’t know what’s ahead.

The blank page, whether it’s in visual art or movement, is a great way to enter this unknown material. Art is really the language of the unconscious; it allows symbols to come forth. People make discoveries of potential and understanding, which become new resources to enter this unknown material. I believe that there’s a time and place for everything, so I’m not critical of any therapies. But talk therapy has its limits; art does not. It can be limitless. It can also be contained.
VY: I should add at this point that person-centered expressive arts therapy was developed by Natalie Rogers, Carl's daughter, who's a psychologist and psychotherapist in her own right, as well as an artist. And I know you've worked and trained with her professionally over many decades.
MG: Yes, we've worked substantially together, we've taught together, and we've played together. And what Natalie really brought in to weave those two things together was what she came to call the "Creative Connection." It's actually an intermodal process where we work with different modalities in sequence. A person might be exploring an issue through a visual arts piece. We don't diagnose or interpret art; instead, we ask the artist to explain what came through as a feeling, what is in the art that he or she wants to discuss.
The art doesn't have to be analyzed or intepreted. It's an image that has its own language.
The art doesn't have to be analyzed or intepreted. It's an image that has its own language. So the work is processed through listening, really respecting what the artist has to say about it. If the client wants reflections that a therapist might have, I might add something that I sense in the art without trying to analyze it—maybe noting the energy or the color, the person's body language in the making of it. I like to observe body language; sometimes you can tell energy is moving through.
VY: When you say artist, of course, you’re just referring to a client who’s engaged in the expressive arts process.
MG: The person who made the art.
VY: Yes. I don’t want to our readers to think that only artists can be involved in expressive art therapy.
MG:
We are all artists of our own lives.
We are all artists of our own lives. Expressive arts therapy is not looking for an end product, necessarily. It's really about the process and what comes through in doing the art.

Introducing Expressive Arts into Sessions

VY: Can you say how you use art? As you said, people are often going through changes. They're talking about concerns in their lives, some situational issue or an emotional reaction to that, feeling depressed or anxious. How do you go about introducing the expressive arts into a session?
MG: Pretty early on, I observe the client. I bring my intuition into my sessions. I watch body language. Let's say I have a client who is really kinesthetic, moving a lot while she's talking, making certain gestures—for example, she's talking about an issue, and she keeps putting her hand on her heart or keeps holding a part of her body. I might ask her if she'd be open to movement work. And whenever I introduce anything, I do it with a lot of asking permission, asking how it feels, so she doesn't feel like they're being directed. But she's given the opportunity, the invitation, to explore something.
VY: One of the other names of the Rogerian approach is non-directive therapy.
MG: Exactly. And what's important about that is that it makes clients ultimately responsible for their own processes. So I might ask if she would feel comfortable just holding that posture for a bit. Often what happens is the client may hold that gesture, perhaps holding her heart. And then I see more come into it—maybe her shoulders lift up, her facial expression might change. So I say, "If it feels right, why don't you go with that movement and see if there's more there?" And that's a subtle invitation to enter a movement process.
VY: And how might that evolve? A client might get up and move around or dance?
MG: She might get up and move around. She might move where she’s sitting. And if a client feels shy, sometimes I say, “Would you feel more comfortable if I move with you?” Because the body has its own wisdom. What’s happening here is that we’re tapping the body’s wisdom to help inform the person, maybe of something that’s repressed, or something that really wants to come alive. Then I just might check in and say, “What’s going on? What do you want to share about that movement?” At that point, people can easily start describing what they’re feeling, what they’re understanding. Sometimes they have their whole stories come forth. It’s like opening a door into the body.
VY: So, in this case, movement might in turn elicit some emotional reaction or some image or ideas that then they’ll go back and process verbally?
MG: That gives them better understanding. They might process it verbally. If there's time, they could do some freewriting. And I might suggest making some quick "I am" statements to see what comes. It also could go into some art—whatever the client is feeling. I'll usually have chalk pastels and oil pastels. I'll ask, "Would you like to take a color and see if you can draw that shape, or just see what comes through?"

There's so much happening when you tap this deeper language. Using pastels has been a really successful way to draw shapes, draw feelings. Sometimes I start my workshops by having people draw their breath going in and out, and it's such a abstract concept that no one has to feel that there's a right or wrong way to do it.
VY: I’ve seen Natalie say, “Would you like to work with color?” And my sense is that that’s a way of de-emphasizing that this has to be some artistic creation. It’s more just an experience of taking some colors and playing with them.
MG: Yes, it’s very much a meditation. In fact, I use the word “scribble” a lot. I tell people, “When we’re done, you can just throw this away. It doesn’t have to be put up in an art gallery somewhere.” It’s really about what’s happening when clients go into the stillness to just be with themselves in the process, but with me as a witness.
VY: Just so our readers can get a better idea, can you give an example of how this is used in individual therapy?
MG: I have a new client, and this client is an artist. It's funny; I work with all people that are creative, and people come from all different walks of life. But I typically don't work with artists. We talked for a while; she's had some major changes in her life, and she was feeling a block from her artwork.

I talk with clients, too. It's not like it's all expressive arts. In fact, in some cases I may not bring the arts into it if it doesn't feel relevant at the moment, or if it doesn't feel in the flow. But in this case, I asked her if she would like to do some artwork before she went further to her issues. I had her work with pastels. I had her, first of all, just look at the colors and see if there was a color that she was attracted to start with. I let her know, "This does not have to be an art piece. This is a process." I always try to make that clear.

And what unfolded was that she drew aspects of her life in very basic, rudimentary forms. And there were some surprises already, in what she saw there. This was after she came with the issue of block in her artwork. Then we turned to process a little bit more, her sharing her story, which I won't go into. I listened to her carefully. As she talked, she was able to make some discoveries of elements of her life connecting to ongoing issues that she was aware of.

I had her do a second piece towards the end, and the interesting thing was that she was drawn to all the same colors, but this time in her drawing, everything seemed connected, whereas before they had seemed to be these small, disconnected pieces on the paper. Now there seemed to be flow—all the same colors, but everything seemed integrated. You could see movement. A change had happened, and it's not something that's easy to articulate. But using the arts, she could see it. And she could feel it in her body.
It's not something you can read in a book. You can explain details, but until you feel the changes firsthand, you don't get it fully.


Like you say, it's hard to articulate a lot of this because so much is happening at the cellular level, the emotional level. I think all of us who facilitate the person-centered approach have felt like it's not something you can read in a book. You can explain details, but until you actually live it, experience it, and feel the changes firsthand, you don't get it fully.
VY: Coinciding with this interview, we’re publishing a video (LINK) of Natalie working with a client for two sessions. Having a chance to watch that, I certainly got a clear sense of the power of this approach, and how shifts can happen in a short amount of time.
MG: And what I have noticed is that the shifts tend to stick. I'm still in touch with students I had long ago from our training program, or past clients. Person-centered therapy can help to build that self-trust and the trust in the natural movement towards growth. I really try to encourage my clients to know this, and I think that it helps life changes to be healthy ones.

Using Art in Groups

VY: Natalie's first book on this topic was The Creative Connection, and I know she just recently published a follow-up to that, The Creative Connection For Groups. I know you also work with groups. Do any examples of work you've done recently pop to mind?
MG: There's a group process that really stays in my mind, where I saw the profound effect of person-centered and expressive arts therapy. I was doing a seven-day training program. What we like to do is invite feedback every day. It always feels like a bit of a risk to open yourself to feedback, but I find that it's really important because people need to feel that they're safe and that whatever they're feeling or going through is okay and a process.

So I was doing a training, and during a morning feedback session on our second or third day, something arose between two women. It was something about a transportation conflict; one of them was very upset that the other hadn't waited for her at the airport. I said, "Let's go ahead and take some time," and asked people to say how they felt, without blaming, if they could. That's not always possible.

But the people in the training were versed enough in the person-centered approach that they were open to hearing whatever needed to be said. Both these people spoke, and then a couple other people started speaking. The conversation got quite heated. I let it go for a little bit, and then I intervened and said, "I'd like to make a group agreement, because many people are not involved in this conversation. It's important for you to express how you're feeling. But I know there are people who also want to do some work. So can we put a time limit on it?"

So we compromised, and the conversation continued about transportation and what one person said and the other person said. At some point I said, "Okay. The time is up. Do you want to keep going, or shall we do some art?" And, of course, all the other people said, "Let's just do art." So I laid out a huge mural sheet and put on some music that was kind of driven, because I could tell there was a lot of heat in the conversation. We got out paint, and people started just drawing on this mural.

And as a witness of this process, I could see the energy shifting. At first, the drawing people were doing was kind of intense and stark, big. But by the end, people were starting to write poems, affirmations about themselves and their desires. Some spontaneous singing started happening. By the end of that process, I could feel that everything had shifted.

Ultimately, what I know is that in a process like that, those surface feelings that come up are not about the people themselves, but about inner issues that people are grappling with. And to give it space to be there is really, really important.

Collectively, we like to hide that negativity, hide our anger, come to the table with a smile. But something really beautiful happens in the community when people are allowed to be "negative" in a group and have that held—when you see that that's okay and no one's judging you for having those feelings.

The next morning when we had our check-in, it was totally different. People were sharing personal feelings about their woundings and discoveries, but it had nothing to do with the group anymore. So it's really very amazing to see.
VY: Are you suggesting that people may have an easier time expressing some negative feelings through expressive arts than they might be able to put into words?
MG: Yes, because a lot of times the words can be hurtful, or the words aren't even there. It's just this strong energy moving through the body. If you can put that into some artwork, it becomes a creative fire. You can move that strong energy through and see what's underneath it. And that's exactly what happened with that group process.

Building Bridges: Art in International Group Work

VY: You've trained a lot internationally and you've cofounded an expressive center. Is it in Argentina?
MG: That’s right, in Buenos Aires. We have person-centered programs now in many countries.
VY: Any thoughts or comments about doing this work internationally?
MG: The beauty of the person-centered approach is that it lends itself to meet any group, any culture, exactly where it is. You design any program you do towards who you're working with. I don't go in with a structured program. I have a sense of where we might go, but it's always fluid. So with every culture, first I get to know the culture. I hear from them. I hear what they might need.

In Argentina, I knew a little bit about the background of a violent dictatorship in the '70s. So I went into that culture with a lot of humility. What I found was that the culture needed a very tight structure in the beginning. Everything needed to be on time. I needed to be perhaps more directive than I usually am. That just meant that if we were working with a certain modality, I would try to keep everybody with a certain modality, whereas working in an environment where there's already a lot of trust, I might just say, "Whatever modality you want to work with, you can."

But, what I found in Argentina was I needed to hold a tighter structure at first to develop trust. It's a culture that hasn't been able to trust their government in the past, so self-trust then comes into question. The beauty was that their hearts were so tender and beautiful that by the end of the ten-day program, everyone wanted to come back. Everyone wanted to go deeper into the work.

The person-centered approach really has a potential to bring great things into our planet, to bridge cultures.
The biggest thing that I want to underline in working with other cultures is that I think the person-centered approach really has a potential to bring great things into our planet, to bridge cultures. I think it's really important as a way of being with cultures that's accepting, that can bridge us into healthier places.
VY: It seems the arts are an international language. Have you had a chance much to work with groups of people from different cultures in the same group?
MG: Yes. In fact, CIIS (California Institute of Integral Studies) is very multicultural. The art becomes the universal language then. A closeness happens with these groups. What happens in group process is it’s almost like they start dreaming together when the art images start to appear. After the group has been together for a while, these same symbols end up appearing within the group as if they’ve just had the same dream. It’s a wonderful bridge.

First Impressions in Psychotherapy

A woman wrote to me, having heard me on a radio programme. She had picked up my concern that not enough attention was being paid to the quality of the therapeutic relationship (as opposed to techniques) and wondered how her 25 year-old son, who was seeking a psychotherapist, could assess that in advance of therapy when neither of them knew any therapists where they lived. The obvious answer is that he should wait until he and the therapist meet. Therapy is after all a personal relationship and only by knowing the person could there be a real alliance. If on meeting the therapist for the first time, he felt uneasy or badgered or misunderstood or puzzled or demotivated, then perhaps the therapist was not the right person and he should find someone else. But is that right?

First impressions are important. Think of meeting someone for the first time and how even after the end of a brief exchange, you have already formed an opinion of them. I met a neighbour at a party my wife and I gave, someone I was prepared to like having already met his charming wife. To my surprise, I disliked him. What was it about him that provoked this strong reaction? Thinking back, I realised it was that he had shown not the slightest interest in me and my attempts to engage him in conversation had been met with distracted inattention. I even resented the fact that, when I moved past him to get someone a glass of wine, he made no effort move aside! (This says as much about me as him, I realise). A prospective client could do something like this, evaluating the therapist by how he or she responded and how the client felt in the session.

