When Your Therapy Client Ghosts You

Ghost (verb) – Definition: to end a personal relationship with someone suddenly by stopping all communication with them. What’s your first reaction to ghosting? Would it be to judge unfavorably the person who ghosts as disrespectful, unable to face and deal directly with conflicts, or, at the very least, impolite and ill-mannered? This judgement may very well be deserved. For example, in online dating or after an in-person date with someone they initially met online, a person may choose to ghost rather than deal with the discomfort of having to say they are not interested in continuing the relationship. The person “ghosted” is left without even comprehending (at least for a while) what has actually occurred. More questions than answers remain, and it is difficult for the “ghostee” to not take it personally. There are, however, situations in which “ghosting” is done as a means to protect oneself from pain, or for reasons of safety – and I say this with some authority having lived these experiences. In groups or organizations, when leaders act without awareness, or are unable to acknowledge their painful colonial history, they often repeat marginalizing certain groups of people. Those who identify with the marginalized may then disengage or “ghost” the group, knowing that the group will be unable to acknowledge or meaningfully process their deep collective hurt and pain. In situations of extreme domestic abuse or violence, it may be in the person’s best interest and safety to ghost the abuser or manipulator, in order to escape from the danger and for self-protection. Might the notion of ghosting apply in therapy? As therapists, we must keep in mind and entertain all possible reasons when a client ghosts us and doesn’t return to therapy. Although it is not very common to have clients ghost their therapist, I have had clients who have let me know by email that they will not be continuing therapy–a milder, kinder version of ghosting, but a breakup nevertheless. To my chagrin, at times clients have refused to take up my offer of a termination session, even when offered without charge. As in all breakups, the one broken up with, (in this case, me, the therapist) is left asking the question: “Was it me or was it them?” I have often thought about and at times agonized over what I could have done to prevent this sudden rupture in the therapeutic relationship that now seemingly has no chance of repair. Clients with abusive, traumatic histories place enormous trust in us as therapists when they venture to explore their painful pasts in our presence. Money is an often emotion-laden topic that is fraught with different associations and meanings to different clients. One client negotiated a low fee with me due to her many ongoing medical issues and treatments. During the course of therapy, I learned that this client was a millionaire who had inherited a great amount of wealth. We processed her experiences of scarcity and shame of having grown up in poverty. After many months of therapy, I brought up the issue of her current low fee and raised the fee by $20. Clearly, I had not processed adequately how that landed with her, as she ghosted me after that session and did not return to therapy. She also did not return my phone calls or emails, where I acknowledged my mistake and requested an opportunity to repair the pain caused to her. As a therapist, I take full accountability for what transpired between us, and I hope this client is able to process and work through her issues around money with someone else who holds her conflicts and predicaments with abundant compassion. Only in one case of ghosting have I felt truly taken advantage of. This was when a relatively new client suddenly stopped therapy just after I tried charging their credit card on file for the four sessions attended that month, and the credit card was no longer valid. Did I learn anything from that? Probably not, as I still charge clients only at the end of each month using their credit card on file. Here are some steps I now take to minimize the chance of ghosting, or should I say abrupt therapeutic termination:

  1. End of session feedback: At the end of each session, I take a few minutes to ask and go over with the client how the session was for them, especially whether there was something said (or unsaid) by me that needs clarification or that didn’t feel right to them. This gives them the opportunity to bring up the issue, so I can address it directly, rather than them not feeling understood, or worse, when a developmental trauma is reenacted in session and the client misperceives the interaction. In most cases, when a client abruptly decides to end sessions, it is usually related to an attachment trauma’s being reenacted in some way, where the pain is too much for the client to bring up in session.
  2. Need for closure: I tell the client at the initial session, and often throughout the course of therapy, the importance of a planned termination, or at least a single dedicated termination session. I also tell them that while it might seem easier to terminate abruptly rather than bring up a difficult issue directly with the therapist, a relationship grows stronger after an intentional repair by the therapist after a therapeutic rupture; I model this whenever possible.
  3. Offer a termination session at no charge: When a client lets me know that they are no longer going to continue sessions, I always offer a termination session at no charge. Even if the client does not take me up on the offer, it conveys to the client my interest and care for them, and that I am available and open to taking responsibility for repairing the rupture between us.
When a client decides to terminate abruptly and does not want a termination session, I let them know that they can always contact me in the future if they have any questions or would like to come in for a session. I also provide referrals to other therapists. In some cases, it is simply not the right time for the client, and I have had clients return to therapy, sometimes years after they had abruptly ended sessions. I am learning to accept the “ghosting” of clients gracefully and to let go–it is what it is.

Usha Tummala-Narra on Living Multicultural Competence

Lawrence Rubin: I want to thank you very much, Usha, for being with us today and sharing your time and expertise with our audience of psychotherapists.
Usha Tummala-Narra: Thank you for inviting me.

Towards a Definition

LR: Multicultural competence seems to have become somewhat of a buzzword in the field of counseling and psychotherapy, defined differently by different clinicians; but since it’s the nexus of your own clinical and research work, can you tell our readers what you think it is and what you think it isn’t?
UT: Indeed, there’ve been many different definitions. I arrived at cultural competence from a psychoanalytic perspective. Given that, I think of multicultural competence as a way of understanding, a way of engaging with sociocultural context and how it shapes interpersonal processes as well as intrapsychic life and extending into the therapeutic relationship. How do the sociocultural context and dynamics that are evident in broader society get mirrored in the relationship between the therapist and the client? So, cultural competence to me looks at the various layers of an individual’s life, both intrapsychically and interpersonally.
LR: Irvin Yalom talks about the therapeutic relationship as a microcosm for the client’s interpersonal world, so I’m wondering if what you’re saying is that a multiculturally competent clinician strives to build a connection with the client’s broader contextualized experience.
UT: That’s certainly a part of it. I think the other piece is the person of the therapist in terms of their own socio-cultural history. This includes their own history of social oppression – what they find as positive and identify positively with in terms of their cultural background, their religious background or linguistic background. It’s about how all those sets of cultural and socio-cultural experiences shape the therapist and their subjectivity and how that in turn interacts with the subjectivity of the client. There’s this kind of interaction between multiple cultural worlds happening regardless of who we’re working with therapeutically. And this is not specific to working with clients from a particular socio-cultural background, but rather I see it as broader than that. It’s about engaging our broader context within the therapeutic relationship.
And so for me, cultural competence isn’t a specialty, it’s just part of professional competence. I just really see it as a regular part of psychotherapy.
LR: So, it’s more than just two people coming together, but it’s almost like two worlds coming together in the therapeutic encounter.
UT: Yes, that’s right.

Revealing Full Personhood

LR: Traditional therapeutic practice, particularly dynamically-informed practice, is built upon the premise of therapeutic neutrality; so how can a clinician bring their full contextual personhood into the relationship with a client and still be faithful to the ethics and the tenets of psychotherapy?
UT: That’s a great question. We should consider what neutrality actually looks like and feels like for the client. We’ve been socialized as therapists to put everything about ourselves to the side so that we’re not imposing our agenda onto the client. And so, therapists have this idea that “if I was to initiate a discussion about race or culture or gender, that it’s really my personal wish that’s being filled in some way, or my personal longing to engage in those discussions rather than the client’s needs and what might be actually helpful to the client.” But in fact, what I have found is that so many clients in fact need to talk about issues of race and culture and religion but have been told all their lives in one way or another that they shouldn’t. As a result, people’s experiences of racism are often kept hidden, are kept silent, and are more often spoken about within somebody’s home or with a circle of friends.
But, we should consider that psychotherapy is actually a place where we can talk about things that we have been told not to because therapy is not an ordinary conversation, as Freud himself pointed out. For me, then, we must think about what’s not being spoken about when we neglect to address issues of sociocultural context and background. If we’re not talking about something like social class and how it impacts our clients, then perhaps neither will our clients. I don’t see those particular issues as being separate from what may be going on internally for a person – what they might be struggling with. I just see the two as quite intertwined in terms of a person’s suffering and conflicts and relational issues. They’re very intertwined for me.
 
LR:  It’s interesting how you’re saying that people who differ from the so-called mainstream are taught to be invisible, to homogenize themselves and hide the rich context of their life. And the same seems to go for therapists who are taught to blend into the background, to neutralize the rich cultural, racial, gendered, religious aspects of themselves so they may be fully available. But you’re also saying that both client and therapist need to step out of that invisibility and reveal themselves to each other.
UT: Yes. If we’re interested in exploring a full range of experience within our client’s lives, then we must actually explore all of those different aspects of our own life. And I don’t see how we can separate the individual from their context. One other thing that comes to my mind is how we might even from the very start think about developmental history. When we do an intake assessment and ask questions about a person’s development, we typically ask questions about their family, school experiences, work and health history – things of the like. But we tend not to ask more specific cultural, racial and contextual questions like, was the family struggling financially, did they have resources in the community, what was it like growing up in this particular family?
It can be so important to ask about the immigration history not only of the client and their immediate family, but of the extended family. Deep and culturally-informed questions can be so valuable like, was there any bullying related to racism or to sexism or homophobia? These are the kinds of questions I think that could extend what we already do, but into a realm that considers the fact that development is occurring in multiple contexts and that we ought to know and learn about what’s happening in those contexts, especially for kids. But also for adult patients, who have been internalizing all sorts of things as a function of being in and living through those contexts. 

