Addressing Countertransference in Grief Counseling

Jordan’s Angry Grief

Jordan walked into my office, smiled, and sat down in the chair across from me. Then she burst into tears. She sobbed uncontrollably for about two minutes, but it felt like hours. Ripping tissues from the box on the small table in front of her, she seemed intent, perhaps aggressively so, on showing me just how much she was suffering. When she finally looked at me, her face was blotchy, her nose was still running, and she hiccuped with the last of her sobs. “I’ve been waiting for days to be able to do this,” she said.

I asked her if she could tell me what she was so upset about. “You know!” she said, “we’ve talked about it so much. I’m still mourning my dad’s passing.”

Jordan was right. We had talked about her father’s illness and death many times in the course of our work together. But I found myself wondering if our talking was doing any good. Jordan’s father had died when she was in her mid-twenties. She was now in her early thirties. There was no question that his death had been painful and perhaps even traumatic for Jordan, but it seemed to me that it sometimes became more significant when Jordan needed to avoid dealing with a present-day difficulty. Further, I found myself thinking — with some guilt for even having the thought — that Jordan became particularly distressed about having lost her father when she felt criticized, whether at work or by someone with whom she was in a relationship, for instance, her mother, sister, or girlfriend.

As these thoughts passed through my mind, I asked myself, not for the first time since I’d begun working with Jordan, what was the matter with me? What kind of therapist was I that I couldn’t feel sympathy for a client who was so clearly suffering? I’m not normally so hard-hearted, so as I listened to her sobs and murmured sympathetic words, I wondered how to explain what was making it so hard to empathize.

As a psychotherapist, I recognize that my reactions to clients are based on a complex combination of factors, including their personalities, psychodynamics, personal styles, and histories — both mine and theirs. The interaction between who I am and who they are, what I have experienced and what they have experienced, and what we both expect from and see in our relationships can create a fascinating, complicated, and often confusing experience for both me and the client. The image I find most helpful when I’m thinking about this co-created experience is Winnicott’s concept of “the squiggle.”1

Winnicott worked for a time with young children, and during that time he devised a game that he called “the squiggle.” He used it to explain to therapists how we and our clients co-create an experience that has part of each of us in it but is not created or owned by either of us. In this game the therapist and the child each have a pen or a pencil, and they have a piece of paper between them. The child makes a mark on the paper, and the therapist makes a mark connecting to the child’s mark. Taking turns, they gradually make a design over the entire paper. It’s a design that they create together. Winnicott suggested that this is what happens in therapy.

In the room and in our work, Jordan and I were not yet able to talk about — or even formulate for ourselves — the ways that we were co-creating an experience that in some ways replicated old experiences, and in some ways represented new possibilities for us both. My job was to step back enough from what we were creating to be able to be curious about it. That curiosity, as the relational psychoanalyst Stephen Mitchell suggested in much of his writing, is a huge part of what makes therapy therapeutic.2

Changing the metaphor, Mitchell likened therapy to a dance. He suggests that a therapist’s job is to stop every so often, and ask “Why are we dancing to this music? And why this step?”

Instead of asking myself what the matter with me was — or, as I might also have done, what was the matter with Jordan — my job was to ask why Jordan and I were engaged in this particular relational interaction; this particular dance step, so to speak. But when you have a visceral reaction to someone, as I was having to Jordan’s pain, it’s hard to take that step back. It’s hard to ask those questions, and harder to get a reasonable response from yourself.

Magda’s Quiet Pain

As I was struggling to understand my powerful reaction to Jordan, Magda, a client of mine in her fifties, was grieving and trying to put her life back together after her husband died of a massive heart attack. I remember how she had walked into my office and started to cry. Unlike Jordan, Magda was embarrassed about crying and quickly got her tears under control. She smiled and said, “I don’t cry anywhere else but here. You keep encouraging me to let myself cry, so I do, with you. But I’m not sure what the point is.”

My reaction to Magda was very different from my reaction to Jordan. It wasn’t simply that I felt more sympathy toward Magda than Jordan. I felt something angry or aggressive in Jordan’s pain, almost as if she was trying to push it onto or into me, and I wanted to ward it off. Magda, on the other hand, was careful with what she brought into my office and gave to me to hold. With her, I had more of an impulse to let her know that I could handle her sadness, and that I thought she would find it helpful to share it rather than keep it inside her.

In other words, I wanted to stop Jordan’s outburst and I wanted to encourage Magda to allow her emotions into the room.

Among my psychodynamically-oriented colleagues, there is a recognition that our responses to our clients contain helpful information about them as well as about us. What did my reactions have to tell me that could help me work differently with each of them?

Many clinicians suggest the use of diagnoses to help clarify what techniques are most useful with what clients. While I agree that an assessment of a client’s personality structure and psychodynamics can help pinpoint important factors that will influence their ability to respond to one sort of intervention over another, I also think it’s important to remember that assessments of clients can — and should — change over time. As a relationship with a client deepens as we get to know them and, conversely, they get to know us, some of the dynamics that may initially seem paramount turn out to be part of a temporary self-protection or façade that kept other things out of our awareness.

Further, diagnosis may capture our own hostility or negativity about a client. For instance, I found myself diagnosing Jordan as having a personality disorder, but when I questioned myself about this diagnosis, I realized it was a way of giving myself permission to keep my distance from her. The most obvious truth was that because of my own personality structure and dynamics, I was more comfortable with Magda’s sadness than with Jordan’s angry grief.

Dueling Countertransference

But there was, of course, more going on. Interestingly, I identified with the losses both women were facing. Like Jordan, I was mourning my father, who had died sometime before her father died. Our relationships with our fathers were quite different, but the sense of loss had many parallels. On the other hand, Jordan told me that she had always been “daddy’s little girl,” and that she didn’t think she could live without his constant praise and reinforcement that she was special. My relationship with my own father had been different, and I asked myself if I was envious of the special connection Jordan kept talking about.

As I opened myself up to the possibility that some of my reaction to Jordan was related to envy, I began to hear some of her words and view her actions differently. I began to wonder if Jordan unconsciously wanted me — or someone I represented — to feel envious of her relationship with her father. And if so, why? Was she angry at, or hurt by that other person? Did she need that reaction to get revenge on them? Or did she need to see their (my) envy to feel special? Was there something she had not internalized about the special relationship? Or was the relationship really not so special after all?

For quite a while I didn’t say anything about any of my thoughts to Jordan. As I was letting these ideas begin to gel, I was also working with Magda and exploring some of my countertransference reactions to her. While it’s easy to coast with positive feelings about a client, it can also be useful to try to understand what makes that person so much easier for us than someone else. I asked myself why I was so much more empathic to Magda’s quiet grieving than to Jordan’s loud, almost aggressive pain. There was the fact that it fit better with my own personality structure, but was there more to it?

I tried to put into words for myself what I admired about Magda’s way of expressing her feelings, and the words that immediately came to my mind were “elegant, self-contained, quiet dignity.” I realized that there were several personal connections in my life to those words, and that my countertransference to Magda also had something to do with my relationship with my own father. But as I was thinking more about some of these issues, I was also reading more about grief, and I realized that perhaps even more than the most obvious relational dynamics that were emerging in the work with each woman was the question of each of our relationship to grief itself.

I have always found the idea of stages of grief simultaneously useful and disturbing. On the one hand, it can be useful to know that some of the difficult emotions that emerge after a loss are a normal part of a process, and that many of them will gradually diminish as the process moves forward. On the other hand, I have never known anyone who goes through a neatly organized process of grieving that follows a particular outline. Of course, many of the current experts on grieving point this out as well. But once I began to add the idea of grieving to the “squiggles” that were emerging in my work with each client, our discussions took on more shape.

Making Space in Therapy for Pain

I began to gently explore with both Magda and Jordan some of the complexities not only of their relationships with the people they were mourning, but also with their respective feelings of loss. Not surprisingly, Jordan reacted angrily, telling me that I was trying to push her through the stages of grief, not letting her manage them on her own time. She was surprised when I replied that she might be right. “I’m not really sure what stage you’re in right now,” I said. “Can you tell me?”

Jordan turned out to be well-read in grief literature. “I think I’m in denial,” she said more quietly than usual. “I don’t want it to be true.” It turned out that Jordan had been angrily fighting the feeling of sadness, despite all the tears and sobbing.

Magda, too, had been fighting her feelings of grief. “If I don’t cry,” she said, “I think I won’t feel it. But when I come into your office, I get hit with all those feelings.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” I asked.

“Probably good,” she said. “I think I need to let myself feel them.”

Listening to both women talk in very different ways about their styles of mourning made me realize that an important part of my countertransference had been about my own ways of dealing with grief. According to some grief specialists, the hardest thing for most of us is to make emotional space for grief, and yet, making space for it is the only way to let ourselves move forward. As many of these specialists tell us, making space for grief allows us to make room to grow and to live, even with loss. Paying attention to my countertransference reactions to each of these very different clients’ grieving styles allowed all of us to find a new way to make space for this painful but unavoidable emotion. And making space allowed for growth. Jordan and I continued to struggle with many distinct aspects of our relationship, while Magda and I felt like a much more comfortable fit. But as we made space for the pain in our different ways, Jordan and I found moments of connection, while Magda and I found moments of difference. And all of us grew in a variety of interesting and often different ways.

