The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma

The following is an excerpt from The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk, MD. Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © Bessel van der Kolk, MD, 2014.

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Marilyn was a tall, athletic-looking woman in her mid-thirties who worked as an operating-room nurse in a nearby town. She told me that a few months earlier she’d started to play tennis at her sports club with a Boston fireman named Michael. She usually steered clear of men, she said, but she had gradually become comfortable enough with Michael to accept his invitations to go out for pizza after their matches. They’d talk about tennis, movies, their nephews and nieces—nothing too personal. Michael clearly enjoyed her company, but she told herself he didn’t really know her.

One Saturday evening in August, after tennis and pizza, she invited him to stay over at her apartment. She described feeling “uptight and unreal” as soon as they were alone together. She remembered asking him to go slow but had very little sense of what had happened after that. After a few glasses of wine and a rerun of “Law & Order,” they apparently fell asleep together on top of her bed. At around two in the morning, Michael turned over in his sleep. When Marilyn felt his body touch hers, she exploded—pounding him with her fists, scratching and biting, screaming, “You bastard, you bastard!” Michael, startled awake, grabbed his belongings and fled. After he left, Marilyn sat on her bed for hours, stunned by what had happened. She felt deeply humiliated and hated herself for what she had done, and now she’d come to me for help in dealing with her terror of men and her inexplicable rage attacks.

My work with veterans had prepared me to listen to painful stories like Marilyn’s without trying to jump in immediately to fix the problem. Therapy often starts with some inexplicable behavior: attacking a boyfriend in the middle of the night, feeling terrified when somebody looks you in the eye, finding yourself covered with blood after cutting yourself with a piece of glass, or deliberately vomiting up every meal. It takes time and patience to allow the reality behind such symptoms to reveal itself.

Terror and Numbness

As we talked, Marilyn told me that Michael was the first man she’d taken home in more than five years, but this was not the first time she’d lost control when a man spent the night with her. She repeated that she always felt uptight and spaced out when she was alone with a man, and there had been other times when she’d “come to” in her apartment, cowering in a corner, unable to remember clearly what had happened.

Marilyn also said she felt as if she was just “going through the motions” of having a life. Except for when she was at the club playing tennis or at work in the OR, she usually felt numb. A few years earlier she’d found that she could relieve her numbness by scratching herself with a razor blade, but she had become frightened when she found that she was cutting herself more and more deeply, and more and more often, to get relief. She had tried alcohol, too, but that reminded her of her dad and his out?of?control drinking, which made her feel disgusted with herself. So instead she played tennis fanatically, whenever she could. That gave her a feeling of being alive.

When I asked her about her past, Marilyn said she guessed that she “must have had” a happy childhood, but she could remember very little from before age twelve. She told me she’d been a timid adolescent, until she had a violent confrontation with her alcoholic father when she was sixteen and ran away from home. She worked her way through community college and went on to get a degree in nursing without any help from her parents. She felt ashamed that during this time she’d slept around, which she described as “looking for love in all the wrong places.”

As I often did with new patients, I asked her to draw a family portrait, and when I saw her drawing, I decided to go slowly. Clearly Marilyn was harboring some terrible memories, but she could not allow herself to recognize what her own picture revealed. She had drawn a wild and terrified child, trapped in some kind of cage and threatened not only by three nightmarish figures—one with no eyes—but also by a huge erect penis protruding into her space. And yet this woman said she “must have had” a happy childhood.

As the poet W. H. Auden wrote:
Truth, like love and sleep, resents
Approaches that are too intense.

I call this Auden’s rule, and in keeping with it I deliberately did not push Marilyn to tell me what she remembered. In fact, “I’ve learned that it’s not important for me to know every detail of a patient’s trauma. What is critical is that the patients themselves learn to tolerate feeling what they feel and knowing what they know.” This may take weeks or even years. I decided to start Marilyn’s treatment by inviting her to join an established therapy group where she could find support and acceptance before facing the engine of her distrust, shame, and rage.

As I expected, Marilyn arrived at the first group meeting looking terrified, much like the girl in her family portrait; she was withdrawn and did not reach out to anybody. I’d chosen this group for her because its members had always been helpful and accepting of new participants who were too scared to talk. They knew from their own experience that unlocking secrets is a gradual process. But this time they surprised me, asking so many intrusive questions about Marilyn’s love life that I recalled her drawing of the little girl under assault. It was almost as though Marilyn had unwittingly enlisted the group to repeat her traumatic past. I intervened to help her set some boundaries about what she’d talk about, and she began to settle in.