But therapy is not the same as a conversation. Most therapists are good at putting clients at ease, asking questions sensitively, listening attentively and making the client feel safe and understood. For most clients the experience of the initial session is likely to be positive, allaying anxiety, reinforcing the hopeful expectation that at last help is at hand. Unless the therapist is distracted or disturbed, the first session will generally pass well. That does not mean the therapy will always be bathed in this arm glow of positivity and, if it were, we might wonder whether the therapy was really that helpful. As Patrick Casement points out in his autobiographical memoir, Learning from Life, good therapists must learn they should not always be nice to their clients.

In the first session unconscious processes in both therapist and client will be at play. I recall reading about a client who knew from the therapist’s name alone that he would be the right one for her. Once I heard a client’s hesitant and garbled message on my answering machine and that made me reverse my just made policy of not taking on any new clients. And on another occasion, opening the door to a new client I took fervently against her and, to my shame, manoeuvred the session so that I could refuse her help. For all these factors, conscious and unconscious, the first session may not be the best place to judge the therapeutic relationship, although of course a judgment will inevitably be made. The truth is that the success of the relationship can be judged only in the experience of it.

Perhaps I should be a bit more psychological in my response to this woman’s question. Why was she contacting me, not her son? Was she just an over-protective mum, simply anxious that her son should find the ‘right’ therapist? Or was she anxious that he would find such a therapist who would replace her? Was she seeking help for herself? I don’t know and, no longer being in practice, means I will never know. My first impressions therapeutically occur now only in the virtual world and that is altogether different.
 

The Spinoza Problem: An Excerpt

Prologue

Spinoza has long intrigued me, and for years I’ve wanted to write about this valiant seventeenth-century thinker, so alone in the world—without a family, without a community—who authored books that truly changed the world. He anticipated secularization, the liberal democratic political state, and the rise of natural science, and he paved the way for the Enlightenment. The fact that he was excommunicated by the Jews at the age of twenty-four and censored for the rest of his life by the Christians had always fascinated me, perhaps because of my own iconoclastic proclivities. And this strange sense of kinship with Spinoza was strengthened by the knowledge that Einstein, one of my first heroes, was a Spinozist. When Einstein spoke of God, he spoke of Spinoza’s God—a God entirely equivalent to nature, a God that includes all substance, and a God “that doesn’t play dice with the universe”—by which he means that everything that happens, without exception, follows the orderly laws of nature.

I also believe that Spinoza, like Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, on whose lives and philosophy I have based two earlier novels, wrote much that is highly relevant to my field of psychiatry and psychotherapy—for example, that ideas, thoughts, and feelings are caused by previous experiences, that passions may be studied dispassionately, that understanding leads to transcendence—and I wished to celebrate his contributions through a novel of ideas.

But how to write about a man who lived such a contemplative life marked by so few striking external events? He was extraordinarily private, and he kept his own person invisible in his writing. I had none of the material that ordinarily lends itself to narrative—no family dramas, no love affairs, jealousies, curious anecdotes, feuds, spats, or reunions. He had a large correspondence, but after his death his colleagues followed his instructions and removed almost all personal comments from his letters. No, not much external drama in his life: most scholars regard Spinoza as a placid and gentle soul—some compare his life to that of Christian saints, some even to Jesus.

So I resolved to write a novel about his inner life. That was where my personal expertise might help in telling Spinoza’s story. After all, he was a human being and therefore must have struggled with the same basic human conflicts that troubled me and the many patients I’ve worked with over the decades. He must have had a strong emotional response to being excommunicated, at the age of twenty-four, by the Jewish community in Amsterdam—an irreversible edict that ordered every Jew, including his own family, to shun him forever. No Jew would ever again speak to him, have commerce with him, read his words, or come within fifteen feet of his physical presence. And of course no one lives without an inner life of fantasies, dreams, passions, and a yearning for love. About a fourth of Spinoza’s major work, Ethics, is devoted to “overcoming the bondage of the passions.” As a psychiatrist, I felt convinced that he could not have written this section unless he had experienced a conscious struggle with his own passions.

Yet I was stumped for years because I could not find the story that a novel requires—until a visit to Holland five years ago changed everything. I had come to lecture and, as part of my compensation, requested and was granted a “Spinoza day.” The secretary of the Dutch Spinoza Association and a leading Spinoza philosopher agreed to spend a day with me visiting all the important Spinoza sites—his dwellings, his burial place, and, the main attraction, the Spinoza Museum in Rijnsburg. It was there I had an epiphany.

I entered the Spinoza Museum in Rijnsburg, about a forty-five-minute drive from Amsterdam, with keen anticipation, looking for—what? Perhaps an encounter with the spirit of Spinoza. Perhaps a story. But entering the museum, I was immediately disappointed. I doubted that this small, sparse museum could bring me closer to Spinoza. The only remotely personal items were the 151 volumes of Spinoza’s own library, and I turned immediately to them. My hosts permitted me free access, and I picked up one seventeenth-century book after another, smelling and holding them, thrilled to touch objects that had once been touched by Spinoza’s hands.

But my reverie was soon interrupted by my host: “Of course, Dr. Yalom, his possessions—bed, clothes, shoes, pens and books—were auctioned off after his death to pay funeral expenses. The books were sold and scattered far and wide, but fortunately, the notary made a complete list of those books prior to the auction, and over two hundred years later a Jewish philanthropist reassembled most of the same titles, the same editions from the same years and cities of publication. So we call it Spinoza’s library, but it’s really a replica. His fingers never touched these books.”

I turned away from the library and gazed at the portrait of Spinoza hanging on the wall and soon felt myself melting into those huge, sad, oval, heavy-lidded eyes, almost a mystical experience—a rare thing for me. But then my host said, “You may not know this, but that’s not really Spinoza’s likeness. It’s merely an image from some artist’s imagination, derived from a few lines of written description. If there were drawings of Spinoza made during his lifetime, none have survived.”

Maybe a story about sheer elusiveness, I wondered.

While I was examining the lens-grinding apparatus in the second room—also not his own equipment, the museum placard stated, but equipment similar to it—I heard one of my hosts in the library room mention the Nazis.

I stepped back into the library. “What? The Nazis were here? In this museum?”

“Yes—several months after the blitzkrieg of Holland, the ERR troops drove up in their big limousines and stole everything—the books, a bust, and a portrait of Spinoza—everything. They carted it all away, then sealed and expropriated the
museum.”

“ERR? What do the letters stand for?”

“Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg. The taskforce of Reich leader Rosenberg—that’s Alfred Rosenberg, the major Nazi anti-Semitic ideologue. He was in charge of looting for the Third Reich, and under Rosenberg’s orders, the ERR plundered all of Europe—first, just the Jewish things and then, later in the war, anything of value.”

“So then these books are twice removed from Spinoza?” I asked. “You mean that books had to be purchased again and the library reassembled a second time?”

“No—miraculously these books survived and were returned here after the war with just a few missing copies.”

“Amazing!” There’s a story here, I thought. “But why did Rosenberg even bother with these books in the first place? I know they have some modest value—being seventeenth-century and older—but why didn’t they just march into the Amsterdam Rijksmuseum and pluck a single Rembrandt worth fifty times this whole collection?”

“No, that’s not the point. The money had nothing to do with it. The ERR had some mysterious interest in Spinoza. In his official report, Rosenberg’s officer, the Nazi who did the hands-on looting of the library, added a significant sentence: ‘They contain valuable early works of great importance for the exploration of the Spinoza problem.’ You can see the report on the web, if you like—it’s in the official Nuremberg documents.”

I felt stunned. “‘Exploration of the Nazis’ Spinoza problem’? I don’t understand. What did he mean? What was the Nazi Spinoza problem?”

Like a mime duo, my hosts hunched their shoulders and turned up their palms.

I pressed on. “You’re saying that because of this Spinoza problem, they protected these books rather than burn them, as they burned so much of Europe?”

They nodded.

“And where was the library kept during the war?”

“No one knows. The books just vanished for five years and turned up again in 1946 in a German salt mine.”

“A salt mine? Amazing!” I picked up one of the books—a sixteenth-century copy of the Iliad—and said, as I caressed it, “So this old storybook has its own story to tell.”

My hosts took me to look at the rest of the house. I had come at a fortunate time—few visitors had ever seen the other half of the building, for it had been occupied for centuries by a working-class family. But the last family member had recently died, and the Spinoza Society had promptly purchased the property and was just now beginning reconstruction to incorporate it into the museum. I wandered amid the construction debris through the modest kitchen and living room and then climbed the narrow, steep stairway to the small, unremarkable bedroom. I scanned the simple room quickly and began to descend, when my eye caught sight of a thin, two-by-two-foot crease in a corner of the ceiling.

“What’s that?”

The old caretaker climbed up a few stairs to look and told me it was a trap door that led to a tiny attic space where two Jews, an elderly mother and her daughter, were hidden from the Nazis for the entire duration of the war. “We fed them and took good care of them.”

A firestorm outside! Four out of five Dutch Jews murdered by the Nazis! Yet upstairs in the Spinoza house, hidden in the attic, two Jewish women were tenderly cared for throughout the war. And downstairs, the tiny Spinoza Museum was looted, sealed, and expropriated by an officer of the Rosenberg task force, who believed that its library could help the Nazis solve their “Spinoza problem.” And what was their Spinoza problem? I wondered if this Nazi, Alfred Rosenberg, had also, in his own way, for his own reasons, been looking for Spinoza. I had entered the museum with one mystery and now left it with two.

Shortly thereafter, I began writing.

Chapter One

AMSTERDAM—APRIL 1656
As the final rays of light glance off the water of the Zwanenburgwal, Amsterdam closes down. The dyers gather up their magenta and crimson fabrics drying on the stone banks of the canal. Merchants roll up their awnings and shutter their outdoor market stalls. A few workers plodding home stop for a snack with Dutch gin at the herring stands on the canal and then continue on their way. Amsterdam moves slowly: the city mourns, still recovering from the plague that, only a few months earlier, killed one person in nine.

A few meters from the canal, at Breestraat No. 4, the bankrupt and slightly tipsy Rembrandt van Rijn applies a last brushstroke to his painting Jacob Blessing the Sons of Joseph, signs his name in the lower right corner, tosses his palette to the floor, and turns to descend his narrow winding staircase. The house, destined three centuries later to become his museum and memorial, is on this day witness to his shame. It swarms with bidders anticipating the auction of all of the artist’s possessions. Gruffly pushing aside the gawkers on the staircase, he steps outside the front door, inhales the salty air, and stumbles toward the corner tavern.

In Delft, seventy kilometers south, another artist begins his ascent. The twenty-five-year-old Johannes Vermeer takes a final look at his new painting, The Procuress. He scans from right to left. First, the prostitute in a gloriously yellow jacket. Good. Good. The yellow gleams like polished sunlight. And the group of men surrounding her. Excellent—each could easily stroll off the canvas and begin a conversation. He bends closer to catch the tiny but piercing gaze of the leering young man with the foppish hat. Vermeer nods to his miniature self. Greatly pleased, he signs his name with a flourish in the lower right corner.

Back in Amsterdam at Breestraat No. 57, only two blocks from the auction preparations at Rembrandt’s home, a twenty-three-year-old merchant (born only a few days earlier than Vermeer, whom he would admire but never meet) prepares to close his import-export shop. He appears too delicate and beautiful to be a shopkeeper. His features are perfect, his olive skin unblemished, his dark eyes large, and soulful.

He takes a last look around: many shelves are as empty as his pockets. Pirates intercepted his last shipment from Bahia, and there is no coffee, sugar, or cocoa. For a generation, the Spinoza family operated a prosperous import-export wholesale business, but now the brothers Spinoza—Gabriel and Bento—are reduced to running a small retail shop. Inhaling the dusty air, Bento Spinoza identifies, with resignation, the fetid rat droppings accompanying the odor of dried figs, raisins, candied ginger, almonds, and chickpeas and the fumes of acrid Spanish wine. He walks outside and commences his daily duel with the rusted padlock on the shop door. An unfamiliar voice speaking in stilted Portuguese startles him.

“Are you Bento Spinoza?”

Spinoza turns to face two strangers, young weary men who seem to have traveled far. One is tall, with a massive, burly head that hangs forward as though it were too heavy to be held erect. His clothes are of good quality but soiled and wrinkled. The other, dressed in tattered peasant’s clothes, stands behind his companion. He has long, matted hair, dark eyes, a strong chin and forceful nose. He holds himself stiffly. Only his eyes move, darting like frightened tadpoles.