Becoming Culturally Competent

LR: It goes back to what we talked about before—the need to de-neutralize the relational encounter with our clients. What are some of the challenges that you’ve seen clinicians deal with, or that you want to caution clinicians to be careful of?
UT: Actually, something you said pointed to part of my response to this in that I don’t see cultural competence as necessarily an outcome, but as a process. It’s a journey, as you say. And I think one of the things that clinicians are challenged with is this idea that somehow cultural competence only relates to certain outcomes related to people of color, or people holding some kind of minority status, rather than this being relevant to all people of all backgrounds. And so, I think that an important challenge to overcome is the assumptions we make about what is cultural competence and who it is relevant for. If we don’t see it as relevant to all of us, then it becomes a situation for certain people at certain times rather than thinking more broadly. I also don’t see it as only a professional endeavor, but a personal endeavor as well, because if we are not learning to listen to issues of context and culture in our everyday lives, then it’s very difficult to know how to listen for that in our professional work. So, to think that we just need a set of competencies to apply in a technical way in the therapeutic relationship, that’s really not what I think of as cultural competence. To me that’s a mechanical way of being rather than investing the self into the work.
LR: A more fluid way of living multiculturally rather than simply turning on the multicultural switch when in therapy! What do you see as some of the blind spots clinicians may have in working with the “other,” basically someone who’s different from yourself in any regard?
UT: I think that’s a great way to phrase it because so much of the time, the assumption or presumption in our literature is that the clinician is white, and the client is the racial minority person or something like that. Whereas certainly in my case, it might be reversed or there are two racial minority people in the room. So, you can have any combination. I think one blind spot may have to do with our human tendency to overgeneralize about groups or our conceptions about certain, if not all, socio-cultural groups. It is the notion that if someone is affiliated with or identified with a particular group, then they carry certain characteristics or that they have this or that particular set of values. I do think it’s important to have some working knowledge about the history of different cultural groups and a good working sense of that. To me, those form just a beginning framework, a beginning sense, rather than a story or rather than really understanding what belonging to that particular cultural group means for and feels like to the person.
Everybody has a unique experience of their own culture or their own religion or belonging to a particular racial group or being multiracial. I think this is why for me, a psychoanalytic perspective is particularly well-suited to this line of inquiry, because it does allow us to think about experiences that are deeply embedded in relationships, within early life relationships, but also throughout one’s lifespan and one’s evolving relationship with the broader context as well.
Another blind spot that comes to mind has to do with working with somebody who is, in some way, of similar background and making an assumption of sameness, which can get in the way of differentiating ourselves from the other. This is the flip side of overgeneralizing about the other, sort of more about merging – two people whom you think might be similar in some dimension which may not necessarily be true. 
LR: Overgeneralizing about the other and undergeneralizing about someone we perceive to be like ourselves or with whom we share certain demographics. Like me working with a white Jewish male and not inquiring into their whiteness, Judaism or their maleness and as a result, missing out on a lot of potentially good information about what it is like for them.
UT: And sometimes the clients are making assumptions about the therapist, too. So, you might hear a client say, “Oh, you know what it’s like to be Christian,” or biracial, or gay? And I could say, “Well, I know what it’s like for me, but I’m still learning about what it might be like for you and trying to understand that more.” And certainly, with some of my white clients, I routinely ask about their ethnic background. I will ask them to describe it. Some of these clients will say, “Well, I’m just white you know; that’s just who I am.” And to me it always reflects how we’re socialized around race, particularly in this country, to believe that some people don’t have a history beyond just being white. So any previous family history is really kind of disavowed, which people may actually have a lot of complicated feelings about.
LR: And if we don’t allow that into the conversation, then it just continues to be a force of oppression. Just out of…
UT: Disavowal of some kind.

Bearing Witness

LR: Along these lines, what have you learned about social oppression, racism and trauma in working with immigrants and refugees that could help our audience of therapists along their own journeys towards multicultural awareness and competence?
UT: The journey I’ve had has been an incredible one. I feel very grateful for the opportunity to have learned from the people I’ve worked with in therapy. They have been an incredible resource in transforming my understanding of immigration and trauma. One of the things that I have learned along the way is how incredibly complicated the process of immigration is psychologically.
Immigration is rife with hope and optimism and resilience, but also with deep separation and loss. And the ways that people reconcile this are unique to that individual and depend on so many different factors. It depends on their families, the quality of their relational life, their own personalities and what they bring to those relationships. It also very much depends on the traumatic experiences, the support they’ve received and the willingness of people to listen to them and to hear their perspectives. So much of what’s happened in more recent years, certainly since Trump’s election, is we have enormous anxiety among immigrants and refugees.
This anxiety is not only about status, the fear of deportation and separation from loved ones, but also related to the underlying anxiety that immigrants have always felt around not belonging and not being wanted. You know, feeling as though one must find other ways to sustain the self. And that’s been important for me to understand and bear witness to. So, listening to the stories of immigrants and refugees is not just about hearing what happened, but about witnessing and bearing what is happening now and what has happened in the past. There’s tremendous transformation that occurs across the lifespan for immigrants and refugees, as well as developmental points and junctures where their kids and their grandkids are also challenged. And that itself transforms one’s own experience of what it means to be an immigrant or refugee. So, there’s a lot that we still have to understand and learn and research. Actually, I think about these changes that occur as a function of time and cultural shifts and political context and social oppression – all those things.
LR: On a more personal level, if I may, how has or is being an Indian, Hindu female, informed your own multicultural journey as a clinician and a researcher?
UT: Well, certainly it informs a great deal of my whole self, which you know, I bring to my work as well. I immigrated to the United States when I was seven years old from India and grew up first in New York City and then in New Jersey and then moved to Michigan. And we traveled around quite a lot while growing up in the US as well. So, I think that one of the things that stood out to me in that process of adjusting to being in America was how incredibly resourceful my family as well as people in my community — my Indian community, the Hindu temple — were. We really found ways to take care of each other and be very present with each other in one sense. And yet in another way, people also have difficulty talking about painful losses and traumas, so there was this really interesting paradox within the community where I grew up.
I think it’s true for many communities that there’s this sense of cohesion and an incredible connection that feels positive that brings a great deal of strength for people. And yet at the same time, when there are issues of trauma such as violence in the home, racism, sexual abuse, or political oppression that people might have faced prior to immigrating, these things become much more complicated to talk about openly and become stigmatized. So, I became increasingly interested in figuring out what can we do about that and why is that the case? A lot of what I do in my research and in my practice has to do with trying to figure out those gaps and try to make mental health care more accessible to people who typically wouldn’t seek it out or who may not trust the typical mental health professional to understand their context, their values and their families.
I think anything that’s not considered mainstream American is not necessarily considered positive or normal in some cases or normative. People within immigrant communities have a lot of concerns. Racial minority communities as well.
I have concerns that if an immigrant sees a therapist, are they going to be seen as abnormal, or are their families going to be devalued? Is their culture going to be devalued in some way because of the very theories that we use to conduct psychotherapy? And so, there’s a lot of concern around that for people in addition to around providers’ not having awareness of the impact of trauma or the impact of emotional suffering on individuals and families. This is one way I think about my own journey interfacing with and guiding my professional life and is clearly very important to me. 

A Different Worldview

LR: What are the elements of the Indian and Indian American worldview that psychotherapists need to understand?
UT: I think there are some common shared elements. But I think that it’s also important to point out that, as you say, there isn’t one worldview. Somebody may say something like, “what’s it like to be an Indian person?” Well, you can ask a million Indian people and you’ll hear different things about what that means. So, I would say that there’s no one thing that’s definitive. There are many things, but I will try to narrow it down to a Hindu Indian perspective — but again, it depends on how much a person identifies with a particular religion or a particular ethnicity, and even a region within India and language, all those things.
One of the things that comes to mind as a common or a shared element of Indian culture is the ways in which families interact with each other. There is traditionally a respect for older members of a family, in a way — a deference.
And this leads us to think about conflict within families. While there is the tradition of deference to older members of the family, younger members may want to do something that’s not approved of by the older members, but they may then go ahead and do it. But in this instance, they tend to avoid speaking about the conflict. So, there are ways of communicating that are more culturally accepted or valued.
From a Hindu perspective, there’s also a belief in Karma, or a belief in the inevitability of suffering in human life. This is very interesting to me because it parallels psychoanalysis in a particular kind of way in that there is an acceptance of the fact that suffering happens and that there’s value in bearing suffering, at least to a certain extent in service of others, in service of a greater good. So, this feeling of being a part of something greater than yourself or bigger than yourself is something that I think a lot of Indians more broadly, but certainly Hindus, tend to value as well.
These are a couple of more common types of shared elements. There’s also a third thing I could highlight, which is a different sense of ideology around parenting. Parents are typically pretty involved in their children’s lives throughout their lifespan. The Hindu Indian notions of parenting don’t necessarily follow the same developmental lines of being 18 and going to college or being 21 and experiencing a definitive separation from the family. And so, in a lot of Indian families the separation may happen later, or it may take a different form in some other way later in life. So, that can look a little bit different from Western notions of parent involvement. And sometimes it’s extended family too, like aunts and uncles who play a significant role in the attachment and separation experiences within families. 