References

1 Winnicott, D.W. (1989) “The Squiggle Game.” In Psychoanalytic Explorations, Routledge.

2 Mitchell, S. (1995). Hope and Dread in Psychoanalysis. Basic Books, Inc.

Current Developments in Clinical Suicidology and Mental Health Crisis Management

* If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org. Text MHA to 741741 to connect with a trained Crisis Counselor from Crisis Text Line. 

There are significant developments in the world, the United States, and our field in recent years that are significantly impacting contemporary clinical suicide prevention. The Covid-19 worldwide pandemic, the launch of the 3-digit 988 Suicide and Crisis Line in the U.S., and recent SAMHSA and Centers for Disease Control data are all examples of major forces that are fundamentally transforming the field of clinical suicidology. Many of these contemporary developments are spawning necessary and overdue changes and adaptations as to how mental health providers can more effectively work with suicidal risk. And to this end, I will explore these major developments and their impact on clinical suicidology.

Telehealth Care and Suicidal Risk

An impressive development in response to the coronavirus outbreak was the remarkably rapid embrace of telehealth to deliver mental health care. As the worldwide pandemic spread rapidly in early 2020 there was an initial hesitation of widespread use of telehealth with people who were suicidal. Indeed, there were certain large healthcare systems who moved, suspended, and even discontinued screening for suicidal risk with patients online because of a flawed presumption that one can only work with a person who is suicidal face-to-face. In other words, if you cannot tackle the patient at risk who is fleeing your office to take their life it is better not to ask! In response to this naive notion, certain leaders in the field of suicide prevention made significant efforts to identify key adaptations to working with suicide risk remotely. These adaptations mostly involve using informed consent carefully, identifying third parties who could intervene in case of an acute emergency, and anticipating issues such as a poor Wi-Fi connection and what to do in such an event (e.g., having a phone number to call if online connectivity is an issue).

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As we were all collectively compelled to learn to provide care online perforce, many unexpected developments followed. For example, telehealth now offers a genuine opportunity to democratize the delivery of care to rural, frontier, and potentially more diverse populations. Another development in psychology was the advent of PSYPAC which enables providers to increase clinical care across state lines. Another notable Covid-based development was the common practice of instructing people who are acutely suicidal to go to their nearest emergency department for care.

With emergency departments brimming with coronavirus patients, such a recommendation became ethically and clinically dubious. Common reliance on inpatient care similarly posed the increased risk of patients contracting Covid during the pandemic's height. As the developer of the Collaborative Assessment and Management of Suicidality (CAMS), I have long been a vocal advocate of keeping patients who are at risk of suicide out of hospital emergency departments and inpatient care (if at all possible) by providing proven suicide-focused care supported by randomized controlled trials (RCTs). In response to the early stages of the pandemic, our training company CAMS-care converted the training and delivery of CAMS to online modalities (including the use of CAMS in three RCTs). We soon discovered that both training and clinical care can be effectively rendered online, and this development is helping to transform clinical care for those at risk for suicide.

The 988 Suicide and Crisis Line

In July of 2022, a major federal law was put into effect that is profoundly transforming how we must think about suicide risk and mental health crises. The “National Suicide Hotline Improvement Act of 2018” is one of the most significant legislative developments in the history of U.S. mental health care. Suddenly, we have an easy-to-remember 3-digit number that connects callers who are suicidal or otherwise in a mental health crisis to crisis professionals who are ready and able to effectively deal with them. With the knowledge that the pre-existing Lifeline was already having capacity issues, millions of dollars were subsequently allocated to help better support the new 988 mental health crisis line.

While all of this is very encouraging, the launch of 988 has created some growing pains and posed various challenges to policymakers, systems of care, and clinical providers. For example, how well do Americans know the difference between calling 911 and 988? There is a need to educate the public as to how to re-think emergencies that would have previously prompted calls to 911. There are significant issues related to “wellness checks” or “safety checks” that are primarily conducted by law enforcement officers who may have limited to no training as to how to deal effectively with mental health care crisis. For a person of color, having a police officer show up uninvited to protect you from yourself has inherent issues. 988 also brings a major focus to our existing healthcare model that is overly reliant on emergency departments and inpatient hospitalizations that too often may not be altogether therapeutic.

Fortunately, alternative models of crisis response are emerging. For example, “The Hope Institute” in Perrysburg, Ohio, provides intensive outpatient suicide-focused care using next day appointments (NDAs) wherein either CAMS or Dialectical Behavior Therapy (or both) can be provided up to four times a week to help stabilize a person who is suicidal as they await weeks — sometimes months — `to engage in available outpatient care. Within this model, adults are stabilized in six weeks while youth at risk are stabilized in just over five weeks. This is but one promising model that is re-imagining working with suicidal crises. Other promising approaches include mobile crisis response, respite care, retreat centers, certain crises-oriented technologies, and extensive use of peer support which can help reshape crisis responses.

Recent Trends in Suicide-Related Data

Over the last several years there have been notable developments in suicide-related phenomena. While we were initially encouraged when suicide rates declined a bit in 2019 and 2020, this decline was erased by an increase in 2021 (the most recent data reported by CDC). And with Covid-19 becoming a leading killer, suicide is no longer a top ten leading cause of death with 48,183 lives lost to suicide in 2021. But what has preoccupied my attention has been steady increases in the number of Americans who report having “serious thoughts of suicide” within 30 days of a survey completed by SAMHSA. Indeed, in 2021 this amounted to 12,300,000 adults and another 3,300,000 teens, altogether a whopping 15,600,000 Americans with serious suicidal thoughts! This number is over 300 times greater than the number who died by suicide in 2021.

While we grieve the loss of Americans to suicide, I would argue that we must do a much better job of identifying, assessing, and treating millions of those who suffer such that they seriously consider suicide. In truth, the suicide problem we have in the U.S. is a suicidal ideation problem — by a lot. It therefore behooves all mental health professionals to learn proven interventions like Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), suicide focused cognitive behavioral therapy (CT-SP and BCBT), CAMS, or Attachment-Based Family Therapy (ABFT) to name a few of the rigorously proven interventions for suicide risk. Moreover, there have been other demographic developments of note. As suicide rates among white males have decreased, we have seen in recent CDC data that suicide ideation and behavior is on the increase among young people, particularly those of color. We certainly know the pandemic has been tough on all of us with clear increases in depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and suicidal ideation.

***

Given these recent developments in our world, I would assert that it is critical for mental health providers to become a part of the solution to suicidal suffering. We are uniquely positioned to make a life-saving difference and help decrease suicide-related suffering by keeping abreast of major developments in the field and learning to use evidence-based approaches to suicidal risk.

Questions for Thought and Discussion

In what ways did this article impact you personally and professionally?

How have you modified your own approach to suicidality in recent years?

How have you collaborated with colleagues in and around the mental health community to improve your services to suicidal clients?  

Why Effective Psychotherapy is a Full-Body Contact Sport

The other day, I attended a case consultation webinar with Psychotherapy.net’s founder, Victor Yalom, who demonstrated, and then discussed, supervision with a beginning therapist. As he was addressing the importance of creating a therapeutic atmosphere in which both client and clinician are fully engaged, he described the intricacies of learning table tennis. Almost as an aside, he suggested that, like his time on the table tennis mat with his instructor, therapy — good therapy — is a “full-body contact body sport.” Currently trying to learn the torturous game of golf with the assistance of my own instructor, I fully resonated with his aside.

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Body and Mind

Whether on the table tennis mat or golf course, the student must not only integrate their own mind and body, but must also be fully open to the instructor, who is doing the same within their own skin — as they mold, model, and instruct their student. So, a good “lesson” involves a balanced and delicate dance between student and teacher, where both simultaneously merge self-awareness with an awareness of the other. Full-body contact sport!

You probably knew where this essay was going. To therapy, of course! And first to Carl Rogers, who understood that effective therapy was built on a relationship between client and clinician in which congruence, or full presence, was a prerequisite. The person-centered clinician asks the client to be open to — and willing to share — their most intimate thoughts and feelings in search of unity between their “real” and “ideal” self. Similarly, the clinician, to provide a space in which the client is willing to take this step, must be congruent — fully present, self-aware, and open to the client’s experience. Fully-embodied contact!

Existential psychotherapist Irvin Yalom teaches us that for a client to venture into the realm of challenges and concerns that define their humanity and allow them to relate healthily to others, the clinician must help them focus on the here-and-now. This notion, while simply said, is not always easy to achieve with a client who comes to therapy in distress, deeply conflicted, and struggling to meaningfully connect with others. The clinician encourages the client to take the risk to be fully present — body and mind — in the therapeutic relationship while also making the same demand of themselves. The in-the-moment therapeutic relationship becomes the table tennis mat, or golf course, on which clinician and client move together towards healing and growth. Full contact!

Few have illustrated this notion of full body contact better than Peter Levine, developer of Somatic Experiencing. For Levine, who is doubly credentialled in psychology and biophysics, clients who have been traumatized benefit from learning how to control the flow of energy through their body. The goal of effective intervention with them — and with others struggling to self-regulate — is to learn how to stay centered, calm, and present within themselves. To help their client to achieve these goals, the therapist must travel down a similar path, listening to cues within their own bodies that resonate with, or are triggered by, those of the client. Full body to full body contact. Co-regulation if you will!

Isn’t this co-regulation, full-body contact, embodied connection, or whatever you choose to call it, also part and parcel of effective countertransference management — a state of delicate full-bodied self-awareness in response to that of another. A moment of reciprocal “I-Thou-ness."