Spinoza offers a wary nod.

“I am Jacob Mendoza,” says the taller of the two. “We must see you. We must talk to you. This is my cousin, Franco Benitez, whom I’ve just brought from Portugal. My cousin,” Jacob clasps Franco’s shoulder, “is in crisis.”

“Yes,” Spinoza answers. “And?”

“In severe crisis.”

“Yes. And why seek me?”

“We’ve been told that you’re the one to render help. Perhaps the only one.”

“Help?”

“Franco has lost his faith. He doubts everything. All religious ritual. Prayer. Even the presence of God. He is frightened all the time. He doesn’t sleep. He talks of killing himself.”

“And who has misled you by sending you here? I am only a merchant who operates a small business. And not very profitably, as you see.” Spinoza points at the dusty window through which the half-empty shelves are visible. “Rabbi Mortera is our spiritual leader. You must go to him.”

“We arrived yesterday, and this morning we set out to do exactly that. But our landlord, a distant cousin, advised against it. ‘Franco needs a helper, not a judge,’ he said. He told us that Rabbi Mortera is severe with doubters, that he believes all Jews in Portugal who converted to Christianity face eternal damnation, even if they were forced to choose between conversion and death. ‘Rabbi Mortera,’ he said, ‘will only make Franco feel worse. Go see Bento Spinoza. He is wise in such matters.’”

“What talk is this? I am but a merchant—”

“He claims that if you had not been forced into business because of the death of your older brother and your father, you would have been the next great rabbi of Amsterdam.”

“I must go. I have a meeting I must attend.”

“You’re going to the Sabbath service at the synagogue? Yes? We too. I am taking Franco, for he must return to his faith. Can we walk with you?”

“No, I go to another kind of meeting.”

“What other kind?” says Jacob, but then immediately reverses himself. “Sorry. It’s not my affair. Can we meet tomorrow? Would you be willing to help us on the Sabbath? It is permitted, since it is a mitzvah. We need you. My cousin is in danger.”

“Strange.” Spinoza shakes his head. “Never have I heard such a request. I’m sorry, but you are mistaken. I can offer nothing.”

Franco, who had been staring at the ground as Jacob spoke, now lifts his eyes and utters his first words: “I ask for little, for only a few words with you. Do you refuse a fellow Jew? It is your duty to a traveler. I had to flee Portugal just as your father and your family had to flee, to escape the Inquisition.”

“But what can I—”

“My father was burned at the stake just a year ago. His crime? They found pages of the Torah buried in the soil behind our home. My father’s brother, Jacob’s father, was murdered soon after. I have a question. Consider this world where a son smells the odor of his father’s burning flesh. Where is the God that created this kind of world? Why does He permit such things? Do you blame me for asking that?” Franco looks deeply into Spinoza’s eyes for several moments and then continues. “Surely a man named ‘blessed’—Bento in Portuguese and Baruch in Hebrew—will not refuse to speak to me?”

Spinoza nods solemnly. “I will speak to you, Franco. Tomorrow midday?”

“At the synagogue?” Franco asks.

“No, here. Meet me here at the shop. It will be open.”

“The shop? Open?” Jacob interjects. “But the Sabbath?”

“My younger brother, Gabriel, represents the Spinoza family at the synagogue.”

“But the holy Torah,” Jacob insists, ignoring Franco’s tugging at his sleeve, “states God’s wish that we not work on the Sabbath, that we must spend that holy day offering prayers to Him and performing mitzvahs.”

Spinoza turns and speaks gently, as a teacher to a young student, “Tell me, Jacob, do you believe that God is all powerful?”

Jacob nods.

“That God is perfect? Complete unto Himself.”

Again Jacob agrees.

“Then surely you would agree that, by definition, a perfect and complete being has no needs, no insufficiencies, no wants, no wishes. Is that not so?”

Jacob thinks, hesitates, and then nods warily. Spinoza notes the beginnings of a smile on Franco’s lips.

“Then,” Spinoza continues, “I submit that God has no wishes about how, or even if, we glorify Him. Allow me, then, Jacob, to love God in my own fashion.”

Franco’s eyes widen. He turns toward Jacob as though to say, “You see, you see? This is the man I seek.”

Two Therapy Poems

“On the Way Out”

Whether it is a the end of a session or at the end of our work
Information is sometimes disclosed that leaves me wondering
“Seriously, you are telling me this now?”
Other questions follow, “How should I respond to this … the disclosure and your timing?”
Extend the session beyond the therapy hour to make sure it is okay to end?
Or say, “It sounds like something that would be helpful to address in future therapy or sessions?”
A decision has to be made in seconds while maintaining an appropriate facial expression
(What is an appropriate facial expression at this time, anyway?)
Sigh
Hopefully, I will make the best therapeutic decision or one that will pass “the pillow test”
But there are times when I want to ask, “Please, stop dropping these bombs on your way out.”

“Therapy Soundtrack”

My stomach gurgles
I respond by tightening my stomach muscles while wondering, “Did ­__ hear that?”
Previous experience has taught me that stomach gurgles are not like the Lone Ranger, travelling with only one companion
They are more like rabbits, born in a litter
So, as a safeguard, I cross one hand across my stomach
Hoping that, although it has not worked before, this time the gesture will soothe the sounds to a whimper
I draw some comfort from the fact that at least I am not hiccupping or having a sneezing fit
One that triggers a concerned, “Are you okay?” from my client
Biological processes creating an unwanted therapy soundtrack
Perhaps they come in sessions to remind both my client and I that I am a normal human, not one endowed with super powers

Psychotherapy with Older Adults: Unjustified Fears, Unrecognized Rewards

I am a geriatric clinical psychologist. I love working with older adults. I have often wondered, though, why there are so few of us around. Ten thousand people in America turn 65 every single day now. There is an accelerating rate of this already underserved segment of our society, and there is a huge and growing but untapped market of potential revenue for psychotherapists wanting to expand their practices. Why, then, are there so few psychotherapists actively working with older adults? While it is estimated that 70% of psychotherapists see adults on their caseload, only 3% of them have had formal training in working with older adults. What has stopped clinicians from getting training that could be so valuable in their professional development? Despite the general finding that the motivation and attitude of the older adult toward psychotherapy is as positive as it is in other age groups, many clinicians doubt this nevertheless. As I began working with older adults, I confronted these issues, and as I did, I found new joy in my work. What I discovered was this: I have as much to learn from my older clients as they may have to learn from me.

Many clinicians prefer not to work with older adults, and I have a great deal of respect for those preferences. In my own practice, I'm not inclined to work with children or adolescents. Oftentimes, though, the therapist’s preference is based on a view of older adulthood that is grounded less in fact and more in myth. When I first started seeing people in nursing homes, I felt like a fish out of water. I was trained in two of the best graduate psychology programs around, but when I was in a nursing home, I was consumed with doubt and fear.

It was 1999. I had just become licensed as a psychologist, and I was offered a job with a firm that brokered psychological services to nursing home residents. I was excited about making a living as a psychologist, energized about venturing into this new application of my skills, and eager to ply my trade—that is, up until the first week I actually saw clients! It was then that the reality of working with older adults eclipsed my fantasies of doing so. It was then that I confronted my awareness that this was incredibly challenging work for which I felt ill prepared.

My main fear: could my cognitively compromised clients even benefit from psychotherapy? I asked myself, How much of my work with them could they actually comprehend? How capable were they of working through their emotional struggles and inner conflicts? To what end would our psychotherapy serve if their lives would soon come to a close? I was overwhelmed with confusion, uncertain of my effectiveness, and scared I might be practicing outside my area of competence. Out of an amalgam of fear, guilt, and good sense came a series of consultations with a wise geropsychologist, and it was there that I began my schooling about the cognitive, emotional, and functional eccentricities of the older adult.

I am here to tell you, though, that 13 years later, I have come full circle. My acquired knowledge and experience in geriatrics have been invaluable, but I see now that, with respect to the essence of effective psychotherapy, it turned out that I had been sufficiently trained to do the work all along. Becoming technically proficient as a gerontologist has taken me on an invaluable path, but I see now that my former fears about conducting psychotherapy with older adults were driven almost entirely by my own introjects from the social stigma of aging. That’s what this article is about—to describe my own journey as a clinician framed within the cultural mythology around aging.

Myth #1: Psychotherapy with the elderly is time wasted, because the elderly client has so little time to enjoy any gains that might be made.

There is a film released in 2011 entitled Beginners, for which Christopher Plummer won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor. The story involves a widower who, at age 75, joyously begins living a sexually authentic life as a gay man. To justify such a change, how many years should this man have left to live? Is the length of time he would have to enjoy his newfound emotional freedom really the issue? I am reminded of the elderly client who responded to her therapist’s query why she wanted psychotherapy by saying, “It’s simple; all I have left is my future.” At age 49, Freud is well known for having contended that anyone over 50 was uneducable, and I wonder if some of our biases working with older adults might stem from this overstated assertion.

Due to a very severe stroke, Estelle had for some four years been living in a nursing home. At 75, this was her home now. She was referred to me because she could not stop getting into heated arguments with other residents, and she was sad a lot. She had a history of drinking moonshine; she had been an ironworker and a barmaid, drove a semi, and had graduated high school with honors.

As with most nursing home residents, she was on a ton of meds, including an antidepressant, two anxiolytics, and an antipsychotic. When I first met her, she told me she had multiple personality disorder (which wasn’t the case), but due to her stroke, she did have memory problems and severe aphasia (difficulty expressing herself with language). In fact, her aphasia was so pronounced that it took her as long as a minute to express a complete sentence. She grinded out each word—one by one—with persistent determination. Her desire to communicate was relentless, and this was what allowed her to stay connected to others.

My psychotherapy with Estelle lasted two years, and I learned a great deal from her. I learned about the incredible courage and fortitude it takes to cope with an abusive upbringing, the loneliness and isolation that can accompany nursing home life, and the debilitating physical ravages of vascular dementia. I also learned about the connection that occurs between two souls—where words are often not needed.

More than her aggravated depression, though, Estelle wanted to work on emotional abuse issues from her childhood and the disparaging way her mother and father had treated her. She was open to the idea that those images—and the ways she coped with them—were influencing how she related to others and to herself. And this was how we approached her psychotherapy.

I am tempted to say that Estelle was a wonderful psychotherapy client, but the temptation to do so implies that it was Estelle’s characteristics that made the therapy meaningful. It was not. What made the psychotherapy beautiful—even reverent—evolved from the exceptionally meaningful way the two of us found to communicate with each other. And not unlike Victor Frankl’s odyssey through Auschwitz, what was most meaningful to me was to witness Estelle’s search for meaning in the limitations of her own life.

In the beginning, our therapy focused on relieving her depressive and angry feelings, and Estelle made comments like,

I have been fighting lately—it’s enjoyable … and it’s not enjoyable. It relieves tension, but I am crying all the time. If I told you all that is going on inside of me now we would have to meet all day!

Take a minute and think about her, though—grinding out each sentence—me wondering where in the world it was going to go—waiting almost interminably for each idea to unveil itself—and to eventually experience just how wondrous it was to witness such life-revealing self-reflection. How could a therapist not marvel at the human capability that was co-existing with such daunting a physical disability!

As our therapy progressed, the emotional work Estelle and I did together chronicled her evolution in becoming a more whole person. She created a process where she found her inner self in a way she had never done—developing her own autonomy and independence by resolving longstanding introjects that, for the first time in her life, she was now ready to expel. Toward the end of our work together, she proclaimed,

I’ve overlooked myself … but I can discover me … I can see the good inside me now. That surprises me to hear myself say that, but I see I will make it … and I know now who I’ve been angry at, and I see that I don’t need to be angry at everybody anymore. I’m not quite proud yet, but I do like being alone with me now … I really do enjoy my company. I’m on my way.

When I began doing psychotherapy with older adults, I didn’t realize that the kind of emotional and spiritual trek that Estelle would make was more similar than different from the journey I made with clients in other age groups. This is my joy of working with older adults—to see them unveil to themselves and to me their indomitable wisdom. For me, this is a revelation perhaps most profound in those who have lived with their darkness for so long.

Myth #2: The grief, loss, and somatic and socioeconomic burdens of the elderly are too excessive to warrant believing they could get better.

There is a great deal of pessimism about doing effective psychotherapy with older adults. Many of these clients have limited resources to face unimaginable social, medical, and economic struggles, and many clinicians tacitly believe that the elderly’s frustration, deprivation, fear, and dependence are so emotionally injurious that no amount of psychotherapy could really help them. When I began my psychotherapy career with the elderly, I wondered about these things too. With experience, though, what I learned was that it was not my clients’ deprivation and burden that was too excessive—it was my own. It was my inability to cope with my fears and frustrations working with excessively burdened people, and I was projecting these issues into my elder clients.