Sitting with Suffering

LR: Along these lines of differences in worldview, I understand that in Hinduism, as in some other religions, suffering for the greater good is seen as a virtue, as aspirational. Western psychotherapy, in contrast, seems bent on eliminating suffering, resolving irrational thoughts, helping the person to regulate themselves, helping the person to change their behaviors so they don’t suffer. And even though the third wave of cognitive behavior therapy incorporates mindfulness and acceptance, do you still see a tension between traditional Western psychotherapies that are designed to eliminate suffering and therapeutic orientations that embrace suffering for growth?
UT: To see some type of suffering as a normative part of life feels very aligned to me with the reality of what I see every day. But the idea that somehow to live a happy, fulfilled life you must eliminate all suffering, just doesn’t add up. I think it’s sort of a setup for people to actually feel even worse, and it creates more suffering because there’s a way in which this expectation creates the unrealistic expectation that one should never feel bad or one should never have negative experiences. And in fact, we all do and we all will and that’s sort of a foundational idea. So, I do see it as a problem of trying to eliminate the suffering as quickly as possible rather than trying to understand what’s happening. I do see that as a big tension.
LR: I wonder then if Western psychotherapists need to be aware of the intrinsic pressure of our models to sanitize living. An example, perhaps, is our seemingly uncomfortable relationship with death, dying and grieving. We remove people to facilities. We don’t talk about death. We have special grief counselors, which is okay, but what about conversations in families around loss and death? I worry that many therapists in our audience may be too caught up in that need to sanitize and cleanse the person of suffering.
UT: I think we probably feel some pressure to have to relieve people of how bad it feels. And I understand that. And of course, there are certain situations where that suffering is so overwhelming that we do need to help and relieve people. But if it’s something that is a natural part of a loss or separation that happens, we can help people to bear those and know that they will come through it. And so, you’re certainly instilling hope. But you’re not also giving this false hope that somehow everything will be fine after this. Because in fact, it often isn’t, you know?
LR: I wonder if therapists working with refugees and immigrants who have been trafficked, tormented or brutalized simply find it so hard to be in the presence of someone who’s suffered that they try purge them (and themselves by association) of their suffering? Or might some therapists simply not be cut out to work with these clients for reasons related to countertransference?
UT: I do think there are certainly some types of suffering that feel too much to bear for therapists, but that varies for each of us. Some things are going to just feel harder. And perhaps it’s because we’ve been through something similar or that we just don’t want to imagine, you know, and bear witness to that. And certainly, that happens. I’m thinking also of situations where a therapist may not know what to do with that suffering, so they minimize it or push it aside.
LR: Ignore it.
UT: Ignore it. I’m thinking of a situation where clients will talk about experiences of racism at the workplace or at school and wonder within themselves, was that racism? Was that why I feel so badly?
LR: It goes back to something we were talking about earlier in the conversation — core competencies of a clinician who is aspiring to cultural competence. So maybe we should add to this conversation the willingness and ability to sit in the presence of pain, someone else’s pain, our own pain, and bear witness to it — to embrace it, to allow it into the conversation. And in doing so, honor the client who has been oppressed, who’s been trafficked, who’s been marginalized, who’s been hunted.
UT: You’re right. You’re mentioning situations of extreme trauma like trafficking that feel, in some way, so foreign to so many people, as though it’s happening out there somewhere. And in fact, it’s happening in our own neighborhoods and in our own microcosms. I think that it speaks back to that earlier point we touched on which has to do with our own personal investment in these issues. If we don’t take the time to learn about what’s happening to people within our broader society, then it’s going to be very hard to listen for these experiences.
LR: You speak about our broader society. I worry that some psychotherapists consider our broader society maybe a few states away, or “all the way” out to the Coast. But when you expand the definition of “our broader society” to humanity beyond borders, then it’s really a commitment to considering that there but for the grace of Allah or Brahma or Yahweh, go I — that we are all potential sufferers.
UT: Yes.
LR: I wonder if certain therapists would actually benefit from working with such clients and to consider doing so to be a gift of enlightenment for them. A potential gift of the opportunity for awareness and growth.
UT: I think it’s so pivotal to growth as a human being and as a therapist. It’s transformative when you listen to people’s stories from various places and contexts; it is unbelievably transformative.

Final Thoughts

LR: Given that patriarchy and the masculine worldview have historically infused psychotherapy and religion, how does male privilege impact the practice of psychotherapy for you? What are some of the learning lessons we need to learn?
UT: It’s a big framework kind of question. When I think about male privilege more broadly, I see it in the context of our traditional theories that I think hold so much weight over how we think today. I don’t think, oh, well these were some of the older theories or theorists and that was a long time ago. But in fact, I think about how we’ve all been and continue to be socialized under certain models of thinking. In the research world, for example, there is still a valuing of a certain type of research which is quantitative and includes randomized clinical trials as the gold standard. Only certain types of methodologies fall under that umbrella, whereas qualitative research such as case studies are actually more feminized and seen as less valuable. Storytelling and listening and witnessing and participatory action research, which is not valued as highly as quantitative research, is really rooted in community psychology and feminist psychology.

So, I’ve been really interested in using the feminized methodologies and rethinking the issue of being privileged, how it applies to our research paradigms and ultimately to our clinical practices. You know, what narratives and whose narratives are being privileged, and why? Not to say that there isn’t value in all these different paradigms. I see great value and I learn a great deal from each of them, but I do think that the issue of male privilege brings up a broader question about privilege in terms of what therapies are available to different communities. I think about what research is considered to be gold standard and acceptable, and how that all translates to public welfare and people’s wellbeing. I think there are many ways to challenge the status quo in terms of that.

LR: A dichotomy between quantitative and qualitative as masculine and feminine. It seems that the newer therapies are much more relational, inter-psychic, narrative and contextual than the traditional therapies. This makes me wonder about you as a psychotherapist. When a client walks into a room with you, a Hindu, Indian female, what can they expect from you based on the intersectionality of you, of your Usha-hood?
UT: When someone comes to me for psychotherapy, I think they can expect someone who is really interested, curious about their life, about their perspective, how they make meaning of things in their life, and what’s important to them. And I want to hear their story. I want to know who they are as fully as I can know them and as they will let me know them. I want them to understand that we’re all vulnerable in some way or another, but also that being in psychotherapy itself can feel really precarious and that I understand that. I hope to make it a space where they can connect with as much of themselves as they can and make decisions that feel more fulfilling.
LR: So, you are curious, and you are caring, and you are contextual, and you are collaborative.
UT: I would say so, yeah. That’s what I try to be.
LR: Well, it’s about the journey, not about the destination. Right?
UT: True. Very true.
LR: Do you have any questions of me before we stop, Usha?
UT: I have one question. I am curious about how you’re finding this mode of interacting with your audience and what you’ve been learning from that.
LR: This mode of communication, the interviews I conduct, is the pinnacle of the work I do for Psychotherapy.net, because each interaction expands me as a teacher, clinician and as a person. Learning from some of the experts in the field, those who are passionate and committed has ignited my own passion and commitment to learn and grow. It has also made me painfully aware of my biases and limitations, but also of my gifts and strengths. It has made me all the more sensitive to stories, to context, and to the importance of deeply felt personal experiences. I hope that answered the question.
UT: It does and very much aligns with how I’m experiencing you. So, I just want to say that. It’s really been lovely to talk to you.
LR: Same here, Usha. I hope we can speak again.
UT: Me too.