So, perhaps the next time you sit with a client, or trainee, or supervisee, and wonder if you have made a deep and meaningful connection in the service of healing and/or learning, do a full-bodied self-check-in as you encourage your client to do the same. And as in any “sport,” whether it be golf, table tennis, or some other, give yourself permission to evolve as you practice, and the consolation that in this sport of psychotherapy, practice will never make perfect. But you’ll get better at it.

Questions for Thought and Discussion

What does the notion of therapy as a full body contact sport mean to you?

With which kind of clients do you find it easier to work in this full-body contact way? Which are more difficult for you?

What techniques do you use in and out of therapy to be in full-body contact with yourself? With others?

  

The Truth About Professional Growing Pains from a Novice Psychotherapist

A Novice Therapist

I remember my first session as a therapist. Walking into the waiting room and wondering if the blonde in the pink cashmere sweater was Susie. Meeting a patient for the first time felt — and sometimes still does — like a blind date.

I recall thinking to myself, she could be there for another therapist who shares the office suite. Do I awkwardly call out “Susie?” Or do I wait for the other therapist to retrieve her patient from the waiting room to prevent me from calling out Susie when in fact this may not be Susie but rather, the other therapists’ patient? I wouldn’t know — I’ve never met Susie before.

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Who I saw that day in the waiting room matched the description of the individual on the screening sheet, a 19-year-old female. In that moment, I reminded myself that I was trained and also clinically-oriented toward not making assumptions. But I wasn’t trained not to doubt myself. Fast forward to the present era of telehealth when meeting a patient for the first time feels less like a blind date and more like a fifth date — when you are already invited to the persons’ home — even if just through a screen. There is a certain level of “intimacy” joining someone via telehealth versus in an office setting.

Working in an office feels more like a meeting at a neutral place, like a coffee shop, rather than over a digital medium, which creates the sense that you are picking someone up at their apartment. I gain entry into their life and can observe their decor, see books they read, notice whether or not they are messy or neat and if there are any pictures of family and friends nearby.

Therapeutic Alliance

In my career thus far, I have had patients’ parents say to me after I finish treatment with one of their children, “I think you’d be a good fit for my other child. I’d like for them to be in therapy with you.” As my supervisor has told me, finding a therapist is like dating. Some people shop around for a therapist until they find their match.

What works for one patient may not work for another, which is why there is no “one size fits all” approach to therapy. I’ve had another patient say to me, “I didn’t want to come to therapy today. I was upset after our last session, but then I realized you hit something within me.” I have also had patients blame me and “break up” with me due to transference or feelings about something explored in the therapy space.

I have had patients doubt my expertise and skills due to my age. Their questions about my competency trigger my own insecurities as a clinician. Patients who are older than me, and some who are parents themselves, have still chosen to work with me. Some have exhibited ambivalence regarding my skills and capabilities. I have utilized psychoeducation and have experience, schooling, and training to allow patients to understand that I have the tools to support their needs.

I have one patient, whom I have been working with for many months, who was skeptical of my age when we first began together. Now she embraces my age because she feels I am able to inform her on “the current generation” and allow her to better understand her children and their habits, behaviors, and thought processes in relation to herself.

On the other hand, I had a patient who was close in age with me who no longer wanted to continue sessions together due to wanting someone “older with more life experience.” This patient identified as Black and also wanted a Black therapist, which made sense to me.

I value patients’ wishes of working with someone with shared experiences. I also reflected on my own about how therapeutic alliances are formed. My thought is that therapy is not always a “been there, done that” relationship. Rather, therapy is about accomplishing goals and finding deep meaning and exploration through shared vulnerability.

I have also had male patients verbalize finding me physically attractive, which has made me uncomfortable. I even had a female patient who was around my age comment on my appearance during almost every session. While these moments were flattering, my focus with these particular patients remained on helping them to better process and understand their thoughts and feelings toward me, and their relationship with thoughts and feelings towards other significant figures in their lives.

I too have found a patient attractive and often ponder whether I show up in the treatment room in a different manner than clients who present as less attractive. I also wonder whether patients who admit to finding me attractive are doing so to curry favor with me. Even with complimentary statements from patients, I sometimes doubt the support I offer, the guidance I provide, and my clinical perspective — all while trying to figure out my own life.

Progress Notes and Clinical Supervision

I have always considered myself to be a writer, so I never anticipated that clinical documentation as a therapist would be a “skill” that I would need to acquire, let alone hone. I am grateful for my first supervisor who allowed me to learn clinical-case note documentation language. In the past, I’ve felt that I was unable to develop my own clinical voice due to needing to follow strict guidelines on what a “proper progress note” looks like. Another form of self-doubt and self-scrutiny came to fruition when told that I was not documenting in the “correct way.” Progress notes being professional, concise, and readable is more than sufficient.

Just as we do not conduct our therapy sessions in one way, why should all progress notes rely on the same verbiage? What about diversity in patient care and treatment? I once had a supervisor who required clinicians to draft progress notes several times until she approved them. While I understand that I was working under my supervisor, I also felt that time spent with patients was taken away by tedious paperwork. I doubted my intuition because the supervisor was more experienced. However, I sometimes wondered if I had more experience than the supervisor because I was the one who was working directly with the patient. To this day, I’m still uncertain as to what a “correct” progress note is.

As I have gained clinical experience and confidence, my priority sometimes shifts from meeting patients’ needs and working to understand and achieve their stated goals, to over-fixating on writing treatment plans that may or may not reflect the work that is done in the therapy space. While supervisors have an obligation to the agency or practice, they also have, or should have an equal commitment to the therapists that they supervise.

It is my hope that any future supervisor or mentor I have recognizes my strengths while simultaneously challenging me. I believe that supervisors and their quality of supervision can contribute as much to a therapist's negative self-talk and self-doubt as the therapist bestows upon themselves.

My Imposter Syndrome

When in session, I sometimes experience imposter syndrome, negative self-talk, self-doubt, or all of the above. As a new clinician, feeling uncertain, ambivalent and/or in disbelief of the work I am doing with a client or patient is normal — or at least I truly hope it is. Which therapeutic modality do I use? Which intervention am I using without yet being aware? Am I speaking enough? Am I speaking too much? Am I too gentle? Not gentle enough? Am I truly understanding patients’ agency, or am I asking them to consider what I think is right? I have so many blanks in my intake paperwork.

Being a new therapist feels just as vulnerable to me as patients letting us into their lives may feel. The negative self-talk and self-doubt that I may experience mirrors that of patients who may bring their own insecurities and uncertainties into session. Perhaps, my own internal voice, sometimes filled with ambivalence, mirrors those of my patients.

The parallel process of therapists and patients work in tandem. I often support patients in challenging their negative thoughts when I may be experiencing my own negative self-talk relating to the work that I do with patients. Therapists who demonstrate negative self-talk regarding their work with patients may be impacting the therapeutic relationship in a negative way. How can I support a patient with less negative self-talk when I am doing exactly what I am helping them not do?

If a patient and I discuss their negative self-talk and doubts, perhaps I will become more aware of my own both in and out of the therapy room. I must address my own ambivalence, negative self-talk and self-doubt in order to best support patients and myself. Patients may be able to sense when I am exhibiting self-doubt and negative self-talk, even if I am not articulating this.

My patients feed off my energy, and vice versa. However, I have learned, sometimes painfully, that it is my job as a therapist to take note of when patients’ experiences, doubts, and negative self-talk affect me. I continually attempt to be self-aware when these areas come to the surface for me. Being a new therapist comes with much to balance. Placing time to be with family and friends, clean and do chores becomes a juggling act.

***

As both a young person and novice therapist, I am simultaneously learning to “adult” and find my professional identity. I am grateful for the growing experiences that I have had in my career, and I look forward to more reflection, learning and time to come spent with patients!  

How to Use Play Therapy in Prisons to Create Hope

Imagine this scene with me: 15 men sitting across from each other at a long table, deeply engrossed in building with LEGOs. Joking and laughter punctuate moments of serious concentration as pieces of LEGOs are found and various minifigures find their place within the emerging structures. In another group, there is the eruption of victorious joy and the groan of agonizing defeat as the men play a variety of board and skill-based games in small groups and pairs. Two of the men simply throw a rubber ball to each other, a timeless game of catch.

Common Therapeutic Themes in Inmates

Grown men playing and telling stories from their play?! Yes, the scenes described above take place in a prison, a place where themes of “play” and “play therapy” are not usually enacted.

This work was born from my realization that if play could heal wounds in my adolescent and adult private-practice clients, it could be a powerful agent in reconnecting a former inmate with his child. After witnessing that reconnection firsthand, I could not get the thought out of my head of how many fathers there must be sitting behind bars, isolated from their children.

I discovered that there are many. There is also a great deal of recidivism, as incarcerated men face not only the daunting task of assimilating back into life outside of prison walls and the demanding requirements of parole, but also of rejoining families, rebuilding careers, and adjusting to a new chapter post-incarceration.

For many, it is overwhelming and confusing. Low self-worth, lack of self-awareness, deficient resources for self-repair, and difficulties in self-regulation contribute mightily to probation violations, inability to establish steady jobs, and difficulty reassimilating into their families and communities.