Marge was a ten-year resident of her nursing home. Legally blind, she had a longstanding diagnosis of mild mental retardation and had been institutionalized with paranoid schizophrenia for much of her life. When her mobility began to fail and her dementia and other medical conditions became too much for her family caretakers to manage, she was admitted to a skilled nursing facility. In order to address issues of depression and to help her manage her psychotic symptoms, for almost three years I saw Marge weekly for psychotherapy. I wondered if the odds of Marge overcoming her burdens were too great. I wondered if she could fight the good fight. What I came to learn, though, was that I was actually asking that of myself.

Like many people with schizophrenia, Marge was an isolationist, and this often exacerbated her psychotic symptoms. The structure and consistency of our weekly visits, though, allowed her to quell many of her paranoid thoughts, and she made remarkable progress. For the first time in many years, she was successfully managing most of her troubling and longstanding paranoid symptoms. Her solitary lifestyle, however, unintentionally reinforced her chronic feelings of loneliness.

As does happen sometimes, changes in my own life forced me to turn her psychological care over to another clinician, and we spent two months planning for the transfer. As you might imagine, my concern was that my departure would lead her to regress into further isolation. As it turned out, though, my underestimation of her strengths and concerns about her succumbing to her fears were a projection of my own issues.

In the waning weeks before my departure, Marge began to voice her sadness with our impending termination, and this was clinically therapeutic for her. She also began to tell me about the new and pleasant experience she was having on "the boat," so asked her about it.

Marge: "I will miss you."
Dr. Kraus: "Yes. It's sad that our therapy together is going to end. You have made great progress, and I am proud of you. I know you will continue your good work with Dr. Hamilton. … You had mentioned to me about a boat. Can you tell me more about it?”
Marge: "Oh, yes! We travel around."
Dr. Kraus: "Do you, now! Where have you been?"
Marge: "Well, we're going to France."
Dr. Kraus: "Really! How nice! It sounds like a cruise ship."
Marge: "Not really.{whispering} It's a submarine, but you can't tell anyone."
Dr. Kraus: {with curiosity} "How come?"
Marge: "Because they might throw me off!"
Dr. Kraus: "I see. What's it like for you traveling to all these places?"
Marge: "There's a group of us … my roommate … and a few more … and Nancy {one of her nursing assistants} … I like it."
Dr. Kraus: "That's terrific. It sounds like you're seeing that while you are sad our therapy is ending, you also see that you will have some good friends here with you after I am gone."
Marge: {Smiling and in a very calm and self-assured voice} "Yes, I will." 1

And so it was with Marge that I learned two very important lessons: 1) even with a mentally retarded, schizophrenic, aging nursing home patient with dementia, extraordinary things can be accomplished, and 2) the fears and discounting of her strengths that I imagined within her were really projections of my own.

Myth #3: Old people are staid in their ways; they are too stubborn to change.

In some of my geriatric workshops, I ask the audience what the four essential signs of aging are. Invariably, they will say things like grey hair, illness, and memory loss. Then I tell them my four: wisdom, confidence, character, and strength! I tell them that I threw them a little curve-ball, but they get the point that we often ignore or minimize the tremendous assets and capacities possessed by older adults. We overfocus on their liabilities and underrecognize their strengths. We miss how many competencies increase with age: appreciation, authenticity, desire to help, maturity, patience. Being stubborn can imply having mettle to take a stand and stick to it, and it is often quite effective for a psychotherapist to run with a resistance than to try to overcome it. It also occurs to me that to say that the elderly are staid may again say more about the patience, optimism, and confidence of those who serve them than anything else.

In Psychotherapy with the Elderly, psychologist George Bouklas offers an extraordinary account of a conversation with Errol, an 82-year-old patient of his with mild dementia, who entered a nursing facility for rehab following a colostomy. Errol never accepted his surgery, was constantly angry and agitated, and would routinely resist medical care. He was referred to Bouklas for ripping off his colostomy bag and spreading its contents across the room. He then would ask the staff what the fuss was all about! Here’s a powerful and provocative excerpt from their therapy:

Errol: (in an angry tone) "I stopped spreading shit on the floor.”
Bouklas: (silence)
Errol: "I told you, I stopped spreading shit on the floor! You act like that doesn’t matter! Well, does it matter to you?”
Bouklas: "Should it matter to me?”
Errol: "I thought you might be proud. The room doesn’t smell like shit anymore.”
Bouklas: "What’s wrong with the smell of shit?”
Errol: "You mean you liked it?”
Bouklas: “I like everything about you, no matter what it looks like, what it sounds like, or what it smells like.”
Errol: (now weeping) “You son of a bitch, if you’re lying to me I’ll kill you.”
Bouklas: “If I was lying to you I would deserve it.”2

Errol is typical of most elderly clients in that their stubbornness is a defense, albeit maladaptive—an indication that something more loathsome, more unacceptable, more humiliating may lie beneath. From my point of view, the word “staid” is an exemplar to some extent characterizing every psychotherapy client.

All clients resist—they all hold on to old patterns of thought and action. Resistance is the sin qua non of all psychotherapy, and it is no less true of the elderly. But when clients are unblocked, when resistance evaporates, psychotherapy with the elderly is an amazing thing. When we can help our clients abandon their defenses—even for just a moment—we create in the therapy a transcendent experience that elevates and inspires. It takes something special to really dare to live, and I feel privileged to witness them doing it. If we are open to our undeniable emotional connection to our clients, we can truly witness their transcendence—and it then emphatically becomes our own. With the elderly client, the metamorphosis is no less exalting, no less divine.

Growing old changes the way people relate to themselves and to others. The aged are often dealing with three principal issues: (1) how to adapt to the biggest transition of their lives—their changing health, the idea of getting older, and their changing family and work roles, (2) how to cope with the grief and loss that accompany their advancing age and decreasing abilities, and (3) how to manage their interpersonal relationships with others. As people advance in age, they go through an immense life transition—their role in their family changes, their view of themselves as a healthy person changes, and their sense of their own longevity and mortality changes. If kept silent or hidden, the feelings underlying these transitions often get acted out in disguised forms. Listening to and being there for the elderly client is invaluable to them not only because it makes available a problem-solving process that may ameliorate their distress, but also because it brings a heightened sense of connectedness and bonding with you. When this happens, they are not alone, and in that moment, neither are you.

Grief over family that's passed on, sadness over their sense of lost usefulness, loss of their former and more active pursuits that once gave them so much pleasure all make it more difficult for aging people to emotionally cope with their circumstances. Simply listening with supportive understanding and making meaningful emotional contact can bring them a sense of calm and solace. More than that, though, most of my older clients have the capacity for and can benefit from deeper emotional work. Not always are they aware they are engaged in such work, but my experience has been that it doesn’t really matter whether they are aware of it or not. It can go on, and they can reap the benefits of it nevertheless. Although the person's memory for recent events may be lacking, long-term memory, especially for well-learned actions, events, and knowledge, is one of the last cognitive abilities to decline. By helping them share something important and meaningful about their own lives, you bring into your here-and-now relationship with them the feelings of closeness they have experienced or longed to experience with others. In my view, this is so important in facilitating the growth process.

Geraldine was one of my depressed nursing home patients. Her Alzheimer's was at a moderate stage, and she could not remember my name to save her life. I met with her every week for months, and at every session she had trouble recognizing me. "Its Dr. Sparky," I would say. The social worker at the nursing home who introduced me to each of the residents there liked telling them my nickname, and that's how everybody soon started knowing me. When she would hear this, Geraldine's brow and eyelids would rise ever so slightly. "I'm your psychologist," I would say. I would prompt her recall with a verbal sketch of my role and why we were meeting. With this, you could begin to see her recognition building and she began feeling more at ease with me. I never really knew for sure that she actually was recognizing me, but it really didn’t matter, because she felt more comfortable with me.

As a rule, Geraldine's mood was irritable, she had a cynical view of the world, and she isolated herself excessively. Keeping to herself was a real problem for her, because she had begun to develop sores on her backside from lying in bed so much. When she wasn't in her bed, she was lying in her recliner. Her sores were becoming so severe that the medical staff felt they would soon threaten her life. Despite forgetting who I was and what we had talked about the week before, after a number of sessions together she began to learn that she could trust me. This is not learning that is taking place in the cerebral cortex but learning that new neuroscience research explains is occurring at a subcortical level. One thing was true—I enjoyed her sarcasm, and she could see that. I encouraged her to socialize more with others, to give others a second chance, but it was not my expertise or even my words that made a difference—it was her trust in me that eventually allowed her to risk taking my suggestions to heart.

You see, underneath her rough exterior, Geraldine really was a sweetheart. As she allowed herself to trust me, she learned that she just might be able to trust others as well. As she allowed others to know her, they began to see her sweetness, too, and as she socialized more, her depression began to lift, she spent less time in her bed and chair, and her sores began to heal.

Along with her physical healing, Geraldine experienced a significant emotional healing. Just how emotional healing occurs in therapy is still quite a mystery, but for Geraldine, it seemed to occur at a level that went well beyond what she could articulate in words or what she could remember. In this sense, her Alzheimer's did not prevent her emotional recovery. Her learning seemed to take place not within her cognitive self but as a consequence of how she felt about her relationship with me and, later, with others. Communication with her took place beyond words, beyond logic, beyond conscious thought.

“What I learned from Geraldine was that in psychotherapy, words are overrated—I learned that it is the relationship that can heal.” I have often mused about how insightful my interpretations were in a session and believed how it may have been my pithy comment that was a turning point in the therapy. That seems almost never to have been the case. When my clients recall their own turning points in therapy, it almost never has to do with anything I have said but almost always relates to something I have done or been for them. Being with them in their “staidness” may be the most effective thing I do with my older clients.

This type of healing occurs because an emotional reconciliation is reached within the aging client that has more to do with restored faith, with renewed hope, and with enhanced trust in the world, in themselves, and in their relationships with others than it has to do with cognitive functioning per se. Granted, cognitive decline generates fear, anger, suspiciousness, loss, and any number of other difficult and challenging emotional experiences—but the aging process impairs emotional functioning on a biological level only in its final stages. And that's why many people with Alzheimer's can be comforted and counseled, can feel support from others, and can reach a greater sense of peace with their experience. It's your empathy that eases their suffering. It's your empathy that cultivates their sense of joy in the life they might see they are blessed to be living and can give thanks to have lived.

How Clinicians Get Stuck: Some Emotional Risks in Working with the Aged

For several years, I led a biweekly consultation group with psychologists and master’s-level clinicians interested in learning from their own experience with their elderly clients. Some of what we discussed had to do with gerontology, cognition, testing, contracting, and the like, but much of what we discussed related to the emotional lives of the clinicians when they were with their clients.

Despite the growing evidence on the effectiveness of psychotherapy with the elderly—even with those who have dementia—psychotherapists underserve this population of clients. One of the reasons for this stems from how clinicians defend against the knowledge of their own physical and emotional mortality and the terror of their own vulnerability and dependency. I believe that this is especially true in psychotherapy with the dementia patient, where, in some form, the death of the cognitive self is confronted.

Another reason psychotherapists shy from involvement with older adults arises from the necessity for therapists to manage their own unresolved internal representations of parental and grandparental figures. Much has been written about how the older client sees a younger therapist as a younger (adult) child. When this occurs, the client needs to work through issues within the therapeutic relationship that mirror unresolved issues in the client’s relationship with his or her own children. Younger therapists, especially, can have a difficult time addressing an older client’s provocative comments like “You’re just a kid. What do you think you know about what I am going through?” In the reality of older adulthood—where the older client is increasingly dependent on younger caretakers—the unjustified but prejudicial attitude that older clients can develop toward their younger therapists can be exceptionally challenging.

It is generally understood that psychotherapy occurs within an intersubjective field—where the therapist and the client affects and is affected by the other. At some level, the therapist is always experiencing what is emanating from the client, and the client is always projecting into the therapist his or her needs, fantasies, and stereotypes. And the therapist cannot help but do the same. When skillfully observed, this can lay the groundwork for significant therapeutic gains. The therapy progresses when the therapist is aware of these processes and can use them to move the therapy forward. The less therapists are trained to do so, or the more they are hampered by their own complete internal resolution, the more likely that these processes will be acted out within the therapeutic relationship, and the less likely these processes will be therapeutically worked through. The less therapists are aware of their own projections, the more their idealized and devalued stereotypes of “old age” will unknowingly creep into the therapy, and the meaning they unknowingly assign to “old age” will color their relationships with their clients. Signifiers that should alert therapists that they may be developing distorted attitudes toward their clients are:

  • the assumption that an elderly client would not benefit from therapy,
  • the assumption that medication would be preferable to psychotherapy,
  • the attitude that a client may be too old, too stubborn, or too burdened to benefit from psychotherapy, and
  • prominent feelings of boredom, anxiety, or frustration when with a client.