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When a Client Threatens You

I sat there quietly while she held a gun pointed directly at me. I have had clients express displeasure at a comment or suggestion. I have had clients call me unflattering names for various reasons, none due to professional impropriety, just projected anger. These I could handle. But a gun? That was never part of training. So, I sat and talked quietly, invoking all thoughts of Mariska Hargitay on Law & Order as she would talk people off the ledge. At that moment, I was kind of wishing for my own ledge to jump from. Most evenings, I was the last one in the clinic, a small cluster of offices housed in a large, out-of-use hospital in North Hollywood. No security guards, no under-the-desk emergency buttons. Just me, a drug addict and her gun. I had initially and officially met with her one time, when she was mandated to therapy to learn that her 3-year-old son, who had been in foster care since he was born, was soon to be adopted. While I was just an intern at the time, it was my legal responsibility to deliver the news in as benign a way as possible, but to make sure the information was delivered. It was my first and, I assumed, last time meeting this woman. She stormed out and that was that – or so I thought. She reappeared on the evening upon which her child was officially adopted, brandishing a weapon and blaming me for not stopping the process of placing her child. I talked and waited and talked and waited and then, just like on an episode of SVU (Special Victims Unit), some hours later she got lazy and put the gun on the desk. I immediately grabbed it, pushed her to the floor (note I had never held a gun in my life) and called 911. I was soon safe, and she was soon gone. I had subsequent contact with neither her nor her child, but took a firearms course shortly after this event. The clinic, now defunct, immediately hired a full-time security guard who was always close by. Those of us who are in the business of caring for others do not often think that we will be placed in harm’s way for trying to help – and certainly not by way of gunpoint. While the client may be angry at the system, another person, or a circumstance, we do not think that beyond some verbal outrage they will take it out on us. Naïve! According to a 2016 survey, nearly three in four psychologists have been harassed at some point in their career, with over one in five threatened, and one in seven stalked (1). Now there is cyber-stalking, easily accomplished via a website, email, Facebook, or other avenues of social media. According to the National Association of Social Workers “therapists often deny or minimize feelings of risk to themselves” (2) and do not recognize the red flags of potential harm. An early experience in which I was stalked emanated from a red flag that no professional, seasoned or otherwise, could have anticipated. I had been working with a gay client who had been raised by very devout Seventh Day Adventist parents who made her go to a church that clearly preached against her “blasphemous ways.” She was angry her entire life. She was angry towards a slew of therapists just because she was an angry woman. She was that much angrier by the time she got to me. On the night she threatened to end her life but described no specific means for doing so or timeline (so that I could report her), I suggested she take herself to a reputable Adventist Hospital. It just never occurred to me that I said the ‘A’ word (Adventist). To say that she unloaded on me is an understatement. The sheer volume and intensity of threatening phone calls, emails and texts was unnerving, to say the very least. Until they finally and abruptly stopped. I deeply apologized for my lack of sensitivity (it seriously never crossed my mind) and gave her a way to find a new therapist. I must say that when she threatened my license for what I thought was an honest and caring attempt to help her, I did not exactly feel all warm and fuzzy. But I did assist and then blocked the client from further contact. I am not an insensitive therapist. I am, in contrast, perhaps too sensitive and have been willing to take a chance with potentially dangerous clients even when my antennae are up. However, I have also increased my vigilance in conducting the initial phone consultation. I now request written consent to contact any prior therapist. As one who began this career working in drug and alcohol rehabilitation clinics, I do not decline addicts but insist that they are sober when I see them and note in the therapy agreement that they sign that they will be terminated if I suspect otherwise. But I also have a private office where often there are no others around. I am not perfectly safe, and I know that. But I try to carefully assess the level of risk before taking certain clients; at least, as best as I possibly can. I know I will not always be correct in that initial assessment and may turn away clients who would never have done me harm. Like so many in our profession, I continue to feel drawn to take care of others before taking care of myself. But I have learned, and am no longer quite so trusting when considering red flags, be they great or small.

References

(1) Storey, J. E. (2016). Hurting the healers: Stalking and stalking-related behavior perpetrated against counselors. Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, 47(4), 261–270 (2) Lonner, R., & Licht, M. (2018). When a client threatens the therapist: Guidelines for mitigating risk. Retrieved from https://naswcanews.org/when-a-client-threatens-the-therapist-guidelines-for-mitigating-risk/

Oh, That It Were So Simple

Shortly after my arrival in graduate school, I was placed under the clinical and research auspices of the late Nathan Azrin, the consummate and rightly-heralded applied behaviorist of his day—a direct intellectual descendant of B.F Skinner. And if that wasn't quite enough to dazzle a wide-eyed and eager young psychologist-to-be, I also had the pleasure of witnessing and partaking in both informal hallway and structured classroom discussions between Dr. Azrin and Dr. Leo Reyna, who was cut from similar behavioral cloth. I was truly in the presence of genius(es)—awed by their ability to converse in the seductive and reductive lingua franca of behaviorism. They could just as easily reduce the most complex pathologies to their simplest linear roots, as they could map out elegant therapeutic strategies for ameliorating the most challenging intra and interpersonal dysfunctions. I and my fellow graduate students, acolytes at the doorstep of the temple, basked in the piercing light of their reductive brilliance, mesmerized by their ability to explain and treat all.

Fast forward from that young psychologist-to-be to the now-grayed-clinician and clinical educator who has long ago left behind the certainty of singular theories and unidimensional interventions. Flash forward from that youthful and devout clinical ideologue to the pragmatic and prescriptive eclectic who has worked in venues as diverse as state psychiatric hospitals and youth foster facilities, with clients equally diverging in age, background and pathology, and with methods ranging from play therapy to CBT. No longer do I trust the promise of theoretical purism, and even less those who promise to part the clouds of clinical uncertainty with a simple wave of their empirically-informed manuals. In the therapeutic relationships I trust; far less in the techniques that I use.

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***

And then came Phillip. Of all the grad programs, in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine. Phillip is a behaviorist through and through, capable of not only talking the behavioral talk but apparently walking the behavioral walk. He is facile and fluid with the principles and techniques of behavior modification, having come to his graduate training with several years’ experience on the ABA (Applied Behavioral Analysis) front lines with children and adults with developmental and neurodevelopmental challenges. While he can also sprinkle his classroom polemics with the names and theories of non-behavioral luminaries and their practices, he nevertheless remains a behaviorist to the core. Behaviorism makes sense to him. Clients’ problems filtered through a behavioral lens make sense to him. The seductive simplicity of the model and its practices give him a weapon with which to battle what he seems to most fear—relativism and uncertainty.

While I appreciate Phillip’s need to anchor his thought and practice in a widely accepted theoretical and applied modality, I am concerned with his rigidity. While I was awed in my own professional youth by world-class behaviorists who made it all sound so easy and whom I desperately emulated while I found my own clinical footing, this graduate student gets under my skin, and I am not exactly sure why. Is it because his cock-sureness smacks of as-yet unearned arrogance and privilege, or because his seeming clinical precocity is so unsettling to his classmates, who themselves are struggling to find their own theoretical footholds? Is it because his rigidity reminds me of my own all those years ago? Or maybe it is because he is so energized and zealous, while I have lost touch with those feelings over years of clinical practice. What about the possibility that this is a (not-so) simple case of supervisor-supervisee countertransference? Perhaps it is a little bit of each of these.


I am not quite sure what my role is with Phillip, as his clinical supervisor and mentor. Is it to be the empathetic clinical mentor supportively guiding him along his own chosen path? Is it to be the provocateur, challenging him to take a few steps away from his cherished beliefs, at least long enough to consider other ways of conceptualizing cases and building treatment plans? And what to do with my growing feelings of annoyance with Phillip? Do I express them directly with him, seek out clinical supervision, or simply jot down these thoughts for you, fellow clinicians and clinical educators, in hopes that doing so will give you the opportunity to ponder similar questions when confronted with your own version of Phillip?

***
 

I must confess that I still do privately find behaviorism attractive, and its explanatory promises and practices enticing. I have quietly used its methods over the years at select times with specific clients, more so children, but prefer to view and present myself as a clinician and clinical educator who is comfortable with relativism and uncertainty and the ever-unfolding and inexplicable mysteries that are part of the psychotherapeutic relationship. Oh, that it were so simple!
 

En Attente (On Hold)

Du Chat et de la Souris (Cat and Mouse)

He would reach out to me roughly once a year, usually during the summer, to let me know that he was still thinking about the work we had embarked on a few years before and wanted to come back… one day.

I grew accustomed to his limited reappearances and almost started to expect them.

Sometimes he would get in touch by email, sometimes by text message. It would always be a cry for help from the middle of a crisis; he would sound distressed and eager to resume therapy… but each time he would postpone it until after the holidays or to the following month. And once the holidays and the crisis were over, he would find an excuse to defer again or simply vanish into the Parisian ether with no further explanation.

He was extremely well read and articulate and had a poignant, self-deprecating sense of humour, which would make him a perfect Brit, even though he was a Spaniard. His name was Pablo, but he was going by a more French-sounding Paul.

“I put myself on hold,” he would say. “You put us on hold,” I would reply.

This is the kind of frugal, WhatsApp dialogue that we produced once every six months or so instead of engaging in the one-hour, face-to-face weekly conversation that therapy usually requires.

And Paul certainly was putting me on hold.

As any therapist, I have learned to tolerate frustration, a great deal of it, but after a few years of this endless and fruitless foreplay, it was beginning to seriously unnerve me. Paused, postponed, and suspended – this is exactly how I felt, and it was not a pleasant place to be.

I tried every possible trick to get us back on track. Every time I would fail, and Paul would disappear for another year. “You should probably try to find another therapist,” I would suggest. He profusely reassured me that I was the best possible therapist for him. But was I?

I knew I had to put an end to it, but also sensed that this thin link Paul was maintaining with me was somehow important to him. I did not want to deprive him of that flimsy connection. This flimsiness became a kind of stable and reassuring buoy. He kept checking on me – are you still there? Are you still remembering me? Waiting for me? I was rattled by this game in which he made me a reluctant but nevertheless active participant. Was it his way of trying to tell me something he was not able to communicate verbally?