I soon discovered that prior to their time in the penal system, many of these men had spent time in foster care. I heard stories of abandonment, abuse, and self-rejection, often resulting in alcohol and drug abuse. It became painfully clear that many of the men were in desperate need of self-repair, and that these unresolved wounds played a large part in not being able to rebuild their life after leaving prison.

I experienced firsthand through my visits that prison is terrifying and chaotic. I have never witnessed a more stressful and unpredictable environment. For each visit, I passed through four checkpoints with buzzers, and the ominous and jarring sound of iron and steel slamming behind me. I would then walk a quarter mile surrounded by razor wire that gleamed in the sun like wolf teeth. I was constantly reminded of the utterly unforgiving conditions and lack of beauty that embodies this place.

I was, and still am, continually alert for the unpredictable, while at the same time, buoyed by my playful interactions with the men. Deep within this place there is a room where something miraculous happens. It is where play transcends the bonds of despair, transporting men — if only for brief moments — to a place of inner freedom and exploration.

How to Use Play Therapy in Prison

The Play in Prison Project that I developed is multi-faceted. It is scaffolded within the framework of “self-development” built upon the psychic Lego pieces of self-regulation, self-understanding, self-acceptance/forgiveness, and self-repair. Group members are taught self-regulation skills, how to identify negative schemas and change them, and how to build tools to identify and express feelings in an adaptive, prosocial way.

Play is woven throughout each of the group activities which incorporate the use of building toys, toy figures, games, and expressive art material (drawing and painting) designed to create a sense of safety, while also stimulating a curious mindset as new narratives of self are created. Overall, play is the glue and the foundation, making it possible for these men to be anchored in the here and now, looking at the self through the lens of this very moment while staying regulated and processing emotions and thoughts in real-time with the other men in the group.

Within the structure of this group, my role is that of a play therapist: tracking, reflecting, affirming, and even joining in play if invited. Through the group processing, I facilitate discussion using summaries, reflections of content and meaning, and affirming the observations and insight of the group members.

As a play therapist, I have spent years observing and joining others in play. I play regularly as an open-water swimmer, basking in the feeling of being lost in something huge while adapting my body to whatever the ocean offers me that day. Play lessens defenses. After just a few minutes, the men are laughing and conversing; even those that are silent often emit a smile.

Play allows for self-expression and ownership with no apologies, as evidenced by a victory whoop, and the feeling of mastery as a creation finds its way to completion. Play creates pathways for language. The men share stories through their creations, identifying emotions, and expressing themselves without shame or pretense. Play breeds a spirit of authenticity and presence. During our play, many of the men have new realizations of their worth and value as they can be present and comfortable.

Play is healing. The men can return to something awful that occurred in their pre-prison life, playing it out sometimes non-verbally, and changing the outcome based on what they know about themselves in the present moment. Play allows for connection and relationship building.

An all-too-common theme within prison walls is the lurking paranoia of being unsafe and the urge not to trust anyone. The men practice bonding through play, and elements of rough and tumble play within competitive gaming allow for the testing of these bonds.

Finally, play allows for self-repair. Through storytelling, the men engage in working through conflict with others, opening pockets of shame and self-rejection, and finding forgiveness that comes through creative and intentional play.

Clinical Case Study: Hope Shatters the Darkness

Jimmy has three years left to serve on a 15-year sentence. He is a father of two adult children and has grandchildren.

Jimmy was raised by his grandmother after his own mother lost her parental rights due to drug use and incarceration. Jimmy never knew his father. His grandmother passed away when Jimmy was nine, and he went to live with extended family members.

Eventually, Jimmy ended up in foster care where he remained until he turned 18. This period of his life was turbulent and involved many foster placements, poor school performance, and return stays in various juvenile detention centers. As Jimmy entered adulthood, he became involved in street life, leading to arrests and eventually long-term incarceration.

Jimmy was drawn to the Play in Prison Project because of his desire to rebuild his relationship with his adult children. He admitted that he carried shame and suffered daily from remorse and self-loathing. Life had hardened him, and he wore that hardness as a shield.

The toy he chose to represent himself in the first session was a big truck with blacked-out windows. “I’m big, people see me coming, but I keep everything hidden from everyone. When things get hard, I drive away.” During LEGO play, Jimmy created a tall building and used LEGO minifigures to represent guards. “I’ve tried my whole life to protect myself because nobody was there to protect me.” During a play session using expressive arts, he drew a dark cave with a solitary figure. “My brain tells me I’m living the life I deserve. My choices have put me here and there’s no light in sight.”

Halfway through The Project, Jimmy told the group that he wrote a letter to his children and had received one back in return. He wept as he read part of it aloud — it contained words of anger and hurt. The group helped Jimmy see that even though the letter was painful, it was at least an opportunity to communicate.

Play in the form of competitive games helped Jimmy to see and slowly accept himself in the moment. Playing a game in which he and a partner were paired together, he realized that it was not realistic to judge himself based on his past. Using LEGO bricks and minifigures, he built a large house with windows and an open door. The minifigures represented his children, grandchild, friends, and other family members.

He told the group he felt empowered to respond to the letter he received because of slowly learning to evaluate himself more fairly and positively in the present, as opposed to the horrible and painful events of his past. “The old me would have just stayed away. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

At the final session of the group, Jimmy drew a shattered cave with light streaming out of it, emanating from the solitary figure. At the end of the rays of light were people that represented his family and community. At the top of the picture, he wrote the words, “Free in My Light.”

Final Reflections on the Healing Power of Play Therapy

The Play in Prison Project has provided me with a rare opportunity to witness the power of play in a dark place with forgotten people. At this stage in The Project, I am volunteering because I saw a need in my community.

I am gathering data with the hope of submitting a grant to expand this work with other practitioners of play into other facilities. I have learned to be particularly mindful of being respectful of the institution, its employees, and its residents.

There are far too many examples of good programs that were started in prison settings for the purpose of research but ended abruptly when the researchers moved on. Because play and play therapy are novel and nourishing experiences, they were quickly, and perhaps not unsurprisingly, embraced during participation in The Project. Group members enjoyed the opportunity for safety and self-expression in an otherwise hostile environment where self-defense, hopelessness, and a constant state of vigilance were necessary for survival, both emotional and physical.

Some of the incidental comments in the surveys I collected and positive behavioral outcomes of The Project were a testament to the power of play in creating self-understanding and self-regulation. “For the first time in my life, I have learned to stay relaxed and not react.”

Comments about play creating a pathway for self-forgiveness and self-repair often surfaced: “I finally understand that I’m not the person who did the things that got me here; it’s part of my story, but I am who I choose to be in this moment.”

Play for some of these men led them closer to authenticity, intentionality, and connection in their everyday lives, helping to step closer to erasing shame, isolation, anger, and despair. Not uncommonly, I heard comments like, “I reached out to my children/grandchildren; I rebuilt the relationship with my wife/family members; now I know how to play with my kids, and I look forward to seeing them at visitation because I’m not ashamed of who I am anymore.”

Psychotherapy and Multiple Sclerosis: Behind The Mask of Joy

Marion was the last of seven children in her family who grew up in a rural part of Maine. Family and schoolmates formed her social world, and she delighted in the freedom, adventure, and playfulness of her childhood. She loved boating, fishing, bike riding, star gazing, and silent walks in the woods. Marion spoke lovingly of her family, their home, and the natural beauty and peace where they lived. As a secure and robust and cheerful child, Marion had earned the nickname “Joy.”

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Marion completed high school and briefly worked different jobs until receiving a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis and experiencing a gradual diminishment of her physical capabilities. She grieved over the loss of her dreams of marriage and a family of her own through which she might show and teach her children the many things she had learned and loved. The dreadful progressive disease had eroded many of her hopes and dreams and abilities, as she became increasingly dependent on others for all daily care and mobility.

The Burden of Multiple Sclerosis on Joy

When I began meeting with her for supportive psychotherapy at the nursing facility where she lived, Marion was limited to moving her neck and one arm. While she could speak, Marion experienced mild cognitive deficits, which to a degree further increased her dependence. Over time she lost contact with her siblings, who were older, and who had either died or had health problems of their own.

As in childhood, Marion continued to be known to family, friends, and both the residents and staff of the nursing facility by her childhood nickname due to her usually cheery outlook. Sustaining a public image of cheerfulness allowed her to retain a central component of her personality, and to preserve a partial degree of control in her life.

As the burden of life’s troubles weighed more heavily on “Joy,” which began as an appropriate nickname, it gradually came to reflect a mask over her sorrow more than an expression of her native temperament.

Everyone at the nursing facility knew her simply as Joy. They believed her to be genuinely joyful because she would always greet others with an almost exaggerated cheerfulness and claims of feeling happy. “Hi Joy, how are you doing today?” would be cheerfully met with “I’m great, super, I’m good.” Some staff persons would marvel at her upbeat demeanor, despite her debilitating disease.

The nursing aides would use a mechanical lift to move her from bed to a wheeled recliner, and then I would wheel her to the facility library where we would meet for psychotherapy. On the way to the library, passing staff would smile and greet Joy and ask how she was doing, and she would respond by stating, “I’m fantastic, terrific!”

But when the library door closed behind us, Marion would cry or rage as she shared her feelings about her predicament and her losses. “I need you to know how I feel inside, but I don’t want the others to know,” she desperately explained.