In America, we honor the young for their beauty, strength, and vitality. However, in other places on the globe, old men and women are objects of veneration. This leads to a curious consequence: the less we acknowledge what can be respected, admired, or even venerated in the parents and grandparents of the world, the more we make ourselves orphans who lose a piece of our faith, security, and connection to a past that we risk repeating. This has been part of my joy in working with older adults: I am able to honor them, to sit at their feet, marvel, and learn. As their therapist, I have become their faithful student, their privileged witness, and my life is ever richer because of it.

Footnotes

1 Kraus, G. (2006). At wit's end: plain talk on Alzheimer's for families and clinicians. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press.

2 Bouklas, G. (1997). Psychotherapy with the elderly: Becoming Methuselah’s echo.Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield.

Esther Perel on Mating in Captivity

Lori Schwanbeck: You are widely known around the world for your unique and thought-provoking stance on what makes marriage work. Can you tell us a little bit about your perspective and what makes it unique?
Esther Perel: I was originally trained in psychodynamic psychotherapy, but my real home for many years has been in family systems theory—I trained with Salvador Minuchin, and then in psychodrama, expressive arts therapies, and bioenergetics. And for many years, I worked extensively as a cross-cultural psychologist with couples and families in cultural transition, primarily refugees, internationals, and mixed marriages—interracial, interreligious, and intercultural couples.
LS: So you saw a lot of different people’s lives.
EP: Yes, I'm interested in difference. I'm interested in the relationship between the individual and the larger context, looking specifically at gender relations and childbearing practices. I then added my interest in sexuality, so that I'm now working at the intersection between culture, couples, and sexuality.

I also like to work with clinicians, be they physicians or mental health professionals, to promote the integration of sexuality within the couples therapy world, and to integrate relational thinking within the sexuality world.
LS: What do you think is missing in most clinicians’ approaches to working with sexuality and intimacy in the Western world?
EP: I just read a whole review article by Eli Coleman about sexuality training in medical schools, and it has undergone yet another major decline since 2010. We would have thought we were finally creating comprehensive training in sexuality for physicians, but we are not. So what is missing? First and foremost, for mental health professionals as well as for all health professionals, is training: the acknowledgment of sexual health as an integrated part of general mental and physical health. The vast majority of couples therapists have had no training in sexuality whatsoever—maybe an hour here and there. Couples therapy has become, over the years, a desexualized practice. Sex is the elephant in the room.
Couples therapy has become a desexualized practice. Sex is the elephant in the room.
Most therapists do not talk about it, don't know how to talk about it, and often wait for a couple to bring it up. And the couple themselves are often uncomfortable talking about it, so it remains the unaddressed subject, though it's often hardly insignificant.

A Better Sexual Relation

LS: You see our sexuality, our erotic life, as vital in the health of a couple.
EP: I see a couple's erotic life as an important dimension of their relationship because it is an integral part of the romantic ideal that is the dominant model of modern love. We took love and brought it to marriage or committed relationships. We then sexualized love. Then with the democratization of contraception, we liberated women from the mortal dangers that were associated with sex, and sex got separated from its sole reproduction function—as Anthony Giddens says, it became a reflexive project of the self, an ongoing process of self-definition. We have, for the first time in history, a sexuality within long-term relationships that isn't about having ten kids or a woman's marital duty, but that is rooted in desire, i.e., in the sovereign free will of individuals to engage sexually with their partners. And in the process, we have linked sexual satisfaction with marital happiness; that is what has made sexuality an important element of modern marriages.

I realized in writing Mating in Captivity that I was not interested only in sexuality, per se. And I certainly was not so interested in, "Are people having sex? How often? How hard? How many? How long? Are you a sexless couple because you have less than 11 sexual interactions a year?" and so forth. My interests lie not in the statistics of sex or the perfect performance industry that pervade our society.

Instead, I found I was really interested in what makes a couple feel a sense of aliveness, vibrancy, vitality—of Eros as a life force. When couples complain about the listlessness of their sex lives, they sometimes may want to have more sex, but they will always want a better sexual relation. And they will invoke the experience of renewal, of connectedness, of playfulness, of mystery, of regeneration, of power.

My distinction between sex and eroticism actually came out of my work in trauma. My husband directs the International Trauma Studies Program at Columbia, and he works a lot with torture survivors. I would wonder, "When do you know that you have reconnected with life after a traumatic experience?" It's when people are once again able to be creative and playful, to go back into the world and into the parts of them that invite discovery, exploration, and expansiveness—when they're once again able to claim the free elements of themselves and not only the security-oriented parts of themselves.

In the community of Holocaust concentration camp survivors in Antwerp, Belgium where I grew up, there were two groups: those who didn't die, and those who came back to life. And those who didn't die were people who lived tethered to the ground, afraid, untrusting. The world was dangerous, and pleasure was not an option. You cannot play, take risks, or be creative when you don't have a minimum of safety, because you need a level of unself-consciousness to be able to experience excitement and pleasure. Those who came back to life were those who understood eroticism as an antidote to death.
LS: That’s a very powerful statement. Do you find many couples that come to you dead in their relationships?
EP: Yes, but it's not always in their relationships. Sometimes they feel deadened inside of themselves as individuals.
I think that one of the prime motives for transgression is trying to beat back a feeling of deadness.
I think that one of the prime motives for transgression is trying to beat back a feeling of deadness. And the deadness isn't the fault of the other person at all. It may be a slow progression of an atrophy that has taken place inside themselves. I think that when people miss a sexual connection, there's often one partner who misses it more than the other. That longing, that yearning for that feeling of aliveness, of connection, of transcendence, of vitality, of energy, of rush is what people talk about. And on the other side of that, they will talk about feeling flat, feeling numb, feeling shut down, feeling dead.
LS: It sounds like you’re really talking about eroticism as an expression of libido, of life energy. How do you support couples in reinvigorating the passion in their lives?
EP: There’s a little exercise that I like to do, which I borrowed from the work of Gina Ogden. I ask the each partner in the couple to complete the statement, “I shut myself down when… I turn myself off when…”

We tend to talk about “what shuts me off” and “what turns me off”; we say, “You turn me off,” but we don’t often ask the question, “When do I turn myself off?” “I turn myself off when I look at an email just before going to bed. I turn myself off when I am disinterested in what you’re talking about. I turn myself off when I worry about the kids. I turn myself off when I remember my childhood.” What do I do to shut myself down? “I turn myself off when I don’t take time for myself.”
LS: It’s really about personal responsibility.
EP: That's exactly it. So the partners go back and forth, and they can come up with a list of 10 or 15 each. And then we come to, "I turn myself on when…I become alive when…"—not just sexually. Because if you're feeling dead, the other person can wear the nicest Victoria's Secret lingerie (and there is no Victor's Secret, you know), and it's not going to do anything because there's nobody at the reception desk.

Most of the time, in response to the "I turn myself on" question, people will say things like, "When I am with friends. When I go out dancing. When I take time in nature. When I take time for myself. When I've accomplished something that I'm proud of"—things that have to do with our sense of self-worth, our connection to meaning, and our sense of pleasure—things that make us feel alive.

Then you ask a person, "You tell me you like to dance. When's the last time you went to dance?" And if they tell you, "It's been months," or, "It's been years," then, before you start to work on anything connected to sexuality, you say to them, "I think it's high time you went dancing, since it seems to be something you really love to do."
LS: When you say that modern couples therapy has become a desexualized profession, it really sounds like you’re talking about more than just sex, but really about tracking and supporting aliveness in people.
EP: I think that there are a few forces that desexualize couples therapy today. One is the notion that sexual problems are the consequence of relational problems. Then it follows that, if you fix the relationship, the sex will follow. Therefore, if all sexual problems are relational problems of complicity, of intimacy, of communication, of trust, and all of that, then there are no sexual problems. So we don’t talk about sex because sex is just a consequence of something else.
LS: And you’re saying it stands alone as a phenomenon in a relationship.
EP: I don't think that sexuality is only a metaphor: "Tell me about the state of the union and I know by extension what happens in the bedroom." I think that sexuality is a parallel narrative. I think, in fact, that when you change a couple's sexual relationship, it has an effect on every other part of their lives.
When you change people's relationships to their own sexual selves and their ability to connect with others, you have touched them at the core.
When you change people's relationships to their own sexual selves and their ability to connect with others, you have touched them at the core, because it's everything: mind, body, spirit, breath.

Love and desire both relate and conflict. Looking at the way people connect and their emotional history is very important, but it gets translated into the physicality of self, and then it inhabits its own narrative. They are parallel stories and they need to be looked at as such. So that's one.

Another element of the desexualization, which is, I would say, stronger here in the United States, is related to the fact that the focus over the last decades has been on security, attachment theory, the need for safety, and much less on the need for freedom, sovereignty, and self-determination. This is because we are working within a context that is among the more egalitarian contexts of the West, and one where people are often so individual and so alone that all the theories that have proliferated have been theories of connection. In the few decades before, they were all theories of individuation. It's like in art: you have one wave succeeding another. This is not a time when, in this country, people are very interested in investigating the need for freedom. That happens in environments where people are a lot more oppressed, and where they are overly connected in layers of extended family. That is not the dominant concern here, existentially or socially. And sexuality plays itself in both realms. You need a certain security for sex, for some people—not for everybody. But you certainly need a lot of freedom for sex.

Balancing Security and Freedom

LS: Tell us more about how that need for security and need for freedom can coexist.
EP: For me, the reference person is Stephen Mitchell, who in his work in Can Love Last? looked at how modern love and romanticism have brought us to try to reconcile within one relationship, within one person, fundamentally sets of opposing human needs.

In every epic story—in The Odyssey, for example—there is the home and the journey, the travel and the base. Today we want our needs for security, predictability, stability, reliability, dependability—all the anchoring, grounding elements of our lives—to be met in the same relationship with the person from whom we also expect adventure, novelty, mystery, and all of that. We still want what marriage always gave us, which was about economic support, companionship, family life, and social respectability, and on top of it, we want our partner to want us, to cherish us, to be our trusted confidant and our best friend. In effect, we are asking one person to give us what once an entire community used to provide.
LS: It’s a lot to ask for.
EP: We've never tried to experience both like that at that level in the history of human relationships. We also live twice as long—a hundred years ago, we died seven years after we were done raising children. So the longevity of what we expect from a monogamous, committed relationship is also unprecedented.

There is something about the enshrinement of the modern couple that has basically made it this hermetic unit where we have get all our needs met, rather than understand that there are certain things you're going to get from your sister, your aunt, your grandmother, your best friend, your colleague. I think that we can have multiple intimacies that are friendships and deep relationships with other people.

The model for me is really seeing the movement between freedom and security, which are the two pillars of development—connection and autonomy, independence and dependence. I think they are the two main pillars of growing up. And it is the same as any system. Every system needs to balance homeostasis and growth. It isn't just on an individual level. And every system regulates change and stability. So do individuals regulate connection and separateness.

The image that I often use in my work with couples is little kids: if everything is nice and going accordingly, you will have your child sit on your lap very cozy, nested, at ease, comfortable. And at some point, the child needs to jump out and go into the world to meet what are called the exploratory needs: freedom, independence, separateness, autonomy, all of that. If the little kid turns around, which kids always do, and looks to see what's going on with the adult, and the adult says, "Kiddo, the world's a beautiful place. Go for it. Enjoy it. I'm here," often the child will turn around and go further, and experience at the same time connection and independence, freedom and security. At some point, she has enough, and comes back to base and plops herself into your lap again, happily returning as an act of freedom to a place where she feels welcome because it offers security as well as the respect for freedom.

But if, on the other hand, the little child turns around and the adult says, "I need you. I'm alone. I miss you. I'm depressed. I'm anxious. I'm worried. What is so great out there? Why don't you want to be with me? My partner hasn't paid any attention to me"—any of the messages that basically say to the child, without ever saying it in words, "Come back"—then there are a number of dominant responses. One common one is that the child comes back, because we'll do anything not to lose the connection, since that's the primary need.