Au Début (In the Beginning)

Paul’s French was perfect, as he had lived most of his adult life in Paris. His relationship with his country of origin was as cold and uneventful on the outside as it was dramatic and complex on the inside. He spoke reluctantly about his childhood spent in a small coastal town of Southern Spain. From the very few clues that he had given me, I reconstructed a blurred image of a poor, ugly and hot place from which he had felt mostly alienated. He was an incredibly bright child, and all through his early years he was deprived and under-stimulated until finally, in the third grade, a new French teacher arrived at their school and made Paul discover a new language, which offered him an unexpected gift of novels and poetry.

“Pauls’ teacher was the object of his first sexual fantasies and romantic dreams”. She was tall, blonde, and, with her slim silhouette, indubitably French. Her small family arrived at this unremarkable town to follow her husband’s new position managing the local factory. With her sober but beautifully cut clothes, she stood out from the colourful crowd of local female teachers who all looked at her with suspicion and envy.

She was the one who showed him the way out of his misery and boredom. Paul knew that he was her favourite pupil; she always looked directly at him while reciting a poem or reading one of her favourite passages from Maupassant or Balzac. For the first time in his life he felt important and worthy of interest.

Compared to her, the girls of his age all looked pathetic. Fantasizing about his teacher, he missed out on the first kisses and romantic dates that all his acne-covered peers seemed to be absorbed by. For two years, Paul floated above them, binge-reading French novels and binge-watching French films in which the romantic heroines all looked very much like his teacher.

Did she know that her brilliant young pupil was desperately in love? She probably did, and he often felt that she was reciprocating silently, as her green eyes would pause on him while she recited from her favorite poets, Verlaine or Baudelaire.

Now the adult, Paul recognized that she was probably also bored in this foreign place to which she had been dragged against her will. Maybe playing with the feelings of a local boy gave her some solace and an opportunity to punish her husband (he was very manly, at least this is how he appeared to Paul during the few occasions when he had glimpsed him).

When I asked Paul about how this relationship had ended, he closed up.

The husband was dismissed from his job at the factory and her family disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived. She never said her goodbyes; the only tangible proof of her existence was a book, a Maupassant novel that she had lent him and forgot to reclaim in the fury of her departure. Why did they flee so hurriedly? Sometimes Paul thought that her husband had found out about them.

 “Was there something to find out?” I queried. No, nothing tangible really… a few notes left in the books she was lending him, a few Lorca poems that he translated for her into French. That cheap folio edition of Maupassant was still on his bookshelf.

Sa Vie Francaise (His French Life)

Now Paul was a teacher himself, a professor of modern literature at one of the Parisian universities. His current relationships with women seemed as unhappy and mostly unexamined as his relationship with his birthplace. His mother had always been depressed and exhausted by the five children she had to raise in poverty. He did not maintain contact with his sisters, who were older and remained in their native town. Now they all had lives that felt as foreign and distant to him as some old black-and-white films sometimes can.

Paul was married to very beautiful French woman, as he stressed in the very first session we had. She had experienced sexual abuse in her past, which made her wary of any intimacy. He knew this from the very beginning of their relationship but somehow accepted it as part of who she was. They had not made love in years, and he was barely allowed to touch her. They talked, though, and he loved their conversations about literature (she was a literary critic and a journalist). They had two children, and Paul loved the sense of family and security this marriage was providing him.

Somehow in his French life, which seemingly had all the attributes romanticized during his teenage years, he had managed to reproduce the very essence of his miserable childhood. Despite his perfect French and very Parisian looks, he often felt foreign, and was anxious to appear at ease at social gatherings.

Paul was frustrated by the lack of sex in his marital life but was unwilling to raise this issue with his wife. He was scared to bring up the demons of her past with his demands. At a deeper level, this situation allowed him to fantasize about other women – often his colleagues, or even his students.

His fantasy life was full of shadowy women, all very elegant and very French, mostly coming out of the movies from his childhood. He shamefully admitted that he would lock himself in the bathroom before going to bed and masturbate to the imaginary films he would silently run in his head. Paul recognized that his wife certainly knew what his long evening showers meant. Did he ever think about talking with her about it, or inviting her in, I asked. No, how could he?

I guess that by maintaining his chaste marriage and chasing unreachable and mostly imaginary women, he remained loyal to his French teacher and to his early dreams. As an adult, he felt confused about how unhappy he was despite the successful reproduction of his childhood fantasies.

Toujours en Attente (Forever on Hold)

Even though we managed to slowly and painfully shift from the initial idealization to a more appropriate anger towards his teacher, Paul was still very protective of her in our sessions. He believed that she had saved him, offering him a path to a better life. He seemed to have accepted the hurt that came with this dubious gift. Something similar was probably re-enacted in his sexless marriage: he was offered companionship and a sense of safety by the woman whom he admired but was unable or unwilling to give him the intimacy he craved.

In keeping me on hold, Paul was probably reproducing exactly what the French teacher had made him feel. She had vacated his life, leaving behind a promise of richer possibilities. For a few years after her vanishing and until he finished high school, Paul secretly hoped that she would reappear in their town. He ached and could not believe she would never return to his life. Much later, when he finally moved to Paris—her native city—he secretly hoped to spot her in some café or to bump into her in the narrow streets of the Quartier Latin. This, of course, never happened, but he kept fantasizing about it for years.

An unresolved, unsatisfying relationship with a woman was everything Paul seemed to know—his mother, the French teacher, his wife—and I was now designated by his unconscious to play a part in another variation on this sad relational refrain. But each time he disappeared, I was left feeling unable to do something differently, to create a different theme, a version that would include some stronger connection, and which would allow Paul to believe in the possibility of new relationships.

Each time he disappears, I have tried to change this pattern in vain. At least, so far…

The Comforts of What We Know

She enters the office and takes her position: feet curled into the chair beneath her, fingers gently petting the soft pillow on her lap, eyes fixed on me. Waiting.

He sets his phone to vibrate, puts it in his bag on an empty chair within reach. A water bottle is placed next to the tissues on a side table. He adjusts a pillow to support his back and settles into the chair, his eyes focused halfway up the wall to my right. Waiting.

Others greet me with a handshake or hug, offer comments about the weather and the commute, or immediately pay for the session. The rare iconoclastic types who sit in different chairs on a regular basis and vary their routines, are almost equally predictable.

These behaviors are attempts to settle into the space and ultimately, to help with the transition into the challenging work of psychotherapy. Getting comfortable is often the way we prepare to be uncomfortable. I have my own patterns of greeting and then settling into a session, serving much the same set of purposes. Similar patterns are evident at the end of each session as we transition back to the outside world, re-engaging with those familiar parts of ourselves essential to navigating daily challenges.

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After all, we are creatures of habit, custom and ritual. It is within our predictable routines that we feel most at-home. To change patterns of behavior demands that we tolerate being at risk and vulnerable. If attachment theory has taught me anything it is that human beings need to feel a strong connection with a safe home to effectively take risks beyond that home.

Therapy is always a risky venture. By crossing the threshold of the therapist’s door, the client is rolling the dice, and the wager – what they could lose – is far costlier than the therapist’s fee. They are opening themselves up to discomfort in the hope of increasing their joy. It is a risk I would never advocate a client take in a game of chance! When we (those without a gambling problem, of course) play the slots and lose, that loss stings for a moment but typically has no lasting impact on our lives. The money lost is not needed to pay the mortgage or feed a family.

The client, however, is not gambling with funds set aside for entertainment. The client risks upsetting the order of their life, and when a session is over, they may not be able to leave that upset behind in the therapist’s office.

Fortunately, the odds of hitting the therapeutic jackpot are astronomically greater than in any game of chance! Such games demand the player surrender to the whims of fate, while therapy engages the will and empowers the client. The payoff is not merely a means to happiness but is itself joyful.

I bring to my work knowledge, understanding and professional discipline. I also bring my ego. I like to think of myself as a creative person. Conversation has always been an artform for me that entails engagement, insight and the capacity to recognize and articulate the connections between things. What experience has taught me and reinforced over the years is that these artistic/creative qualities can all be great assets in psychotherapy, but they are rarely enough to ensure a positive outcome for my clients.

In fact, creativity, I have had to admit, can also be an obstacle to the client’s progress. I may be intellectually and emotionally excited by a reframe or interpretation, absolutely convinced that it is a useful and applicable intervention, and yet it might, in practice, be a disruption or even give rise to a therapeutic rupture. The creative intervention, born and delivered primarily as a product of my own enthusiasms, can be out of sync with the client’s immediate safety needs—implicitly inviting a change that is not yet supported.

Creative people tend to push against boundaries. They look for the rules that can be fruitfully violated. An artist recognizes the utility and value of structure, but regularly seeks opportunities to depart from it in service of expanded artistic expression.