Finding Grace in Grieving Through Psychotherapy

Marion felt so little control over her life circumstances, over her body, and over her privacy. It offered her a bit of control, though, to publicly maintain her lifelong persona as someone happily delighting in life. At the end of therapy sessions, she would ask to pause so it might not look like she’d been weeping, and so she might regain her composure. Then, during the ride back to her room, she would again sing out her cheerful assurances to others that she felt “wonderful.”

Marion got along nicely with some of the nursing aides who cared for her, yet she would squabble with some of the others. One day the aide with whom she sometimes quarreled asked me, “Why does she like the others, and not us?” In our next session, I offered Marion feedback about the observations and concerns of her caregivers, and she was willing to explore the matter.

“What do you do differently with the aides that you get along with?” I asked. “Well, I give them compliments,” she answered. Maybe you could experiment, I suggested, and try giving compliments rather than criticisms to the other aides. Within a few days, Marion and all her aides were pleasantly working together. “I guess they’re like me; you like someone more when they’re nice to you,” she said.

In retrospect, that particular session, and our psychotherapy in general, provided Marion with the opportunity to verbalize and learn from her emotional reactions to the situation. Adjustment to a disability condition is always a complicated and painful process.

For Marion, her M.S. had been slowly progressing over decades. She felt some resentment towards others who could walk, whom she thought might take their good luck for granted. At moments, she felt cheated by her illness.

Generally, the process of adaptation includes grieving the losses that result from an illness or injury. During therapy with Marion, we focused on her personal strengths: her resilience, her humor, her motivation to keep trying without giving up. We also repeatedly talked through her feelings of loss and grief, while highlighting the truly exciting and delightful experiences she had enjoyed as a child. We focused on the meaningful ways that she strove to be herself, even under such difficult circumstances.

Marion felt she had a supportive alliance through psychotherapy, a relationship that helped her to cope in her own ways, and that allowed room for the full range of her emotions.

Final Questions for Thought and Discussion

What was your reaction to the author’s work with Marion?

How might you have worked similarly or differently with her?

What challenges have you experienced working with physically challenged clients?

Building on Family Strengths to Solve the Puzzle of Child Protection Work

Information is a difference that makes a difference.
                                               — Gregory Bateson

In nature, it is said that whenever there is a poisonous plant, there can be another nearby which contains its antidote. When it comes to helping families, the same is true that for every problem identified, the resources for resolution can be present somewhere in the family’s ecology.]

Unfortunately, especially for underserved families, competition among divergent treatment philosophies, practices, and limited resources create an unintended conspiracy within the mental health and social service delivery systems — perhaps a benevolent one, but one which nonetheless curtails the identification of systemic homeopaths. The unfortunate consequence of this inability to use potential “antitoxins” naturally present within the client’s ecosystem is inefficiency for the service delivery system, stressed-out workers, high turnover, burnout, and a spiral of reduced possibility in which hope’s grasp is tentative at best, and non-existent at worst.

Mental health and social service clinicians working within the childcare system must search for strengths and solutions that are present, though perhaps hidden, in clients’ ecosystems. The approach is based on systems thinking and the idea gleaned from the practice of Structural Family Therapy (SFT) that change in any system, whether it be a family system or a social services agency, is best affected by the lived experience of doing.

Crossword puzzles as a paradigm stresses thinking and doing as an “out of the box” means to a problem-solving end. This practice mines the strength-based belief of creating a “virtuous circle” — one which recognizes clinicians’ and supervisors’ capacities and creativity, like those of the families they serve.

In resource-poor environments, when the goal of training is the enhanced ability to search for strength, this is not simply a training “add-on.” Rather, it is a foundational principle that requires the same persistence and consistency that Minuchin and other family therapists demonstrated was present in the natural environment in which clients and their families are embedded. The naturally occurring strengths in clients’ ecosystems can be uncovered by robust “doing,” which is an optimistic and energetic search for resources and resilience within both the family and the larger ecosystem of change.

Collaborative Case Planning

Like the proverbial butterfly catcher with net in hand, human service organizations have long been involved in a quest to capture the elusive chrysalis of change. What distinguishes efforts at reform and the ability to succeed is an ecological, “whole systems” approach. Children, families, problems, and possibilities are viewed in toto — economics, social, political, educational, gender, vocational, racial, location, class, and psychological elements are all in play. It acknowledges the margins and builds accountability.

The human and fiscal expense of doing otherwise speaks to the futility of programs that do not account for the organic and sometimes chaotic environment that families attempt to survive and thrive in.
As the 19th century Prussian Field Marshal Helmuth Carl Bernard Von Moltke reminded us, “No plan survives contact with the enemy.” In this instance, the enemy of high-quality service delivery is the tendency to replicate the existing system rather than undergo the reformation needed to absorb the family’s own healing powers.

Another systemically inspired practice that infuses underserved families with greater choice, and ultimately health, is collaborative case planning. This time-honored intervention gets all the major players to the table — including the family — and in the process, becomes a kind of exercise in agency topography that borrows from the tradition of Hartman and her colleagues, who pioneered ecomapping of family systems for adoptive placements.

By using the wide-angle lens of mapping families in all their contexts, resources and potential pressure points can emerge for their potential effect on the child and family. From the agency perspective, efficiency and collaboration are increased with an ecomap; everyone can see who is doing what and when and how it is being done. As a form of “observational therapy,” an ecomap can have the same heliotropic potential. However, as business has learned, outcomes can be improved, but not always for the reasons one might think.

Unfortunately, the promise of systemic work and its healing potential as envisioned by therapists who worked in the family trenches is not always realized in the battles to transform larger systems. For clinicians in the human services, or for those who train them, the pitch of a systemic perspective too often mirrors the president throwing out the first ball of baseball season — well intended, lots of hoopla, but doesn’t reach the plate. Without a clear picture of where they fit in the larger service-delivery system or a sense that they can make a difference, workers can feel overwhelmed, disempowered, and disheartened.

The financial cost to the system in turnover and lost productivity can be measured. The loss of wisdom, the discontinuity of care, and the loss of hope, however, are beyond calculation. In that regard, the experiences of child welfare clinicians mirror the isolation that can permeate the system within which they work and the families that they treat.

It is for this reason that systems of care were re-designed to “wrap” services around families and to minimize the dilution of family processes that occur as a by-product of traditional service delivery. In a sense, “wrapping” can enrich underserved families with a wider net of resources in the way families of higher classes can choose their providers and supports more selectively.

Capitalizing on Strengths

In tracing the strands of effective, systemically inspired service delivery, there is one constant thread: strengths. Thank goodness! But just as it was found that a rising economic tide does not raise all boats, so too can the tidal waters of strength not elevate the all-too-often porous vessels of bureaucracy.

What is amazing is how far a little strength can go, even in conditions that are wanting. There are, after all, some quite beautiful plants that flourish in the shade. Sadly, however, in the wrong bureaucratic hands, even strengths-based practice can invite the agency equivalent of Frankenstein picking flowers with the little girl — it’s a nice idea, but eventually the monster kills it.

How, then, to help clinicians to see that “It’s the difference that makes a difference”? Is there a way to aerate the sometimes root-bound tangle of the childcare bureaucracy so that its ability to heal can be given the room to breathe and prosper? How to give clinicians — especially those just out of school — the understanding and confidence to “trust the process” of searching for strengths, both within disrupted families and the systems designed to serve them? Moreover, are there ways to create a culture of caring and learning transfer so that clinicians see themselves as “action agents” within the larger bureaucratic tangle?

Part of the answer lies in family therapy’s history and co-development with cybernetics — the study of how systems developed the concepts of circularity, non-linearity, recursion, the process of self-correction, and the ways family and organizational systems maintain stability/homeostasis while balancing that with change and transformation. Gregory Bateson and his colleagues at the Mental Research Institute (MRI) in California, along with other early adapters, were the pioneers in this new way of thinking that set the stage for family therapy as we know it today.

Using a notion central to Structural Family Therapy (SFT) about strength and extending it to conceptualizing strength as a verb can be unintentionally overlooked when children and families in dire need get lost within the morass of bureaucracy. The SFT concept of healing is more about thinking of strength as a verb. It’s not so much a matter of finding strengths within the family’s ecosystem as it is strengthening the resources that are hiding in the weeds, so to speak. In that regard, it is more of a leap of faith — that whatever challenges a case presents, health can prevail.

Businesses and non-profits share a challenge: getting their message through environmental “clutter,” or the glut of choices that compete for our attention. How, then, can human service organizations solve the multiple staff training dilemmas they face?

The skills and belief set needed are interwoven and important: ensure the safety of the child and family, reduce decision clutter, increase the active search for strengths, attend to and nurture family connections, expand the problem-solving lens to include extended family, community and idiosyncratic, home-grown resources, and get paperwork in on time. One path on the way toward answering this organizational koan is this: increase experiential capital by linking the worker and their day-to-day decisions with the larger mission of the organization.

Thinking Outside the Therapeutic Box

Bridging the gap between what we know and what we do, however, is no small feat. In Why Didn’t You Say that in the First Place: How to Be Understood at Work, Richard Heyman unravels this knotty problem with a question and a refreshing answer: “Why is it that ‘a picture is worth a thousand words?’ The picture is not talking about something — it is the thing the talk is about.”

From this perspective, to truly “get” the uber-goal of searching for strength and translating that into action, workers must experience the “felt sense” of search and discovery —finding something where apparently nothing exists. This experience is analogous to an “enactment” in SFT, in which the family is guided by the therapist in an interactive experience between members that is designed to offer them new opportunities to use underutilized strengths.