But we will sometimes lose a part of ourselves in order not to lose the other. We will forgo our need for freedom and space and separateness in order not to lose the other and the connection. And we will learn a way of loving that will have a certain excess emotional burden, responsibility, worry, that is beyond the normal elements of love that have to do with mutuality, reciprocity, care, and responsibility—so much so that once I love you, I can no longer leave you enough to be able to experience the freedom and the unself-consciousness that are necessary for sexual excitement and sexual pleasure. The adult makes that motion into sex: the ability to be inside myself while I am with another. If, when I am with another, I have to leave myself, stay outside of myself, basically, I can't even culminate. Physiologically, we cannot come if we don't have a moment where we can be completely with ourselves and inside ourselves in the presence of another.
LS: So it’s really holding that dialectic of being both within yourself while also connected.
EP: Yes. But when you talk about intimacy, you need attachment as a precondition for connection. In the realm of desire, separateness is a precondition for connection.
Love needs closeness. Desire needs space.
Love needs closeness. Desire needs space.
LS: Could you give us a practical example from a couple that you’ve worked with of how someone can have both connection and separateness? And what does separateness mean within a relationship?
EP: Imagine the person says, "I turn myself on when I go to the movies alone." Not sexually, right? "I come to life. I connect to my desires in the realm of pleasure"—that broad sense of the word "sex."
Sex isn't something you do. It's a place you go, inside yourself and with another or others. It's a space you enter.
Sex isn't something you do. It's a place you go, inside yourself and with another or others. It's a space you enter. I work in the erotic space, if you want. It's not an act. People have had sex for generations and felt nothing. I am not into promoting people having sex, but having a certain relationship with a certain dimension of your life.

So, if they say, "I like to go to the movies," then the next question will be, "Do you go?" And you will listen to the degree to which they tell you, "It's hard for me to leave," or, "It's hard for my partner when I leave," or, "No, it's just a matter of circumstances. Lately, I haven't had a chance to go, but it's never been an issue for me," or, "When I come back, I'm always worried." The third child I didn't describe is the one who does go, but is constantly looking over his shoulder, making sure that the adult here isn't going to punish him, reject him, become depressed, or collapse on him when he returns.

So the person says, "I don't go often to the movies alone, or listen to music, or play my music for that matter"—or whatever it is—"because when I come home, I experience that anxiety, that knot in my stomach that I'm not going to be told, 'How was it? How wonderful,' or I'm not going to be told, 'Stay out as long as you want. Everything's fine. Enjoy yourself.' I'm going to be told when I leave, 'Again you have to go? When are you coming back? Why are you staying out so late? Why do you not want to go with me?' I'm going to hear comments that basically say, 'Give up your freedom so that I can feel secure.'"

That is a classic transaction in the couple, versus, "I'm happy for whatever it is that you are experiencing elsewhere, even when it has nothing to do with me, because you bring this back, and that makes you a more interesting and alive person that maintains a certain vitality between us."
LS: If we use attachment language, it sounds like you’re trying to cultivate secure attachment.
EP: Yes, and a secure attachment for me isn't a singular experience: there is not always just one person to whom we turn. And I think it's a difference in culture. There are loads of places in the world that are more likely to think that your partner is the person with whom you experience parts of your life, while friends and family provide the existence of multiple safe harbors.
LS: So secure attachment for you is about feeling securely attached in the world, in your life, but not exclusively attached to one person. That’s a big difference.
EP: Right. The enshrinement of the modern couple is connected to the exclusiveness. I don't think we are more insecure today than we were before, but I think
We bring all our security needs to one person, and then we blame them for whatever is missing in our lives.
we bring all our security needs to one person, and then we blame them for whatever is missing in our lives. God forbid you have conversations with others that you should be having with your partner, because that becomes an emotional infidelity. The system is rigged with injunctions against leaving the relationship in any way possible—not just in sexual terms.

A Vibrant Field Has Multiple Voices

LS: How are you finding your ideas are holding up in our Western culture? Are other therapists embracing them, or is there a push back that you’re finding when you teach?
EP: I think that a vibrant field is a field that has multiple voices. When I wrote my book, it wasn't written for professionals. I did not think that it was going to become one of those voices—that it would be embraced in the couples and sexuality fields, as it has by some. I'm happy that it is one of the many voices. One of the things that you get when you work cross-culturally, as I do, is that every time you hear a truth in one place, you know that another place is thinking of it completely differently. The pacifier, the baby's bed, the baby's crying don't mean the same thing in every culture. And it's very refreshing to be located in a much more multicultural, nuanced, nonjudgmental, relative way of thinking. It works for me.

I think that there are people who have difficulty with what I talk about, and there are people who find a tremendous sense of affirmation in what I talk about—this is how they have been thinking, and they've been looking for that approach. I'm glad to be part of the conversation, and I'm glad to be a stimulant in the conversation.
LS: You're certainly that, and it is very refreshing. It's almost like you're bringing that multicultural perspective of relationships into a multicultural perspective of how to do therapy, as well—how to hold and look at a relationship and embrace different perspectives
EP: I think that romanticism has appeared in every part of the world, even in very traditional cultures. And wherever romanticism has appeared, people are investing more in love than ever before, and divorcing more in the name of love—or the disillusions of love—than ever before. And
I think that wherever romanticism has appeared, there's a crisis of desire.
I think that wherever romanticism has appeared, there's a crisis of desire.

Originally, I wrote my book from the perspective of a European therapist observing American sexuality. I started the original article during the Clinton and Lewinsky scandal because I was very intrigued as to why this society was so tolerant towards divorce—you can divorce three, four times without much stigma these days—but it was very intransigent towards any transgression or infidelity, whereas the more traditional family-oriented world had always compromised towards infidelity (a burden carried primarily by women, I should add), in the name of preserving the family, and separated the well-being of the couple from the well-being of the family.

I had no idea that I would be going to 20 countries on book tour. In the process, I began to realize that a crisis of desire was nothing unique to this country. It is really part of the romantic model and the changing meanings of sexuality in modern committed relationship.

But there are some unique features to this culture that have to do certainly with its relationship to sexuality. First, it's a society that often relates to sexuality as smut or sanctimony, titillation on the one side, and condemnation on the other side. It vacillates between extremes.

Second, it's a society that has certain views about transparency, and about transparency as essential to intimacy: wholesale sharing, telling it all, being explicit, not beating around the bush. I think that this is a society that looks at honesty from the point of view of a confession. Minimal tolerance for ambiguity and the imponderables is what makes American business great, but it's not necessarily what other cultures bring into the private sphere.

Keeping Secrets

LS: You’re saying that the emphasis on complete transparency and honesty actually gets in the way of creating a vital relationship?
EP: I think that one should know that, while it is obvious in some cultures, like here, that if I can tell you everything then we are closer, there are other cultures—sometimes your own neighbors—who actually think that the ability to maintain privacy is what enhances intimacy, and not necessarily transparency.
LS: It’s a big difference.
EP: It’s a difference. And I think each one evolves in its own context. But it’s very refreshing to know that there is a whole other way of looking and thinking out there that totally throws off what you take for granted. Working in New York City, I get people from 15 countries coming into my office. I practice in many languages. I cannot assume that that a couple who came at nine o’clock and wants to tell each other everything is the same as the couple who comes at ten o’clock with a completely different notion of boundaries, individual space, the mandate for sharing, the hegemony of the word as a form of intimacy, gender structures, power dynamics, and so forth.
LS: The policy of not keeping secrets within the couple is also widely held among therapists here. I’m wondering if you have a different perspective. As a therapist, do you have the same policy that many therapists have of not holding secrets?
EP: There is a clear hierarchy of secrets. There is only one particular secret that therapists really grapple with in terms of credibility, ethics, and mode of working. If you tell your therapist that you have had a miserable sexual relationship with your partner for years, that you’ve been faking it forever, that you can’t stand his smell, or her looks, or whatever it is, you rarely will hear a therapist say, “Either you need to tell your spouse, or you have to go to individual therapy.” That’s also a big sexual secret. I cannot imagine a partner one day after 27 years finding out that their wife or their husband has been lying and faking to them all these years. They’d be no less crushed. But somehow that one doesn’t do it. It is really any one of the secrets in the range of the infidelity spectrum. And even if you raided your bank account, a therapist would not usually say, “If you don’t tell, I can’t start working with you.”
LS: So you have more of a subjective stance to the issue of whether or not full transparency between your clients is ultimately serving them.
EP: I think it needs to be examined. Sometimes it's dangerous. In the field of infidelity, I would align myself very much with the work of Janis Spring, Michele Scheinkman, Tammy Nelson, or Stephen Levine, who are examining the concept of keeping a secret. Today, in the first session with any couple, I will say, "I will see you as sometimes together and sometimes apart—I don't know how much of each. When I will meet you apart, it's because I think that there's certain conversations that may be better held alone, because you will be less defensive. You will take more responsibility. You will be more able to examine yourself quietly. You won't be in the reactive stance. And those will be confidential conversations, which means that each of you will probably tell me things that your partner may not know. And you will decide at what point you want to share that."

I'm often asked, "What do I do with the secret of infidelity?" I sit with it, because sometimes the secret is the therapy. Or, as Janis Spring says, "Giving up on the secret is the therapy." Then the question is, is revelation mandatory? It is often seen as mandatory here. The concept that intimacy needs to be rebuilt through transparency and revelation doesn't take into account that for some people, revelation may be more traumatic, which then is answered by other people who say, "But, somehow experiencing the trauma is part of rebuilding the relationship." But that's one view.

So I work with secrets. If I agree to work with the couple, I take the couple as it comes to me. It's not for me to decide what risks people need to take in terms of revealing their secrets. There are major power imbalances in society—major risks involved for women to reveal certain secrets, for instance. I very carefully assess with them what is safe. I've learned that when I go to Cuba, Mexico, and other places, I can't just take transparency as a norm without looking at the political and social implications of gender politics. In that sense, the dominant theories and trends du jour are not as contextual as systemic thinking used to be.
LS: What advice would you give to therapists in looking at their own erotic lives, in terms of how that’s going to affect the way they show up with clients?
EP: There are two levels: the professional and the personal. On the professional level, I think you want to continue to learn, renew yourself, grow. I think it's particularly important for experienced therapists to not stop growing, to not stop listening to other people.

Every time I go to a workshop or a conference, I know that I work differently the week that follows. I am filled up. I am renewed. I'm trying out new things, stepping outside of my own comfort zone. Every time I go and I lecture some place, I ask people, "Has my work grown? Has it changed? Have the ideas matured? I hope I'm not repeating the same thing." At this moment in my work, I have made new choices, different choices than the ones I certainly was trained with—or indoctrinated with, we could say, because they were never questioned.

I also think that it's very important for me, anyway, as a therapist, to read anthropology, history, poetry. The arts are a lot more able to deal with the complexities of love, sex, desire, and transgression than psychotherapy is. The greatest novels, movies, and poems capture the complexities and the contradictions of our life. I strive towards the embrace of the contradictions, or the dialectic, and not necessarily towards the dogma. I tend to work more on the side of art than on the side of science. And to work in the realm of art is to work with the unknown, rather than to want to simplify the known and to make it predictable and organized. I don't have a set model in that sense.

Maybe what people have appreciated about my work is the fact that I am questioning our assumptions. I really don't think I have the truth on things, even though I sometimes sound very confident. But I am willing to ask myself, "Is this the only way? And who says? And must it be this way? And for whom?" The people who come to study with me do so because I'm out of the box, not because they're going to get a nicely structured framework. There are a lot of other important elements to couples' lives, but it happens to be that this existential dimension is the one I have become very interested in. So I write about that.

And personally, make sure you stay alive. Make sure you stay in touch with your own experience of pleasure, of receiving, of giving, of sexuality, of your body. Don't disconnect, or you will bring that into your work, and it doesn't benefit anybody.

Videotaping Therapy

Therapists have been using videotape to enhance psychotherapy training and supervision for decades. Recent technological advances have allowed for a range of creative new affordable ways to record “picture-in-picture”, so the video shows both the client and therapist. These setups do not require any video editing. Below is a list of instructions for picture-in-picture video setups, with links for more information. If you know of another recording setup, please email me, and I’ll add you to the list.  

(Updates to this list are available here:  http://istdpinstitute.com/resources/)

1. I use Wirecast software to combine two digital webcams, connected to my computer, into one picture-in-picture therapy video. Psychotherapy videos are stored on the computer and can be burned onto DVDs. No editing is required.

2. Nat Kuhn developed a system to video therapy sessions that uses two digital cameras, two DVD recorders and a Picture-in-picture (PIP) video mixer. Therapy videos are stored on DVDs and no computer editing is required. He provides very detailed equipment and setup instructions here: http://natkuhn.com/equipment/equipment.pdf.