A returning veteran was referred to me for EMDR treatment to address PTSD stemming from his deployment. As we progressed through the early stages of EMDR (engagement, history gathering and psychoeducation) we identified many interrelated issues, and it soon became clear that the client and I had been collaborating in trauma-related avoidance. I had engaged in lengthy discussion about current issues, many of which I artfully linked to trauma symptoms, justifying my delay in initiating the active ingredient of EMDR: bilateral-stimulation (BLS). Finally, in a session that began with the client’s earnest description of a recent loss, I stopped myself from responding with exploration. Immediately, I asked him to identify his emotions and their somatic expression. We then utilized BLS to process and reduce his reaction. By session’s end, building upon confidence born of that success, the client was willing to directly address the traumatic deployment, and I was ready to stick closer to the EMDR format. Both therapist and client require comforts to perform optimally in therapy. The therapist’s comforts, however, must also promote the client’s comfort and progress. An appropriately applied Evidence Based Practice (EBP) should help to ensure this balance, providing a structure for the clinical process and containment of the unpredictability that accompanies the untamed winds of creativity.

The similarities between the client’s self-comforting behaviors and what, to my artistic self, may appear to be repetitious patterns of intervention, may in truth be central to the EBP’s effectiveness. What I judge to be lacking in the organic intimacy found in unstructured dialogue, may in fact meet the client exactly where they are at and provide them with an essential component of their own empowerment: predictability.
I strive to maximize the predictability of a structured approach in my practice by initially disclosing the structured elements of the therapy (duration, participants, session-to-session structure); sharing the rationale of the EBP; consistently using the same relevant terminology; and regularly utilizing the same measures. Working with an EBP or other structured therapeutic methodology allows me a far greater opportunity to make therapy transparent than when I am working in less structured ways. Increased transparency promotes collaboration and helps the client take ownership of the outcomes.

The habits and behavior patterns exhibited at the start of each session remind me of how challenging therapy can be for the client, and how difficult change can be for us all. Creating opportunities for client change demands a therapist’s creativity and willingness to take risks along with the client, who is willing to be set off-balance and to persevere through discomfort. That capacity to endure is rooted in underlying structures that provide the foundation for security, safety and autonomy.
 

Group Practice and its Discontents

Group practices are taking the field of outpatient psychotherapy by storm. In just the last five years, thousands of group practices have started in all corners of North America. The dream of passive income, coupled with the somber realization that a full solo practice does not yield enough money to pay for college, retirement and the lifestyle that most practitioners desire, has fueled this rise.

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As someone who has run a group practice for 20 years and has coached over 200 psychotherapists in starting and growing one, I see both the promise and pitfalls in this trend.

At the first naive glance, group practice seems almost too easy. If you have a successful solo practice, you know how the therapy game works. So you hire a good therapist, give them an office and a few referrals, sit back and rake in the money. Hire a few more, and more money rolls in while you bask in the sun or stroll along the beach.

Not so fast. The reality is that group practice is a complex, dynamic beast that challenges you in ways that a solo practice never will. It requires the owner to simultaneously juggle numerous plates, while still performing therapy during the early stages of growth, sapping your time and energy. Group practice also demands that you learn a bevy of new skills. For example, you need to learn how to hire, manage and evaluate clinical and admin staff (and fire them when necessary), manage the irrational projections staff throw at you as the resident authority figure, expand your marketing, track much more complex metrics, develop a profitable compensation model, stay current with the latest ethical issues and clinical strategies and, finally, develop a work culture that people enjoy working in.

I know many group practice owners like myself who have mastered these skills and currently employ staffs of twenty or more clinicians, generating revenue over $2 million per year. But these tend to be group practices that have been around for at least five years.

As a group practice owner, I am always balancing three things: referrals, office space and clinical staff. The dirty little secret of group practice these days is that with its exponential growth, finding and keeping good clinicians is MUCH more difficult than ever before. The best clinicians already work in other group practices or have their own solo practices. One measure of the competition for good clinicians is this: the number of ads for therapists for group practices on job sites such as Indeed.com has increased tenfold in the past four years.

The new kids on the block may find themselves competing with practices that offer a host of benefits such as healthcare, retirement accounts, paid vacation and paid trainings for an increasingly limited pool of qualified clinicians.

So what can you, as a newer or existing group practice owner, do if you want to expand? Here are five specific strategies that can help:

  1. Develop an internship program – there are still many pre-licensed clinicians who need hours and are hungry to learn from an experienced, successful therapist. You can pay them less than a licensed clinician, and if they like working for you, they will often stay on after they are fully licensed.
  2. Stress the benefits of joining a newer group practice – it’s exciting to be part of something new, to be able to have an immediate impact on policies and procedures. If you join a larger group with 20+ clinicians, all of that will have been established years ago, and you will have very little say in what happens.
  3. Use your personal network of colleagues to find therapists – don’t forget your friends and colleagues who know many other therapists in your community. Personal introductions that build on your experience in the field can be an invaluable way to attract new staff members.
  4. Develop a unique specialization that is not commonly served in your community. Many group practices are one-stop shops that serve a general range of clients. Practices that specialize in one or two niches can attract clinicians who already are — or want to become — experts in a particular clinical specialty.
  5. Promote your practice to people who are working in low-pay agencies that have endless paperwork and hours of boring meetings. These people are often seasoned clinicians who are thrilled to make more money and work with higher-functioning clientele.
Group practice is here to stay, and when done correctly, can fulfill the dream of an affluent lifestyle, meaningful work, and providing help for thousands of people in your community. But without solving the staffing problem, this dream will remain a distant fantasy.
 

Asian-American Suicide

Michael is a first-generation Chinese immigrant who requested to see me for counseling. When I met with him, I could sense dejection, fear and abject shame as he shared his wife’s desire to divorce him. By all accounts, Michael is an upstanding citizen. By Asian standards, he is a success, having immigrated to this country to start a successful business. He has provided financially for his family. He expressed bewilderment as to why his wife would want to divorce him, as he felt he had done everything possible to sacrifice for the greater good of his family.

While his therapy involved exploring some of the relational patterns that might have led his wife to feel like she was unappreciated, much of our work centered around reflecting the pain and grief he was or might be experiencing.

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In one of his early sessions, Michael described having panic attacks while sleeping, waking up sweating and having a hard time breathing. He would also rhetorically ask, “What am I to do next (if she divorces me)?” and “I can’t accept this!” He described his mental state prior to seeing me, saying, “Two weeks ago I was in a dark place, depressed and felt empty.”

I immediately inquired about suicidal thoughts, and he acknowledged passive thoughts of suicide (i.e. thoughts without any concrete plans). I brought up the concept of a safety plan which would include calling 911, calling me and/or going to an emergency room. He said he could contract for safety by calling 911, but I was not convinced he would do it and felt he was just saying that to appease me.

Beyond the main current precipitating factor for suicide (upcoming divorce), I also asked him about protective factors by directly saying, “What’s keeping your alive today?” He shared about wanting to be here for his youngest son, who’s 10 years old.

Michael was mild-mannered and not openly emotionally expressive of his pain in session, although he acknowledged bouts of crying spells at home. He also described a life that appeared isolated and lonely. Playing golf for hours at a time by himself is what he described as his means of coping. It made me worry as he lacked an emotional support system.

While he denied suicidal thoughts in the following weeks, his physical symptoms increased in intensity (i.e. panic attacks and feeling like the “sky is going to fall”). Since Asians are much more comfortable talking about somatic issues than emotional ones, I recognized that he might still be trying to assess the extent to which he could trust me. I gently probed and educated him that his thoughts of “not sure if he could go on” were indeed considered passive thoughts of suicide. He was unaware of this and expressed the belief that feeling suicidal was simply when one had concrete plans.

During this time, I continued to press Michael to determine if he had friends, colleagues or others in whom he could confide about his upcoming divorce. Because of shame, it took a long time before he could even share this with his own parents. He eventually opened up to one friend, which I believed was a courageous first step towards openly expressing vulnerability. He told me that if he felt suicidal, he could and would likely be able to reach out to this friend. I remember feeling relieved that there was at least one person in his life whom he trusted.

***
 

This case example demonstrates the delicate balance that therapists must tread when working with cultural shame and suicide. Over the years, I have learned that despite the shame Asian clients may feel about their lives and related suicidal thoughts, we must be bold enough to directly engage in these conversations.

In the general suicide literature, precipitating and stressful life events include divorce, death of a loved one, job loss and physical health problems. For Michael, it is no different. While divorce is mainstream in America and Caucasians may see this as simply another loss from which to recover, Asian clients may view this quite differently. As Asian identities revolve around familial ties and their place in the family, divorce can propel an Asian into a painful and shame-filled world where he/she may feel ostracized not only from their family, but from the greater Asian community, including friends, colleagues, churches and extended family relatives.

Michael is somewhat atypical in the sense that his thoughts of suicide occurred in mid-life, compared to those aged 20-24 years old, when suicide is the leading cause of death among Asians. However, what links Michael with other Asians is their centuries-old viewpoint on mental health and cultural shame. Shame is what Asians learn to avoid in any form throughout life, so going through a divorce is considered highly shameful. The belief that they have shamed their family and ancestors leads some to feel they have so disgraced their kin that they must hide oneself (physically and/or emotionally) or atone for their actions by ridding themselves from society by suicide.