Many consider enactments to be the heart of Structural Family Therapy. The value of enactments is two-fold. First, as a “real-time” assessment tool, and second, for their change-producing potential, both of which scaffold nicely for training in human services.

Enactments between family members during therapy can principally occur in two ways, either spontaneously or through the therapist’s direction, and they are used in two ways, to assess family patterns and to promote change. Spontaneous enactments are readily available ways of interacting that might be thought of as familial “tells” (like the poker player whose nervous smile foretells the bluff), showing habits of relating in which relational organization is embedded. While some might consider these patterns to be so deep as to be unconscious, another way to think of them is as learned ways to relate and survive in the world.

The persistence of patterns can transcend the pull of context. Habituated behaviors tend to reveal themselves in multiple settings— a therapist’s office, a restaurant, school, work, or home. The persistence of these patterns can be linked to the tendency to reduce anxiety through prediction and habit. As the pioneer family therapist, Virginia Satir notably said, “Most people would prefer the misery of certainty over the misery of uncertainty.”

Like an artist who steps back from the picture they are painting, clinicians have the capacity to use themselves differentially, moving in and out of the family system to gain perspective. Minuchin described this as “use of self,” in which the therapist positions themself with the family from “proximate, median or distant” perspectives.

Harry Aponte has written about how therapists can make use of their own personalities, family of origin, and life experiences to guide clients during enactments in the “then and there” of limiting patterns so that they experience themselves and one another with increased possibility and hope.

Like a music student first learning scales as a prelude to improvisation, experiential training can evolve into a more responsive, “whole systems, both-and” approach in which requirements and innovation can co-occur. For example, when supervisors at one county office of a state child welfare agency were asked about their staff’s training needs, their response was, “To be able to think on their own/to think outside of the box.”

Their request comes from the experience of guiding their workers through the complicated bureaucratic and interpersonal seas of child protection. As Mumma wrote in his insightful piece about his agency training in systems work, “Taking these concepts (ways of thinking) and making them work in a particular agency setting is the real work of training.” The analogy of crossword puzzles can make that work a bit easier.

Finding Best Clinical Practices

Just thinking about all the aspects of a case — its who’s, what’s, and how’s — can be a bit overwhelming. Cases in the investigative and early treatment stages, particularly for newer clinicians and social workers, may seem all forest and trees, abounding with unanswered questions.
Over the years, agencies have found genograms, ecomaps, and structural maps to create a set of “blueprints” that graphically represent families and agencies in a way that quickly sorts out relationships and priorities. These tools have been essential in widening the practice/thinking lens to include others who may have clues to potential resources.

The rise in “manualized” treatment and the emphasis on evidence-based treatments has helped to sort through these difficult choices and prescribe “best practices.” While this is a necessary step in the right direction — much like learning scales is in music — it can be insufficient to encompass the unpredictable nature of cases. There needs to be a “both-and” approach that brackets safety, consistency, and growth with improvisation. Thinking in terms of crosswords can do just that.

In its own way, a blank crossword puzzle graphically resembles a complex clinical and, in this case, social services-related case — lots of questions, some inter-related, some not, and just to make it interesting, a few black boxes. As President Clinton said in the crosswords-based movie, Wordplay:

Sometimes you have to go at a problem the way I go at a complicated crossword puzzle. You start where you know the answer and you build on it and eventually you unravel the whole puzzle. And so, I rarely work a puzzle with any difficulty, one across and one down all the way to the end in a totally logical fashion. A lot of difficult, complex problems are like that. You must find some aspect of it you understand and build on it until you can unravel the mystery you are trying to understand and then you build on it and eventually you unravel the whole puzzle.

When one acts as if the answers are there, though perhaps hidden, the puzzle’s resolution moves from the shakier, contingent ground of “if” it will be resolved, to the more possibilistic ground of “how.”

Crossword Puzzles as Metaphor in Child Protection Work

Do you think I know what I am doing?

That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?

As much as a pen knows what it is writing,

Or the ball can guess where it’s going next.

Rumi

When a case opens in child protection, the most compelling, sometimes unanswerable question is “Who will keep this child safe?”
If an injury has occurred in the home, the prima facie answer may seem obvious: “no one.” In this instance, unless resources are surfaced, the child will need to be placed outside of the home, “in the system.”

Starting the exploration of strengths from a crossword paradigm assumes that like the printed puzzle, all the answers may not be initially apparent, but once safety is established, one can begin to answer the eternal risk-safety dilemma: Can the person(s) who caused or permitted harm now be responsible for safety? If one only looks at the alleged abuser, then the likelihood is that the answer to the question will be “no.” If more contextual factors are also considered, so, too, are possibilities.

The work becomes both retrospective and prospective, invoking Einstein’s dictum, “You can never solve a problem on the level at which it was created.” The “who” and “when” questions are now also answered by “how.”

The “how” to find and fill those potential strength-based empty boxes begins with questions like “Who else watches the kids when you go out?” or, “When you are having a rough day, who do you talk to?” or, “Who are some of the people you count on?” These ground-level questions are more than a set of techniques, they are the personal implementation of a larger policy that has the capacity to both be safe and value the child’s primary connection.

Enacting Possibility to Help Families in Crisis

Like the Zoysia grass, the grass/weed whose initial plugs merge over time into a uniform carpet, training from a Crosswords perspective can grow the seeds of organizational interpersonal attachment. One way to underscore the marriage of mission and method is to give training participants a felt sense of difference.

The enactment of possibility begins when participants fill out a blank crossword on their own. After five minutes of working alone in silence, the trainer helps the participants process their “silent” experience at multiple levels: What did you notice? Did you fill in the boxes you knew first, or did you have a system? What did it feel like? Did any of you get stuck? How did you get out of that — what did you do? Typically, people report a range of answering strategies — some very methodical, “I do every ‘across' first, then I start with the ‘downs,’” others more radiant, “I just see which ones I know and then go from there.”

Next, the trainer asks the participants what it felt like to do the puzzle. What did they notice about their mental/emotional and physical states? “It was quiet.” “I kind of got into it.” “It was frustrating.” “I felt tense.” “I was worried other people would see how much I didn’t know.” “I kind of enjoyed it.” “It’s like Solitaire or Wordle, I just got lost in it.” All their answers provide abundant raw material to talk about their work, their stresses, successes, and the strategies they use to problem solve. And it sets the stage for helping them think “out of the box” by using the other boxes.

To widen the lens, the trainer may provide another enactment. This time, they can ask participants to form small groups of six or fewer, telling them that they have another five minutes to work on their puzzles, but this time, together. People begin to talk, share their answers, laugh, and fill in the blanks as they see how quickly they can solve the new crossword together as a team.

When the time is up, the group is asked to process their experience and compare it with doing the puzzle alone. Inevitably, they notice the energy level, productivity, speed of producing answers, and their own internal experience of connecting while connecting the dots. In future puzzling cases, this brainstorming model can supply added, shared resource clues to support and, most importantly, help the clinician in their search for resources within the family and larger system.

Materials Needed: Copies of a Crossword Puzzle

Total Amount of time: 10–20 minutes

Lessons Learned: Start with strengths within and around the family, fill in the answers you know to discover the answers you don’t.

One does not need to know all the answers to get all the answers.

A “wrong” answer is eventually corrected by the context of right answers.

Just like a case, one does not know all the answers when starting — answers emerge over time often from unexpected sources.

Persistence pays off — but so does taking a break and getting help.

A Family Crossword Comes Together

The first time I (LPM) met Kyla and her mother, Teresa, was across a cold table in an institutional room. Kyla had been in the residential treatment facility for almost ten months following a series of escalating behavioral incidents in her previous foster home. I thought back to my meeting with the family’s caseworker, who told me that Teresa and her partner Linda’s relationship was volatile and created an unsafe environment in the home. Kyla’s father, according to the caseworker, was out of the picture.

During my first several months working with the family, I felt as if very little progress had been made. Each week, I’d pick Teresa up and drive her to the residential facility for family sessions. Dutifully, I went to family court, holding space for an equally enraged and devastated Teresa on the way home each time reunification was pushed back. I consistently showed up for the family, and despite good rapport with both mother and daughter, Kyla’s behavior remained a challenge and our family sessions felt focused on the crisis of the week, as opposed to addressing underlying family dynamics and struggles.

One day, Teresa unannouncedly brought her partner Linda to session. From that point, treatment changed almost immediately, as both Kyla and Teresa seemed more engaged and open during family therapy, and we began to focus less on minor incidents and more on boundaries and communication within the family system.

Still, somehow, it felt like a piece of the family puzzle was missing. I could sense that Teresa and Linda were holding something back, particularly when we discussed their co-parenting practices. This final piece fell into place one day when I went to pick up Teresa and Linda and Robert, Kyla’s father, eagerly and unexpectedly hopped into the van. It quickly became clear that Robert had been actively involved with the family all along.

I finally could see the full picture of the family structure and their dynamic. Teresa, Linda, and Robert were in a polyamorous relationship. Robert had been understandably hesitant to engage with the child welfare system out of concern that the polyamorous relationship would be condemned, and reunification denied.

The case that had “simply” been presented to me as an unreliable mother with a violent partner unable to meet the emotional needs of her unstable daughter was actually one where a child had three caring adults who wanted to support her. With all the pieces in place and the entire family finally engaged in treatment, meaningful therapeutic work ensued, Kyla’s behavior improved, and she came home.