3. Arno Goudsmit in the Netherlands has developed a psychotherapy recording tool for a 2-camera and computer setup (also adaptable for 1 camera), which gives a picture-in-picture effect on an mpg-file. He uses memory sticks which the patient can take home; and they keep a copy of the psychotherapy video for study purposes. (You could also burn the therapy video onto a DVD.) You can find his software at: http://www.edtmaastricht.nl/2cameras. His software is free and no video editing afterwards required.

4. Rick Savage is a producer in New York City who has experience helping setup therapy videotaping systems using Apple computers and digital cameras. He can be reached at 917-364-1866 and
www.savagetunes.com.

Also:  Jon Frederickson and I have been experimenting with the use of Skype for one-way-mirror supervision. Jon provided live, one-way-mirror supervision for me from Washington, DC, while I was working with clients in San Francisco. We have had very positive clinical and training outcomes with this new technology. If you would like setup instructions, email me.

Clinicians and supervisors may also find the following articles of interest:

1. Allan Abbass, a psychiatrist in Halifax, published “Small-Group Videotape Training for Psychotherapy Skills Development”, as well as “Web-Conference Supervision for Advanced Psychotherapy Training: A Practical Guide

2. Peter Costello, a media ecologist and clinical psychologist at Adelphi University, wrote “The Influence of Videotaping on Theory and Technique in Psychotherapy: A Chapter in the Epistemology of Media
 

Assessing Partner Abuse in Couples Therapy

Mark and Julie were in their late thirties, and had been married for seven years after living together for three. During their initial session with me, they expressed concern that they had been drifting apart over the past year. They were both under considerable stress. Julie’s planned six-month leave of absence from her job following the birth of their son Brandon had now lasted four years. Brandon required lots of Julie’s time: he was highly impulsive, displayed frequent temper tantrums, and recently bit another child at daycare. Mark supported the family as a salesman for a medical equipment firm, but getting along without Julie’s income meant longer hours and more frequent travel.

“We hardly ever have time for each other anymore,” said Mark. “And I’m out of town so often these days that it’s hard for us to readjust when I get home. Julie is always preoccupied, either with Brandon or something else, and our relationship isn’t a priority for her the way it used to be.”

“We don’t communicate well,” added Julie. “We argue about parenting Brandon, about my housekeeping, about Mark’s being gone so much of the time . . .”

“There’s an example of one of our problems,” Mark interrupted. “ I don’t feel like she appreciates how hard I work to support us. Traveling on business is no picnic, I can tell you. I miss being home with my wife and kid.”

To most outward appearances, this was a couple caught in the typical dilemmas of our age: how to balance work and home life, how to be both parents and intimate partners, how to get one’s own needs met while meeting the needs of the other.

Mark and Julie had been in conjoint therapy twice before; each stint had lasted about one and a half years. Their first therapist, they told me, helped them understand how their relationship replicated themes from childhood. A couple of years later, when their arguments grew more frequent, they decided to try a new therapist. Mark liked their new therapist’s pragmatic approach and appreciated learning how to make “I statements” and practicing reflective listening. Mark felt that he had finally gotten through to Julie about his concerns. Julie agreed that the therapy had been helpful, but wasn’t willing to continue because there was too much focus on Mark’s concerns and not enough on hers.

When I asked Mark and Julie how they argued, they reported that Mark frequently raised issues in an angry way. Julie would withdraw, and Mark would press for resolution. She sometimes burst into tears during these encounters, and he saw this as her way to avoid addressing his concerns. Yet they both reported that their arguments “never get physical.”

Over the next few sessions, I gave Mark and Julie typical homework assignments. We discussed taking time-outs when their interactions grew too heated. We reviewed and practiced reflective listening skills. They voiced an appreciation about each other every day. And despite difficulty finding a babysitter who could handle Brandon, they managed to schedule two “date nights” over the next two weeks.

I did not yet realize it yet, but I was making the same error as their two previous therapists: I was attempting to do couples therapy with an abusive relationship.

Obligation to Assess

Many therapists, including those of us with extensive clinical experience, frequently plunge into doing therapy before we have adequately assessed whom and what we are treating. It is in the nature of the therapist-client relationship that we cannot know the whole story from the outset. Our clients may be lost, confused, withholding, or in denial. They aren’t ready to divulge everything at a first session (and if they were, we would probably wonder why). In the cause of establishing a working alliance, we leave avenues of assessment unexplored until a more opportune moment. Assessment and treatment necessarily walk hand in hand as the ongoing process of discovery and healing unfolds.

However, none of this relieves us of the ethical and professional obligation to carefully assess factors that may undermine treatment. “Sometimes we collude with our clients’ denial systems, deliver services that are misdirected or even harmful, and allow problems to get worse, under the guise of providing treatment.” Meanwhile, our clients continue to believe they are getting help, and we continue to collect our fees. Whether the undiagnosed problem is addiction, bipolar illness, domestic violence, or some other weighty issue, part of our job is to make educated guesses and follow up on them.

One error I encounter with troubling frequency is the failure of couples therapists to assess adequately for partner abuse. By partner abuse, I mean the use of force, intimidation, or manipulation—or the threat to use any of those methods—to control, hurt, or frighten an intimate partner. Note that the definition can be met even if no physical violence is involved. Verbal and psychological tactics are more common; frequently, they are also more effective at controlling, hurting, or frightening another, and they can be more emotionally damaging in the long run.

I have met with couples whose seasoned therapists, over the course of several years’ treatment, missed the extent and severity of the physical and emotional abuse taking place at home. We might be tempted to believe that clients bear some responsibility for staying silent on the issue (whether out of fear or outright denial), but the obligation to assess rests firmly on our shoulders. For example, an abused partner may feel unsafe bringing up abuse in the presence of the other because of likely retaliation, yet many therapists have a policy of never meeting separately with one member of a couple they are treating jointly.

Regardless of the reason for the assessment failure, the tragic result can be months or years of continued abuse. “Suffering” is a pallid word to describe the soul-damaging, spirit-deadening impact of ongoing abuse on the abused partner and the children who live with it. The corrosive nature of some abuse leads to an erosion of the self that can be extremely difficult to reverse. The effects are cumulative and must stop before healing can begin. Additionally, abuse generally grows worse without intervention. Meanwhile, clients incur a sizable expenditure of time and money, and the therapist (and, by extension, our profession) loses credibility.

Common Misconceptions

Several common misconceptions hamper or prevent an adequate assessment of partner abuse.

“The couple report that they yell at each other, so they both contribute to the problem.”
Loud arguments should always suggest the possibility of partner abuse. Most abusive relationships involve some angry behavior by both parties; some involve mutually abusive behavior as well, although the degree of fear is generally much greater for one partner than the other. While both partners are responsible for their own behavior, one of them probably contributes disproportionately to the abuse.

“I spoke to them about partner abuse and they deny it is going on.”
As therapists, we know better than to accept clients’ analyses of their difficulties and to probe more deeply. “If an angry client reports that he believes in firm discipline but would never abuse his children, do we simply take his word for it?”

“It is my policy never to meet individually with clients I see in couples therapy.”
Adequate assessment for abuse cannot be accomplished with both partners in the room. Asking directly about abuse in a conjoint session puts the abused partner in a no-win position: to disclose and risk reprisal, or to deny and thereby avoid getting needed assistance.

“I have a ‘no secrets’ policy, so clients know that anything they share with me individually will be brought into the couples session.”
In my view, such a policy is designed to relieve the therapist’s anxiety and hinders rather than helps the client. As therapists, we often learn things we cannot or choose not to divulge. Holding some information in confidence is a small price to pay if it allows us to leverage our clients into the right form of treatment.

“Even if there is undiagnosed partner abuse, I’m helping them resolve the underlying relationship dynamic.”
By its very nature, abusive behavior prevents the resolution of other issues. Abuse skews the relationship dynamic and leaves most of the power and control in one partner’s hands.

“I can teach them better communication skills until they trust me enough to disclose the issues they are withholding.”
Abusive partners easily subvert communication skills at home. “I” statements are meaningless if the intent is to hurt, control, or manipulate.

“I’m not taking a stand on the issue because I’m afraid the abusive partner will bolt from treatment.”
Again, the delusion here is that some treatment is better than none. What is needed is a referral to appropriate treatment, rather than maintaining the fiction that the couple is getting help while the abuse continues.

An Abusive Dynamic

At their next session, Mark and Julie reported that their second planned date night had started out well. They ate dinner at a quiet restaurant, reminisced affectionately about the first time they met, and held hands as they shared a frozen yogurt. Brandon was asleep when they got home, even though it was still relatively early. When they went to bed, Mark anticipated they would make love; Julie was tired and just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. Mark persisted, saying that this was the only chance they’d had for sex in a while so they’d better take advantage of it. Julie said she was tired of his “guilt trips.” He said she was frigid and accused her of withholding sex to punish him.

They had carried on late into the night as the argument broadened to include many other areas of disagreement. The conflict continued in my office the next evening.

” . . . And I appreciate how hard he works to support us,” Julie was saying. “But when he gets back from a business trip, he’s constantly finding fault with the way I keep the house, the things I wasn’t able to get to. He thinks I’m too soft with Brandon and that’s why he’s been acting up at daycare. It’s true that I could do a lot better job of housecleaning, and I paid the credit card late last month. My hands are so full with Brandon that everything else seems to take second place. I know I need to get better at setting priorities, like Mark says, but I feel like I’m doing the best I can and I wish he appreciated how hard my job is.”

Mark was restless but listened quietly while Julie spoke. When it was his turn, he spoke quickly, with increasing agitation and volume.

“She talks about not being appreciated. Well, she doesn’t do a very good job of appreciating me. I work really hard to support us at this level, and you’d think I could at least come home to a house that didn’t look like a bomb hit it. And Brandon is out of control because she doesn’t know how to set limits with him. He never acts up with me the way he does with her. Plus, she has the entire day to spend at home and take care of the things I can’t get to because I’m out of town. Brandon’s in daycare now, and she has so much free time to get together with her girlfriends for coffee . . .”

“Now, wait just a minute!” said Julie angrily. “That only started a couple of weeks ago!”

“No, you wait a minute!” replied Mark in a louder voice. “I don’t appreciate your angry tone, and I didn’t interrupt you when you were talking. I’d appreciate it if you could show me the same respect!”

“It’s hard to sit still while you misrepresent things,” she said petulantly, slumping in her chair.

“There you go again. When I give my point of view, I’m misrepresenting things. “ He turned to me. “You see how this goes. She never seems to respect my opinion. Everything I say, she counters it.” He raised his voice. “She treats me like she doesn’t even like me anymore! Ever since Brandon came along, our sex life has gone out the window. She always has something else on her mind, or she’s too tired, or I don’t know what.”

“Maybe if you treated me with more respect, I’d feel more like getting close to you,” Julie replied softly.

“See, there you go again. It’s always my fault!” said Mark. “We disagree on so many things, I’m really not sure what’s keeping us together anymore!”

There was a pause. Mark’s face grew darker and his brow furrowed as he spoke. The skin around Julie’s temples grew taut and her shoulders sagged.

“Tell me, is this kind of how things go at home?” I asked. “You start to talk about an issue, and things escalate? Mark, you seem angry and frustrated, and Julie, you seem angry and resigned. I can see that there are a number of issues on the table. But I’m wondering if I’m getting to see how your efforts at communication get off track. Is this how things go when they don’t go well?”

They answered simultaneously. “Pretty much,” said Mark. “This is mild by comparison,” said Julie.

“So what would typically happen at this point?” I asked.

“Mark usually kicks something, then leaves the room,” said Julie, hands crossed over her chest.

“Oh, really? What about you turning on the water works, then giving me the cold shoulder and playing the Ice Queen for three days?” said Mark, pointing his finger at her. “You left that part out. As usual!”

“OK, hold on a moment, both of you,” I said. With ten minutes left in the session, I felt the need to intervene, based on the growing escalation, the content and tone of the communication, and Mark’s increasing impulsiveness. I also feared that their disagreements were severe enough that continuing to talk about them would result in yet another argument as they left my office.

“There’s been a lot of heat expressed in this office today, and I’d like you both to cool off before you leave. I want you both to take a few nice deep breaths, s-l-o-w-l-y. Good. I want you to drop this argument, and I want you to agree not to talk anymore about these issues today.” We spent a few minutes addressing the difficulties they might experience in keeping to this agreement.