In the context of younger Asian Americans, shame can emanate from perceived failure in academics (not getting high enough grades), poor career choices (pursuing a less financially secure occupation), or relational mistakes (dating or marrying someone the parents object to).
The fear is far more than one of disappointment, and is instead the concern over outright abandonment. There are innumerable stories of Asian parents disowning their children for not abiding by their parent’s dictate. Even if this were not a reality, the very fear or perception that this threat exists could lead one to suicide, depression, addiction, isolation and a host of other maladaptive coping behaviors.

In addition, mental health is viewed as a weakness, and talking openly about anything emotional such as sadness, disappointment and the stress of various life events is discouraged and rarely emulated in traditional Asian families. Stoicism is desired and the notion of physical touch and verbal affirmation can be seen as coddling.

Even suicide is viewed very differently among traditional Asian cultures. Some view suicide as an opportunity to atone for their misdeeds in this life and return honor to their families. In this regard, there are even extra incentives to die by suicide, including restoring the family’s reputation as well as those of the ancestors. It also can be seen as spiritually elevating oneself, since those who die by suicide become free of criticism.

All this is to say there is much work to be done in the field of mental health and outreach as it pertains to Asian Americans. If you’re working with Asian Americans in any capacity, be aware of their nature to minimize negativity and emotions that are regarded as shameful.
Clinicians should be mindful of life events that Asian clients deem so shameful that suicide becomes an option (job loss, divorce, bankruptcy). Because Asian shame is endemic to the culture, you also have to be wary of the client’s support system (or lack thereof). Is your client isolating from friends, peers, or relatives? Does your client struggle with emotional intimacy and fear that if someone else (besides the therapist) knew of their struggle, they would be abandoned?

Regardless of your therapeutic modality, when working with Asian American clients it’s imperative to find ways to reframe therapy from a shameful, stigma-inducing event to one where the client is working towards health, wellness and growth.  

Ego Liberation: A Buddhist Guide to Escaping Your Mental Prison

Awakening

In 2016, I decided I wanted to become a therapist. After years of soldiering silently through unexplainable sadness, I found my way out of that headspace long enough to see hope for myself and others. I didn’t know what it meant to be a therapist at the time I enrolled in my master’s program. I had never really engaged in therapy before enrollment. But for some reason, I believed in the philosophical cure of self-discovery. Now I think self-discovery, on its own, might be part of the problem.

I used to equate therapy to individuation. And that’s partially true. Many therapists, including myself, use self-excavating questions and assessments to help people filter out expectational forces that keep us from “becoming who we are.” But as I’ve grown into this field, I’ve started to believe that self-defining and reframing tools have a limit in their helpfulness, and that perhaps the next philosophical remedy is not in ego defining but rather ego liberation.

When I say ego, I’m not talking about narcissism or prideful thinking. I’m talking about ego as in our sense of self—especially a sense of self that is unchanging and completely autonomous and independent from our environment. I have found the ego has a way of limiting myself and the clients I attempt to help. I specifically remember seeing a student-client I’ll call Olivia, who was living with chronic and severe depression. Olivia wasn’t attending any of her classes, experienced regular dissociation and suicidality, and could barely muster the energy to leave her house. Unfortunately, our counseling services did not have the resources to assuage her advanced depression. I pleaded with her to look into more intensive treatment options. Olivia cried in my office and admitted she was resistant to trying anything new because she was afraid of who she might be without depression. She had no context for her ego outside of her depressive thoughts. I’ll return to Olivia later in this discussion.

We become comfortable in our own mental maze. Even if our maze is limiting and painful, at least we know how to navigate it. All behavior makes sense in context. A healthier sense of self can be reconstructed, but sometimes even that reconstructed self keeps us trapped. If we see ourselves as creative and smart, then what does it mean for us when we make a mistake? “Taking ourselves too seriously and wrapping our identities around positive attributes can have its pitfalls too”.

Our sense of self also has universal implications when we consider how it impacts our understanding of common humanity. In an age of political, racial, sexual, generational, physical, gender, economic and religious othering, maybe the answer to our problem with power, oppression and polarization is not individuation. Our egos like to categorize our attributes and compare them to others, creating a feeling of separateness from our neighbor. It’s no wonder we’re exhausted from a continuous “us vs. them” dialogue. Perhaps there’s another way. Perhaps understanding the synthetic nature of our “self” is what we most need to feel more connected with others, less polarized and less serious about maintaining our identity

Freedom

Buddhist psychology and acceptance-based therapy invite us into recognizing the synthetic nature of our egos so that we may be free of the mental maze. This concept of the synthetic self or synthetic ego is what the Buddhists call anatta, or the doctrine of dependent origin¹. The main idea behind the doctrine of dependent origin is that the ego only feels real because the ego decided it was so. The ego is its own architect, and it desperately wants to be known and understood by others and itself. But the feeling we have of separateness from others and our environment is an illusion the ego creates to examine itself in relation to its environment. Mark Epstein, a famous Buddhist psychotherapist², often references this quote from a Mongolian Buddhist lama: “It’s not that you’re not real. We all think we’re real, and that’s not wrong. You are real. But you think you’re really real, you exaggerate it.” Buddhism attempts to break down that feeling of being really real and helps us see our person as it is, without attaching ourselves too much to our identity.

Seeing through our illusory mental prisons of individuation allows us to explore the mystery of ourselves and not be so attached to the idea of our minds being separate and individualistic. Mindfulness and meditation help with this nonattachment to self. Being grounded and present with our physical world helps liberate the ego. The moment our minds wander off, we regress into autopilot and forget our connection with our environment. The challenge to escaping the mind is that we’re stuck in it. As Sylvia Plath, the famous poet, so beautifully pondered, “Is there no way out of the mind?” “Seeing our egos as illusionary is metaphorically akin to a dog chasing its own tail”. How do we use our ego to liberate itself? This can be an especially difficult task in Eurocentric cultures and schools of psychotherapy, where the rugged individual archetype is widely understood and rewarded.

I’ve found it helpful to look at the ego and ego liberation on three levels. These three levels are essentially stages of thinking and working toward seeing the synthetic ego. Because each level is predicated on the one below it, you cannot skip a level without experiencing the one below. However, people slide in and out of different levels as the mind attempts to deconstruct and reconstruct its own reality. These levels act as a spiral upward, with the level you experience operating in continuous existence with those below it. Meaning, if you are experiencing level 3, you are simultaneously experiencing levels 2 and 1. But you can experience level 1 without experiencing levels 2 and 3. Confused yet? Let me explain.

The first and most basic level of awareness involves perception and reality management. Imagine your ego sitting back in your head with a control panel, responding to and interpreting reality and holding the mind as an independent entity. That’s level 1 thinking. We tell ourselves stories about experiences and what our experiences mean for us. For example, when we experience pain, we may create a suffering story around that pain and tell ourselves, “This happens to me all the time because I’m worthless.” Level 1 thinking is always interpreting life and assigning meaning to life’s events. In many ways, level 1 is judging external events and people by making assumptions about the value, purpose and motivations of these external experiences. The level 1 ego is not self-reflective in understanding its own role within the judgements it makes.

Level 2 ego functioning is self-reflective. Level 2 is more sophisticated than level 1 ego functioning. Level 2 looks down at ego level 1 and evaluates how level 1’s functioning affects the internal world of the ego. Self-reflection is where we would normally find therapists helping clients engage in self-discovery. Questions like “How do you think this judgement about your divorce impacts how you see yourself?” are the essence of level 2 ego functioning. Self-reflective functioning engages in a more critical way of seeing the world, because it is evaluating how seeing the world affects how the ego sees itself. In essence, level 2 is the mirror the ego uses to see and judge its functioning at level 1. Self-reflection is also where the level 2 ego scaffolds itself to create our identity as separate, which is the very thing level 3 sees as synthetic.

The highest level of ego functioning, level 3 or mindful observation, is where the ego understands its false or synthetic nature. It is the ability to step outside the mind, while paradoxically inhabiting it. This is where mindfulness skills are used to achieve their fullest potential. If level 2 is judging level 1 in the mirror, then level 3 is the silent observer noticing level 2 judging level 1.

Mindful observation notices the spiral of self-reflection to reality perception without judgement and analysis. Level 3 ego is perched on top of the ego spiral, looking down at the dog chasing its tail and noticing it, but not in any kind of pejorative way. Mindful observation does not attempt to change or judge level 1 or 2, because the minute it engages in judgement, it is by nature slipping into level 1 or 2 ego functioning. Level 3 sees the process of engaging in self-discovery, and it knows interrupting this process is futile because the mind, by nature, never stops its external and internal self-analysis.