Conclusion

“The solution to pollution is dilution.”

Using crossword puzzles as a conceptual framework and training method opens workers and the organization to both the learned and the lived experience of complexity, strength, possibility, and the importance of connective relationships when working in child protection. We know that systems can mirror the systems that they treat. For instance, In Child Welfare, the insidious nature of poverty is such that it can quietly, but inexorably, leach into the soil of good intentions in such a way that the attachments between worker and family, workers and other agencies, worker and supervisor, and workers themselves, can suffer the pollution of despair.

This is not to say that using crossword puzzles will wall off the effects of these potential systemic toxins. It is to say, however, that healthy, connected relationships can be grown and nurtured and, over time, create “the difference that makes a difference.”

***

The author would like to thank my friends and colleagues who helped me fill in the blanks, both across as well as up and down. A special thanks go to Lauren McCarthy (LM) for providing the case of Kyla.

Social Media Monitoring Tips for Successful Psychotherapy with Teens

Therapeutic Encounters with Two Teens

Courtney was the kind of 10th grade-client that I completely enjoyed. She was cute, clever, and motivated. So, when she began to have an issue that ballooned into a crisis, I was a bit surprised. Her parent found out that she had shared a nude selfie with a boy she knew, who then shared it with the whole school. While Courtney’s mother was a nurse who well understood the ups and downs of being a single parent and the importance of being present for her daughter, she didn’t see this looming crisis coming and was unable to comfort her daughter.

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My clinical work with Courtney centered around understanding her own boundaries — that being a people-pleaser is not always what’s required — and giving voice to her past losses (including the tragic death of her Father), all of which were held inside too long. Throughout our work, and hopefully beyond, DBT for frustration tolerance and CBT to calm the inner critic were supportive anchors. I also made myself available for extra sessions until she stabilized. In addition, I helped her do some damage control at her school by speaking directly with the guidance counselor.

Nevertheless, Courtney landed in the hospital from sheer humiliation. And because she was so emotionally fragile, she needed time to be safe, without her devices, to regroup, process, and consolidate her experiences. While Courtney was scarred by her mistake, blamed and mortified for what another kid didn’t yet understand about privacy, she was, thankfully, able to benefit from the immediate help.

Another college-age client, who I will call Sasha, had insomnia and relied on her smartphone to fall asleep — much like scores of others her age do. Parents, Sasha’s included, often say things like, “You can take away all her devices but it won’t help.” Sasha, as it turned out, was reliving a traumatic memory that replayed in her head, and she often woke up screaming. Although I am not a sleep expert, I realized that she was in trouble because she hadn’t attended school in over a week.

My initial work with Sasha focused on the immediate presenting problem of sleep. For me, this is always an important discussion with teens. Then we moved slowly to her past trauma using breath and yoga to help her self-regulate. The incident she was reliving every night was painful, but it didn’t have to follow her into adulthood.

Adolescent Struggles with Self-Regulation

As I reflect on these two cases, which share certain digital/social media-related elements, I also appreciate their differences. Courtney was simply burnt out from the social media backlash and ongoing shame, humiliation, and guilt she felt knowing that everyone with a smart device could see her nude picture. She needed a reset.

Sasha, having had an entirely different kind of traumatic experience, was not quite as resilient as Courtney. Her body, as Bessel van der Kolk reminds us, kept the score and intruded on her sleep despite her best efforts to use a digital remedy. In the two instances, it was important for me to differentiate between depression, trauma, and anxiety, the symptoms of which often converge. Both, however, had difficulty coping with their respective crises because of their reliance, or perhaps over-reliance, on social media and digital devices.

In the cases of Courtney and Sasha, as I do with most teens with whom I work, I included the family. I offered suggestions around self-regulation for the teen, and to the parents for helping their child regulate the use of social media and digital devices. Interestingly, and perhaps not unexpectedly, because of their overreliance on their digital devices for connection during COVID, I had an uptick in patients who were convinced they were dissociating. Perhaps they were. One client said people were watching her from within the walls of her room.

Sasha accepted a few of my suggestions for learning how to re-regulate herself, but she never quite connected the dots that “the body keeps the score.” Instead, she insisted on staying online because without her friends, there was “no score at all.”

Helping Teen Clients Find Balance

While working with families like those of Sasha and Courtney, I simultaneously model calmness, generate a decision tree of steps for addressing the crisis, and calculate the practical and emotional cost of decisions they have or are thinking of making. At the same time, I try to comfort the teen that “this too shall pass,” and to provide the needed perspective they can’t yet take. The black-and-white thinking, a hallmark of adolescence, keeps them feeling there’s no way out when there usually is.

The teen’s default and refrain often remains: what will people think of me? But with time and support, their inner voice may shift to one of more self-compassion. I often say, “What would you tell a friend?” The hyper-fixation on self-image that is also the cornerstone of adolescent thinking, amplified by the social isolation of COVID and the endless resulting on-screen hours, was the perfect storm and seedbed for some of the angst and depression we have seen among adolescents. We cannot necessarily prevent social media, but we can still protect them from its potentially harmful effects.

I worked for early internet start-ups in the health and wellness space for some time, so I cannot readily cast away the benefits of the Internet or social media. Like many teen girls with whom I’ve worked, their virtual world is their true and only world. What others see of them is all that matters.

So, in Courtney’s case, the destruction of her carefully curated online image was shattering and felt like the death of part of herself. Do we now blame social media for what happened to Courtney or for Sasha’s experience? Unfortunately, we can barely ban guns, let alone phones. Schools are trying to take phones during instruction. That’s a good idea. I don’t think my daughter ever read a book in high school. There was no attention span left by the time she reached 10th grade. Joining with the teen on her journey lets her know that at least one grown-up in the world is on her team — her teen brain doesn’t have to define her.

It is so convenient for friends, family, therapists, teachers, and parents to say “social media be damned,” especially after an episode like Courtney’s. I agree with what they’re saying; after all, it’s legitimate to protect your children (and clients) from porn, abuse, catfishing, danger, and predators. My biggest parenting regret was not removing the phones from my own children’s possession by 10:00 PM like many parents do. Sleep is critical during adolescence, but too many kids simply cannot resist the allure of talking to their friends all night.

If my patient is on social media all day and night, what would be more appropriate: to scold her and instruct the parents to remove all screens, or perhaps teach her that rest is critical to development, as is exercise, diet, spirituality, creativity, and every possible other form of self-care? I often beg clients to get a hobby.

Social Media and the Benefits of Connection

One of my current clients is doing an online degree program in a special kind of painting that she posts weekly on Instagram. Because she has a significant trauma history, her present situation doesn’t allow her to visit museums or lectures or art studio classes. But she can paint and post and maybe one day sell those paintings online.

What gives her hope is the freedom to expose her work to the world without having to leave her room or open herself to bullying, intimidation, or abuse. And then there are clients who are either ill or live in a rural setting who can talk to their BFFs (and me) without having to drive. These are the many ways a young, isolated person may reframe the online world as an adaptation to her struggles, rather than the enemy.

I am not suggesting that my clients continue mind-numbing and wasteful activities like stalking their ex, trolling through others’ emails, engaging in illegal/aggressive or shameful bullying, or worse. What I say to my colleagues who work with young people is this; save your judgment and let’s figure out what the pitfalls and potential are in each situation, then help our clients to filter in what is meaningful, useful, and practical for them within their virtual (and “real”) communities and filter out what doesn’t serve them. I love working with young people because once they “get it,” they’re usually good to go.    

How to Watch Master Therapists in Session and Build Clinical Competence

Taking Stock of Professional Development

Later life, as gerontological researcher William Randall writes, is a time for looking inward and outward as well as forward and backward. And as much as I don’t always like to acknowledge it, I am in later life. Having mysteriously and involuntarily arrived at that juncture, I find myself simultaneously shedding and accumulating; material possessions in the case of the former, and wisdom in the case of the latter. I am indeed looking forward, perhaps not yet as enthusiastically as I would like, but certainly looking backward to assess what about who I am both personally and professionally I would like to carry with me on this next leg.

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I’ll save the “personal” for a future essay and will focus here on the professional — specifically, my evolution as a psychotherapist. Having recently retired from my full-time position as a clinical educator, I am still in the classroom, and as I wrote in a previous blog, still training future therapists. And a significant portion of that classroom work has revolved around the use of clinical training videos that we (Psychotherapy.net) produce. As a caveat, I want you to know that I used these videos long before I signed on as the Editor six years ago.

Over the years as a psychotherapist, I have had face-to-face clinical supervision, read my share of clinical books, have “performed” in front of the one-way mirror, consulted with peers on case management, and even written for the therapy audience. But it has always been clinical videos that have not only rounded out but deepened my clinical skills. So, I thought it might be useful to share some of my favorites, those on whose production I have been involved, and those whose entry into our vast collection predated my arrival on the shores of Psychotherapy.net.

Watching Experts Work with Clients

I will shamelessly (mis)appropriate the famous movie line by saying, “You had me at Irvin Yalom.” Aside from the incredible trove of his clinical writings, Yalom has shared his many individual and group therapy skills in front of the camera. His insightful work and clinical acumen have been for me and my trainees — although I suspect for many others — what the likes of Carl Rogers’ work has been for current and past generations of clinicians.