It was now clear to me that this couple was caught in an abusive dynamic. Mark had initially given the impression that he was listening to Julie, but he shifted restlessly as she spoke; when she finished, he responded quickly with an increasingly angry and critical tone. He blamed her for their problems and employed various strategies—such as exaggeration, distortion, and counterattack—to deflect any suggestion that he might also bear some responsibility for their difficulties. When Julie attempted to correct his misrepresentation of her coffee dates, he turned the tables by attacking her for the interruption and accused her of having less respect for him than he had for her. Mark felt free to express his anger but could not tolerate Julie expressing hers. He accused her of employing the very tactics he used (for example, “Everything I say, she counters it”). Mark demeaned Julie for the upset feelings she experienced following his angry outbursts and her subsequent need to pull away.

By contrast, Julie recognized some of her contributions and validated many of Mark’s concerns. Her brief efforts to defend herself were quickly overwhelmed by Mark’s responses. Her petulant tone and slumped posture were signs of defeat.

Indicators of Partner Abuse

Like Mark and Julie, clients in abusive relationships present with typical complaints: “We don’t know how to communicate with each other.” “We’ve been arguing a lot.” “We’re both under a lot of stress.” “We’ve needed counseling for a long time and he/she finally agreed.” “We disagree about disciplining the children.” Usually, their level of intimacy has declined.

More telling indicators are embedded in the relational dynamic that emerges in the consulting room. There may be unexplained tension in the room; certain topics appear to be off limits. “There may be a marked difference in the way and the degree to which each partner participates in the session.” The abusive partner may always start the session or, alternatively, always make the abused partner begin. One partner may be highly critical and judgmental, or exercise control through silence, intimidation, and manipulation. The other may speak hesitantly and haltingly—or, alternatively, may be hostile, resentful, and angry, seemingly out of proportion to the subject under discussion.

They may disagree on basic facts and have widely divergent views of the same events. Frequently, both partners are highly defensive and misconstrue what the other says, as though looking for an opportunity to act angry or hurt. They report or exhibit destructive communication patterns, such as escalation, invalidation, or a demanding/withdrawing dynamic. Impulse control may be poor. Problem-solving and conflict resolution skills are lacking.

Any of these symptoms are sufficient to raise suspicions of partner abuse. Alternatively, many abusive relationships present as typical relationships with occasional heated arguments that both parties have come to see as the necessary though undesirable price of an intimate partnership.

Assessment Protocol

When a couple comes to see me specifically because of my expertise in treating partner abuse, I typically employ a four-session protocol. I meet once with the couple, once separately with each partner, and then once more with the couple (or twice, if I need to gather further information or test hypotheses) to deliver my recommendations.

Alternatively, a couple like Mark and Julie may come to see me because they’re having difficulties and have decided to try therapy, and I might not begin to suspect partner abuse until they have seen me a few times. When I recognized the abusive dynamic in Mark and Julie’s relationship, I said to them:

“I think it would be helpful for me to set up an individual appointment with each of you so that you can share your concerns without having to worry about the other person’s reactions. I frequently do this in couples therapy, and given the volatility of today’s session, now seems like a good time.”

With an even more highly volatile couple, I might say something as innocuous as:

“During the last several sessions, I’ve had a chance to see how you interact with each other. As part of our work together, and in order to get to know you better, I’d like to schedule an individual appointment with each of you. I want to find out more about you, your childhood, family history—that sort of thing.”

I wait until the individual sessions to address the issue of confidentiality and “secrets.” With Mark and Julie, I began their separate sessions this way:

“This is a rare opportunity to get together with you, and I’m wondering if there’s anything you’d like me to know that you’re not comfortable saying with your partner in the room? If it’s something you want to tell me in confidence, I can keep it to myself. If it’s something I think would be helpful to discuss in a joint session, I’ll let you know that today, but I won’t disclose anything you don’t want me to.”

I also tell each partner that I would like to ask a series of questions about the kinds of behaviors that have occurred in their relationship. With the abusive partner, I am especially interested to learn whether similar behavior has occurred in any previous relationships, because it counters the common belief that the current partner is in some way responsible for the abuse. For this purpose, I use my own Abusive Behavior Inventory, an abridged version of which is included at the end of this article. I frequently supplement the specific questions on the inventory by inquiring about the first, last, and worst conflicts the couple has had.

Choice of Assessment Tools

To develop the Abusive Behavior Inventory, I spent one dreary weekend reflecting on all the variations of spousal abuse I had encountered during several years’ clinical experience and incorporated them with similar questionnaires employed at two agencies where I worked. I also referred to Patricia Evans’s The Verbally Abusive Relationship: How to Recognize It and How to Respond (Bob Adams, Inc., 1992) and Ann Jones and Susan Schechter’s When Love Goes Wrong: What to Do When You Can’t Do Anything Right (Harper Collins, 1992). An instrument similar to mine is R. M. Tolman’s Psychological Maltreatment Inventory (see “The development of a measure of psychological maltreatment of women by their male partners,” Violence and Victims 4 (3): 159B177, 1989).

I do not employ the self-administered Conflict Tactics Scale, developed and revised by noted researchers Murray Straus, Richard Gelles, and Susan Steinmetz. Despite broad acceptance as a research tool, it has numerous shortcomings in a clinical setting. For example, it measures violence only during the preceding 12 months, even though just one violent incident from many years ago may still be casting a shadow over the relationship. It does not ask whether the violence occurred in self-defense. And it equates acts that are inherently unequal due to men’s generally greater physical size and strength and women’s generally greater level of fear that men’s anger will erupt into abuse.

Using the Abusive Behavior Inventory in the individual interview allows me to uncover whether a pattern of abusive or controlling behaviors exists. This is accomplished best in the context of a clinical interview, for two principal reasons. First, clients provide much more information—factual, psychological, and emotional—than they would with a self-administered questionnaire. Second, clients may be so disturbed by their answers that they need an opportunity to process their reactions.

Comparing their answers side by side is an exceptionally useful diagnostic tool. Couples who corroborate each other’s answers generally exhibit greater awareness of problems in their relationships and are more often motivated to do something about them.

Suspicions Confirmed

As I suspected, my individual meetings with Mark and Julie revealed a long-standing pattern of moderate partner abuse. Despite their earlier contention that their arguments “never get physical,” on several occasions Mark had prevented Julie from leaving the room during an argument by standing in the doorway. Once or twice, he had slapped her shoulder as she walked away. He had grabbed her wrist a few times, in one instance hard enough to leave a bruise. He had also thrown several television remote controls and a cell phone when angry, and he frequently punched walls and slammed doors.

Mark sometimes used what he had learned in couples therapy against Julie: for example, by couching frequent critical and demeaning comments using a distorted version of an “I” statement, or by asserting that she was projecting her father onto him. When Julie raised a sensitive subject, Mark frequently got angry, yelled in her face, declared a time-out, stomped out of the room, and never returned to the issue.

Julie reported that her self-confidence had plummeted over the past few years, and she was feeling helpless and hopeless about her marriage. She said Mark had little sympathy for the chilling effect his behavior had on her libido and often criticized her for her infrequent interest in making love.

Recommendations for Treatment

When Mark, Julie, and I came together following my individual sessions with each of them, my recommendations went something like this:

“I have some thoughts about your therapy and where we go from here. We’ve discussed the issues and difficulties you experience together. For example, neither of you feels adequately appreciated, and you both report difficulty getting the other person to recognize and meet your needs. You’re both pretty good about identifying each other’s shortcomings but not so good about identifying your own. And it’s hard for you, even with me in the room, to discuss sensitive issues without getting into a heated argument.

“I think it’s clear to all of us that the two of you need couples therapy. But I think it’s premature at this point. It’s really just a matter of timing. You’re going to be spinning your wheels until you both have a chance to address your own issues. Then you’ll be able to take advantage of what couples therapy has to offer.”

In recommending separate treatment, there is a risk that the abusive partner will accuse the abused partner of having disclosed sensitive or confidential information that led to the recommendation. To minimize that risk, I cite only the behavior I observed or heard about in meeting with the two of them together when explaining my recommendation. If the abusive partner has acknowledged any abusive behavior—and it is extremely rare for the Abusive Behavior Inventory to bring no abusive behavior to light—I will refer to that as well.

In his individual session, Mark confessed that he had grabbed Julie’s arm once and frequently got so angry that he hit things. He also expressed remorse about it and a desire to change. So I added:

“And I appreciate your forthrightness, Mark, in acknowledging that you grabbed Julie’s arm and you don’t like the way you act when you get angry. That’s definitely something I can help you with.”

In the typical abusive heterosexual relationship, I generally refer the man to a men’s group with a focus on partner abuse (one of my own groups, or a colleague’s). I refer his partner to a group for women in abusive relationships. Other options include individual therapy with a therapist who has experience treating partner abuse, and group therapy for abusive women. I generally refer men who are being abused to individual therapy, since groups for this population are rare.

It is important to be resolute about my recommendations prior to the final assessment session so that I keep to them, whether or not the couple finds them acceptable. One or both partners will sometimes attempt to mount a persuasive argument for being seen together, and occasionally one of them will insist on having therapy together or not at all. My express purpose is to send a clear and unwavering message at this stage of treatment that couples therapy is premature—just as I would regarding family therapy with a parent who currently abused the children or who was an active alcoholic.

Arguments for and against conjoint treatment in cases of partner abuse are often heated and polarized among treatment professionals, in a process that runs parallel to the typical dynamics in an abusive relationship. By training and experience, I believe in the paramount importance of holding the abusive partner (or partners) accountable for his or her actions, regardless of what the other partner says or does. In abusive relationships, couples therapy undermines this goal by communicating, either overtly or by implication, that both partners bear some responsibility for the abuse.

There are practical considerations as well. Abusive couples who leave a session with unresolved issues are more likely to erupt afterwards. (I know, because many years ago I heard them yelling outside my office or pealing out in separate cars!) Additionally, conjoint therapy is generally not productive when control issues distort the therapeutic process or when either party fears serious repercussions for speaking the truth.

When is Couples Therapy Indicated?

Before I would consider treating an abusive couple together, they would have to meet several conditions.

  1. Their answers to the Abusive Behavior Inventory match closely.
  2. Past abuse was moderate to mild; currently, abuse is extremely mild or entirely absent.
  3. The couple can adhere to a contract of no further abuse.
  4. The abused partner is safe, unafraid, and able to mobilize resources if needed.
  5. Both partners are motivated for treatment out of a sincere desire to grow and change.
  6. Both partners are willing to be accountable for their behavior, without blaming the other.
  7. The couple can use basic communication skills in a non-manipulative manner.

In short, couples therapy is appropriate when the dynamics of the relationship, not the abuse, is the proper focus of treatment.

I presented Mark and Julie with two choices. They could each seek treatment with other professionals and keep me in reserve as their couples therapist at some future date. Or I could take Mark into one of my men’s groups, refer Julie to another therapist, and help them find a new couples therapist when Julie’s therapist and I thought they were ready. Mark’s reluctance to join a group, much less one led by a different therapist, led us to conclude that the second option was preferable.

Over the next three years, Mark and Julie both participated in group therapy supplemented by short bouts of individual work. I consulted regularly with Julie’s therapist to coordinate our treatment efforts, and we met together with the two of them from time to time to coach the couple through especially difficult logjams. Once Mark had achieved more than six months of abuse-free behavior, he and Julie began working with a seasoned marriage therapist who understood the dynamics of abuse. Julie ended her group work, but Mark remained for another six months because he had discovered that being accountable to other men helped ensure his continued recovery.

Conclusion

Treating partner abuse is a specialized field. Trainings in recognizing and treating the problem are helpful, but the only way to develop real expertise is through direct experience. To that end, I recommend that you become familiar with an assessment tool like the Abusive Behavior Inventory and practice administering it to a few colleagues. As with any new tool you add to your clinical repertoire, the greater your comfort in using it, the more at ease your clients will be.

Then, the next time you suspect partner abuse, you’ll be ready to assess for it. When you do, share your findings with colleagues, a supervisor, or an expert. If you discover your suspicions are groundless, you can breathe a sigh of relief. If your suspicions are confirmed, refer the couple immediately for further assessment, if necessary, and appropriate treatment. The hazard of proving your suspicions incorrect is small compared to the danger of leaving partner abuse undiagnosed and untreated.

In many ways, Mark and Julie experienced an ideal outcome. Their commitment to each other and to the process of change allowed them to leave their abusive dynamic behind. Mark was able to give up his sense of entitlement and develop greater empathy for Julie. Although some emotional scars remained, the damage was not so severe that Julie was unable to reclaim the genuine affection she had once felt for Mark.

But they were lucky: without any of these factors, a divorce was likely. And without appropriate intervention, the probable outcome would have been an uninterrupted, escalating pattern of abusive behavior, accompanied by additional years of unnecessary pain and suffering and the possible transmission of abuse to the next generation.