Three months later Marilyn told the group that she had stumbled and fallen a few times on the sidewalk between the subway and my office. She worried that her eyesight was beginning to fail: She’d also been missing a lot of tennis balls recently. I thought again about her drawing and the wild child with the huge, terrified eyes. Was this was some sort of “conversion reaction,” in which patients express their conflicts by losing function in some part of their body? Many soldiers in both world wars had suffered paralysis that couldn’t be traced to physical injuries, and I had seen cases of “hysterical blindness” in Mexico and India.

Still, as a physician, I wasn’t about to conclude without further assessment that this was “all in her head.” I referred her to colleagues at the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary and asked them to do a very thorough workup. Several weeks later the tests came back. Marilyn had lupus erythematosus of her retina, an autoimmune disease that was eroding her vision, and she would need immediate treatment. I was appalled: “Marilyn was the third person that year whom I’d suspected of having an incest history and who was then diagnosed with an autoimmune disease—a disease in which the body starts attacking itself.”

After making sure that Marilyn was getting the proper medical care, I consulted with two of my colleagues at Massachusetts General, psychiatrist Scott Wilson and Richard Kradin, who ran the immunology laboratory there. I told them Marilyn’s story, showed them the picture she’d drawn, and asked them to collaborate on a study. They generously volunteered their time and the considerable expense of a full immunology workup. We recruited twelve women with incest histories who were not taking any medications, plus twelve women who had never been traumatized and who also did not take meds—a surprisingly difficult control group to find. (Marilyn was not in the study; we generally do not ask our clinical patients to be part of our research efforts.)

When the study was completed and the data analyzed, Rich reported that the group of incest survivors had abnormalities in their CD45 RA?to?RO ratio, compared with their nontraumatized peers. CD45 cells are the “memory cells” of the immune system. Some of them, called RA cells, have been activated by past exposure to toxins; they quickly respond to environmental threats they have encountered before. The RO cells, in contrast, are kept in reserve for new challenges; they are turned on to deal with threats the body has not met previously. The RA?to?RO ratio is the balance between cells that recognize known toxins and cells that wait for new information to activate. In patients with histories of incest, the proportion of RA cells that are ready to pounce is larger than normal. This makes the immune system oversensitive to threat, so that it is prone to mount a defense when none is needed, even when this means attacking the body’s own cells.

Our study showed that, on a deep level, the bodies of incest victims have trouble distinguishing between danger and safety. This means that the imprint of past trauma does not consist only of distorted perceptions of information coming from the outside; the organism itself also has a problem knowing how to feel safe. The past is impressed not only on their minds, and in misinterpretations of innocuous events (as when Marilyn attacked Michael because he accidentally touched her in her sleep), but also on the very core of their beings: in the safety of their bodies.

Note: Find out about Bessel’s new in-depth, online Trauma Certificate Course

Bessel van der Kolk on Trauma, Development and Healing

Talking About it Doesn’t Put it Behind You

David Bullard: Bessel, you are the medical director and founder of the Trauma Center at Justice Resource Institute and professor of psychiatry at the Boston University School of Medicine. You have been one of the most influential and outspoken clinicians, educators and researchers contributing to our understanding of trauma and its treatment.
I don’t remember reading a professional book in several intense sittings like I just did with your new book, The Body Keeps The Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. It’s been praised by everyone from Jon Kabat-Zinn and Francine Shapiro to Jack Kornfield, Peter Levine and Judith Herman, who called it a “masterpiece that combines the boundless curiosity of the scientist, the erudition of the scholar, and the passion of the truth teller.” (Read an excerpt from the book accompanying this interview.)
Let me start with some basics: Could you say something about why talk therapy alone doesn’t work when treating trauma?
Bessel van der Kolk: From my vantage point as a researcher we know that the impact of trauma is upon the survival or animal part of the brain. That means that our automatic danger signals are disturbed, and we become hyper- or hypo-active: aroused or numbed out. We become like frightened animals. We cannot reason ourselves out of being frightened or upset.
Of course, talking can be very helpful in acknowledging the reality about what’s happened and how it’s affected you, but talking about it doesn’t put it behind you because it doesn’t go deep enough into the survival brain.
DB: Would you say that is one of the distinctions between your work and Edna Foa’s “prolonged exposure therapy”? In a New Yorker article on trauma, Foa talked about rewriting memories, rather than destroying them, and describes her work with a patient with PTSD who had been raped years before: “We asked her to tell the story of that New Year’s Eve (when the rape occurred) and repeat it many times….to distinguish between remembering what happened in the past and actually being back there…and when, finally, the woman did that she realized that the terror and her rape were not her fault.”That sounds like cognitive learning.
Bv: That’s a lovely example of the ability of talk to get a better perspective. But there is a mistaken notion that trauma is primarily about memory—the story of what has happened; and that is probably often true for the first few days after the traumatic event, but then a cascade of defenses precipitate a variety of reactions in mind and brain that are attempts to blunt the impact of the ongoing sense of threat, but which tend to set up their own plethora of problems. So, trying to find a chemical to abolish bad memories is an interesting academic enterprise, but it’s unlikely to help many patients. It’s a too-simplistic view in my opinion. Your whole mind, brain and sense of self is changed in response to trauma.
In the long term the largest problem of being traumatized is that it’s hard to feel that anything that’s going on around you really matters. It is difficult to love and take care of people and get involved in pleasure and engagements because your brain has been re-organized to deal with danger.
It is only partly an issue of consciousness. Much has to do with unconscious parts of the brain that keep interpreting the world as being dangerous and frightening and feeling helpless. You know you shouldn’t feel that way, but you do, and that makes you feel defective and ashamed.