There’s a peace level 3 ego has in accepting the process and synthetic nature of level 1 and 2’s judgement and self-discovery. It understands and accepts the schema level 1 and 2 have built that create the synthetic ego. This understanding is the foundation of mindfulness. It’s the ultimate form of observation. Level 3 sees the purpose of level 1 and 2’s functioning and takes it a step further by integrating the self with the environment. Level 3 is feeling connected to everything. It is also finding the barriers between self and environment to be much more porous than previously imagined. The mindful observer understands that the self is much more flexible to behave and think beyond the barriers level 1 and 2 constructed through their analysis and critique of life and self.

Seeing the illusionary self and getting to level 3 is a long and sometimes arduous process. There are no shortcuts, and I’m not sure if anyone ever fully “arrives.” People must engage in some serious level 2 functioning and self-reflection before they can begin to conceptualize themselves as not being exaggeratedly real and separate. You can’t see the synthetic nature of yourself until you’ve first mapped out your ego’s identity through self-discovery. Jumping straight to understanding the synthetic self is impossible without first constructing the ego. “Identity is important, and it needs to be integrated within relationships and the environment”.

I constantly have to remind myself to practice mindful observation. Level 3 requires not just a philosophical understanding but, more importantly, an experiential understanding of equanimity through mindfulness and meditation. The goal is to behave in such a way that we understand our minds as being deeply connected and integrated with each other.

Olivia

Returning to my work with Olivia, integrating these three levels was essential to her movement toward a meaningful life. When Olivia saw me that day, she had already been engaged in level 2 work. She had reflected, constructed and analyzed all her behavior and thought patterns. Olivia knew her mental maze and was well aware of how her maze never served her needs. When she told me she didn’t know who she’d be without depression, she was really saying, “I don’t know if I’ll have an identity outside of depression.”

“I invited Olivia to consider the reality that her depressive thoughts and feelings were not her identity”. I asked Olivia to consider the perspective that her depression symptoms were not the enemy. Olivia found this was a difficult reality to accept, especially when thoughts and feelings felt painful and overwhelming.

I proposed that the goal of therapy should not be focused on fighting depression, but instead be redirected toward living a meaningful life while being depressed. For some clients, especially those with acute symptoms, this goal doesn’t sound like a good alternative. But for Olivia, a wave of relief came over her in considering living a life of meaning even if happiness was not guaranteed. This realistic goal is often a refreshing perspective for those with chronic symptoms, especially when the elimination of those symptoms seems unattainable. The non-judgment and acceptance that inform this goal are wrapped up in level 3’s mindful observation. It’s creating a different relationship with depressive thoughts and feelings, but not through a position of denial or naiveté. It’s accepting that the symptoms are there, acknowledging that pain, and acting according to your values without symptoms dictating your every move.

As Olivia became mindfully aware of her thoughts and feelings and accepted them without judgment, she began to free up mental space to be present in her school work, music and friendships. Olivia began to see her identity as tethered to her people, her hobbies and her environment through cultivating a commitment to meaning through action. The focus of her attention was no longer on the symptoms within her mind; instead, her focus was turned outward. This attention helped Olivia experientially understand her mind’s integration with others rather than see it as a self-contained, autonomous ego. We’re all hardwired for connection, and we need to step outside of ourselves to get there.

Through Olivia’s work in mindful observation, she approached her patterns and behaviors with more curiosity and mystery. Before, she felt locked in her self-constructed, unchanging identity. Oliva found a way out of that perspective, which gave her permission to exercise more psychological flexibility even in the face of unrelenting sadness. Olivia learned that not all thoughts and feelings needed to carry so much meaning; some thoughts and feelings are better off left alone through mindful observation.

I suppose that’s one of the greatest areas of discernment in psychotherapy — when to self-reflect on thoughts and when to just leave them be. I can’t say there’s any matrix to figuring out that balance other than noticing when you’re becoming exhausted from self-examination and deciding to let thoughts be when self-examination isn’t serving you well.

“Returning to Sylvia Plath’s and humanity’s ubiquitous question, “Is there no way out of the mind?,” I believe we can find our way out”. I think we can be liberated if we choose to see our synthetic self. I think that liberation might help bring us back to each other. The sooner we realize that our brains embody and exchange energy and information through relationships in our environment, the more quickly we will understand the porousness of self and the interdependent nature of the mind³. With this understanding, we cannot help but find ourselves in a deeper place of compassion, empathy and common humanity.

References

¹Mick, D. G. (2017), Buddhist psychology: Selected insights, benefits, and research agenda for consumer psychology. Journal of Consumer Psychology, 27, 117-132. doi: 10.1016/j.jcps.2016.04.003

²Epstein, M. (2014). The trauma of everyday life. New York: Penguin Books.

³Siegel, D. J. (2017). Mind: A journey to the heart of being human (First ed.). New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

Illustrations by Drew Brandt.

Podcasts and the Couch: An Effective Supplement to Couples Counseling

Bibliotherapy, as an adjunct to psychotherapy, can be helpful to clients struggling with mental health problems ranging from alcohol abuse, anxiety and depression to cancer patients hoping to increase their coping skills in the face of the disease. Although there has been little to no research conducted on the beneficial impact of bibliotherapy for couples in counseling, I’ve worked with many couples who attest to the benefits of reading counseling books as a supplement to therapy — John Gottman’s The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work, Harville Hendrix’s Getting the Love You Want and Gary Chapman’s The 5 Love Languages, to name a few. Yet, as people are busier now than ever, especially the couples I work with who are managing two work schedules, daycare, parenting, school functions and activities, travel and all the other activities and obligations that dominate their day-to-day lives, couples simply don't have the time to sit down and read a book, let alone read a book together.

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Problem, meet solution! Podcasts can fill the bibliotherapy gap created by busy schedules. Podcasts, if you have a smartphone (and everyone has a smartphone) are available at the touch of a finger. You merely need to download a podcast app, subscribe and listen away. A client can listen while riding a bike, mowing the lawn, on their commute, sitting with their partner, watching the kids play in the front yard, going to the bathroom (we all look at our phone while on the toilet) or while preparing school lunches.

The convenience and accessibility that smartphones provide are really mind-blowing, and to boot, there are a number of excellent podcasts available that address not only relationship issues but issues related to depression, addiction, anxiety and much more. Here are a few standouts your clients can subscribe to for free:

Accessing supplemental therapy content outside of a session can be useful for a client. A client has only one hour with you per week (really only 50 minutes). Even if you have a great rapport with your clients and they absorb every thought you have to offer, 50 minutes isn’t much time. Therapy workbooks and self-help books can make up ground where traditional, weekly, one-hour therapy may not be enough. This is especially true in couples work where an hour session can fly by. So, why not arm couples with additional psychotherapy material that they can noodle on between sessions?

You may be wondering, podcasts sound great, but how do they actually function relative to actual live couples therapy? The therapy office, in a sense, is a laboratory where couples perform a number of relational experiments. They then try those same experiments out in the real world and come back to session to analyze the results. From this outcome data, we can observe what worked and what didn’t. A couple could easily cycle through 15 ideas and find that only four work for them. It is only by the process of experimentation that the four become evident. So why not increase the range of ideas a couple can experiment with? Let’s imagine if we increased the number to 30 ideas. If the trend holds true, then the couple will discover eight ideas that really work. Bibliotherapeutic works, in this case podcasts, are an inexpensive and efficient way of increasing the number of ideas a couple can interact and experiment with. Below is an example where a couple in counseling utilized podcasts to increase their therapeutic gains.

I worked with a couple who needed longer sessions, yet because of my schedule, I could only see them for the typical 50-minute hour. This left a number of important topics without the necessary elaboration. As a way to compensate, I recommended the couple listen to a podcast on an issue they struggled with as therapy homework. The couple followed the advice and took the assignment beyond the original intent. They were able to use the podcast content to spark meaningful conversations. And, as one partner shared with me, she was deeply touched by the fact that her partner spent time, unrequested, on researching podcasts and listening to them. For her, it demonstrated engagement and investment in their relationship. Additionally, the content of the podcast contained communication skills and tools they were able to apply to addressing their destructive relational pattern. This learning segued nicely into the work done in session. They discussed insights gained from a podcast, further reinforcing the value of the ideas. Moreover, they discussed ideas difficult to understand, which I was able to clarify and through which enhance their understanding. All in all, the couple and I found podcasts to be immensely beneficial to their counseling goals.

Some therapists may have ethical or clinical concerns related to the use of podcasts in therapy, and for good reason. Podcasts are not to be a replacement for therapy. Additionally, the therapist may sacrifice some influence or control to podcasts. And not every podcast will express sound, evidence-based, therapeutic advice. Or the advice given in a podcast may contrast with your counseling. Certainly there are some liabilities that come with podcasts, which you can wisely mitigate. I suggest only recommending podcasts you have vetted and that specifically target the client’s issue. The podcasts recommended in this article give disclaimers that they are not replacements for therapy and are static, in that they can’t respond to crises or provide personalized advice. That level of care can only be provided by a therapist. With these potential liabilities considered, the research supporting the use of bibliotherapy and my own clinical experience supports the adjunctive use of podcasts in couples counseling.