I have done a fair amount of clinical interviewing and assessment over the years in a wide range of venues with a broad range of clients: prisons, hospitals, psychiatric facilities, private practice, and in the forensic arena. As we would likely all agree, good interviewing requires both art and skill, and I have thoroughly enjoyed and learned from the diagnostic interviews of Jason Buckles, who has deepened my understanding of the kind of questions that must be asked to differentiate among many and often overlapping and conflicting diagnoses — substance abuse, personality disorder, and mood disturbance to name a few.

Good assessment, however, requires not only diagnostic facility, but a foundation in interpersonal and interviewing skills that transcend specific pathologies. And to enhance my own interviewing skills, I often turned to the work of John and Rita Sommers Flannagan, who have reminded me how to incorporate mental status, biopsychosocial, and clinical questioning into the interview process. I have also continuously relied on John’s work around suicide assessment and intervention with clients ranging in age, ethnicity, and life circumstance.

As my own clinical practice has evolved over the years, I have been exposed to — or perhaps I should say, I have exposed myself to — clients whose circumstances, culture, and values have differed widely from my own. I have embraced the personal and professional awakening that comes with looking beyond my own relatively small sphere of experience so that I could appreciate the lives of others whose paths have been so different from my own.

Watching Sue Johnson wield her velvet EFT (Emotionally Focused Therapy) sword to cut through the resistance and defenses of couples has given me the confidence to work with couples. But our EFT Masterclass, a four-volume series in which EFT is demonstrated by a team of EFT experts, has been especially enlightening. It has helped build my confidence and courage to venture into challenging couples counseling arenas like pornography addiction, grief and loss, and sexual issues.

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Certainly, I could go on extolling the virtues of our clinical training videos, but what has been useful to me as a clinician may not be so for you. You may not be drawn to the work of these particular clinicians. But certainly, there are enough training videos in our collection to satisfy all tastes. And there are many ways to learn. You may learn best by reading or doing. Some of you may hold to the belief that 10,000 hours of doing makes for expertise. But if you have the space and desire to invite the masters along on your clinical journey and enjoy watching them at work, grab a front-row seat and tune in.


 

Questions for Thought and Discussion

How do you resonate with the premise of this essay?

What training videos have you found useful in your own professional development?

What challenges have you experienced in using clinical training videos?   

The Upside of Loss: Helping Grieving Clients in Therapy

The funny thing about grief, aside from the fact that it lasts forever, is that it has a life of its own. My wife died in September of 2021 after a three-year-long battle with cancer. She and I considered ourselves extremely fortunate that this happened in her eighth decade of life and not sooner, that she was minimally symptomatic and pain-free until the very end, and that the original six-month prognosis turned out to be three quality years. The love and support from family and friends throughout this period was, and still is, a major component of our, and later my, well-being. I believe the nature and quality of my own grief experience had a great deal to do with the quality of care that my loved ones and I were able to provide for my wife. My satisfaction with that care sustains me. That I have no regrets about her care means everything. I need no help in continually realizing how much I have lost after a glorious thirty-five-year love story. When I hear family, friends, and countless others describe how much my wife meant to them and their feelings about losing her, my own loss feels that much greater. Not surprisingly, those moments are emotionally mixed. When the sadness and sense of loss is intensified, it provides an opportunity to savor the gift of her presence in my life for all those wonderful years together. For me, that is grief at its best.

Of Magical Thinking

Joan Didion, in her book, The Year of Magical Thinking, spoke of her experience after the sudden death of her husband after 40 years of marriage. One of her reported observations is something that I have experienced countless times. The frequent wish to share information with a departed loved one is ongoing and serves as another reminder of the loss. Didion writes, “I could not count the times during the average day when something would come up that I needed to tell him. This impulse did not end with his death. What ended was the possibility of response.” For me, this form of verbal intimacy is one of the greatest losses of all. Most recently, this was manifested by the birth of our grandson, born four months after my wife died. He is the first child for our son and the first male grandchild after four granddaughters. Fortunately, my wife knew about the pregnancy, but not the gender. The impulse to discuss this great event with her occurs frequently, and probably always will. A common fear among the bereaved — me included — is what I call “memory fading,” as well as other “fades,” like the sound of her voice and her laugh, and the way she looked and sounded upon hearing stunning news of any kind. Of course, pictures are wonderful, and videos are even better, but the details of the interactions of everyday life for over thirty-five years are sometimes difficult to retain. J.W. Worden, in his excellent 1991 book, Grief Counseling & Grief Therapy, described mourning — the adaptation to loss — as involving four basic tasks:
  • To accept the reality of loss, which can be extremely difficult when it is sudden, unexpected, and tragic, like the deaths on 9/11
  • To work through the pain of grief, as opposed to denying the need to grieve
  • To adjust to an environment in which the deceased is missing
  • To emotionally relocate the deceased and move on with life
Worden’s four tasks suggest an action orientation that I have always found to be useful when working with grieving clients in my psychotherapy practice, as opposed to the more well-known stage or phase schema for bereavement which tend to imply passivity and a lack of action as the mourner passes along a continuum. Worden’s approach, which is more consistent with Freud’s concept of grief work, encourages activity and implies that the process can be influenced by outside intervention, such as a participating clinician. Following the attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, I conducted a bereavement group for eight widows. The group was scheduled to last 16 weeks, but they remained together for over three years. That is when they felt their grief work had advanced to the point where the group was no longer necessary, while recognizing that their grief was not over — because it never would be. Clearly, bereavement is not a process that progresses in a sequential manner marked by a gradual and identifiable reduction in grief and other indications of a return to normalcy. In many cases, indicators of “progress” are not reassuringly evident. The mourner may appear to be getting worse as months go by, causing needless worry among friends and family. In fact, feeling “worse” is not necessarily a bad sign. It may be an indication that the painful work of grieving is proceeding as it unavoidably must, in fits and starts. The bereavement process may take weeks, months, or years. It is not a path to “recovery,” insofar as that means a return to pre-bereavement baselines. Instead, the process leads to the mourner’s increased ability to change, adapt, and alter his or her self-image and role to fit a new status.

Grief is Not a Disorder

Grief is sometimes seen as a disorder — like depression — and treated by some clinicians with medication only. This tends to cause grievers to believe that there is something the matter with them, something they must get over as quickly as possible. The potential self-esteem consequences of this belief are worrisome, especially when well-meaning others encourage “recovery” or “moving on” as essential. When Emily, a 32-year-old mother of three whose husband was killed in the World Trade Center attacks came to see me three weeks later, she was already on anti-depressant medication and claimed to be feeling sick. The advice she was given by friends, family, and, unfortunately, her psychopharmacologist, was that she had to “wait for this to pass” and to “protect” her children, ages 10, 7, and 5, by minimizing the loss and acting “normal.” “You must try to stop feeling so sad” was the comment she recalled being most upsetting. Worden’s tasks described earlier provided an excellent road map for the grief work ahead. She was receptive to the idea that grief was something you do, not something you have. She could influence the process rather than remain feeling passive, helpless, and anxious, and her grief was normal and necessary, not an illness from which she had to recover. My assessment of Emily’s mental status suggested that she was someone who was not likely to be retraumatized by interventive strategies designed to help her acknowledge and “handle” her feelings, as sometimes occurs with those suffering a loss, especially one so sudden and tragic. I also assessed the quality of her marital relationship to see if it was positive, ambivalent, or troubled, and to determine if specific interventions to address related issues might be in order. We normalized her grief and understood together that as an organic process, it needed to “breathe” and not be inhibited or minimized. We role-played instances where well-wishers offering unhelpful or hurtful advice needed a response from Emily. A self-described introvert, conflict-avoider, and people pleaser, Emily needed self-advocacy skills and “finding my voice” to help others help her. My work with grieving clients like Emily has, not surprisingly, often triggered my own grief responses. It requires effort to stay fully with them and not be distracted by my own sense of sadness and loss. Work with Emily preceded the loss of my wife but working with her and many others certainly activated old memory networks regarding earlier losses in my life, like the death of my father when I was eight years old. My ability to be empathically attuned, I believe, has been significantly enhanced by my own past and ongoing grief journeys.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

Months before she died, my wife urged me to consider the possibility of a new romantic relationship after she was gone. She knew of my unwillingness to even consider such an idea based on two things: one, my high tolerance for independent living, and two, my belief that I had the love of my life for 35 years and could not imagine a second experience with a new “leading lady.” Thanks to a recent serendipitous encounter, I came to realize that perhaps another romantic adventure at this stage of my life was not entirely out of the question. I had conflicting feelings about the fact that this chance meeting — where the mutual attraction was immediately clear — occurred only two months after the death of my wife. Initially, I considered not acting on my desire for more contact. However, I also appreciated that I could not ask someone to wait until I achieved the arbitrary one-year milestone that widows and widowers are “supposed to” allow before it is socially acceptable to consider a new partner. Like grief, the heart does not operate in accordance with the calendar. Thirteen months later, I am glad I seized the opportunity to explore a new relationship however earlier than expected —especially since this was never expected at all! The important insight for me is that mourning a lost love and embracing a new love were not at all incompatible. The new relationship has served to ease the transition from a memorable 35-year marriage to a new partnership that is similarly meaningful, valuable, and life-enhancing. Questions for Thought and Discussion What about this article resonated with you personally? Professionally? How have you incorporated your own personal grief work into your practice with grieving clients? What are some of the inner challenges you have when working with clients who have experienced loss?