EMDR and Body Awareness Approaches to Trauma Treatment

DB: You are a big proponent of body awareness approaches to trauma treatment—and for a fully lived life. For example, you’ve done research on yoga for trauma survivors and recommend yoga for patients. I saw recently that your Trauma Center offers trainings to yoga teachers in working with the trauma of their students. You also speak very highly of the body-oriented therapies of Peter Levine and Pat Ogden, and especially of EMDR. You devote a whole chapter to your learning EMDR and examples of your use of it.
Bv: We have done the only NIMH-funded study on EMDR. As of 2014, the results of that study were more positive than any published study of those who developed their PTSD in reaction to a traumatic event as an adult.
There are opinions and there are facts.
Traumatized people often become insensible to themselves. They find it difficult to sense pleasure and to feel engaged. These understandings force us to use methods to awaken the sensory modalities in the person.
The facts are that the EMDR study was spectacularly successful in adults, a bit less with childhood trauma–at least not in the short period of time (eight 90-minute sessions) in the research protocol. But our research found that the impact of trauma is in the somatosensory self, trauma changes the insula, the self-awareness systems. Traumatized people often become insensible to themselves. They find it difficult to sense pleasure and to feel engaged. These understandings force us to use methods to awaken the sensory modalities in the person.
DB: The following quote from your book beautifully addresses some of this:
“The neuroscience of selfhood and agency validates the kinds of somatic therapies that my friends Peter Levine and Pat Ogden have developed…. [In] essence their aim is threefold:

  • to draw out the sensory information that is blocked and frozen by trauma;
  • to help patients befriend (rather than suppress) the energies released by that inner experience;
  • to complete the self-preserving physical actions that were thwarted when they were trapped, restrained, or immobilized by terror. 

Our gut feelings signal what is safe, life sustaining, or threatening, even if we cannot quite explain why we feel a particular way. Our sensory interiority continuously sends us subtle messages about the needs of our organism. Gut feelings also help us to evaluate what is going on around us. They warn us that the guy who is approaching feels creepy, but they also convey that a room with western exposure surrounded by daylilies makes us feel serene. If you have a comfortable connection with your inner sensations—if you can trust them to give you accurate information—you will feel in charge of your body, your feelings, and your self” (p.96).

EMDR trainers now seem to be focusing more on sensory modalities than when I first was taught about EMDR, and they also use “resource installation” (Leeds) and more recently “dyadic resourcing” (Manfield). But if there has been an identified single trauma that doesn’t resolve after several sessions, they look for an older “feeder memory,” and get there by asking the patient to focus on body sensations to see if he or she has ever felt those sensations before. It often is a gateway to an earlier trauma.
Bv: A lot of different schools do that, where the body is a pronounced part of therapy. My own teacher, Elvin Semrad, in the early 1970s in Boston, was very somatically oriented; same thing for Milton Erikson and many schools of hypnotherapy. Most people I hang out with who work with traumatic stress are somatically oriented.

The Limits of CBT

DB: The popular media are often puzzlingly ignorant about the nature of trauma and its treatment. You are very well aware of this, but an otherwise interesting article in the May, 2014 issue of The New Yorker magazine stated that a study “published in Nature in 2010, offered the first clear suggestion that it might be possible to provide long-term treatment for people who suffer from PTSD and other anxiety disorders without drugs.” That article never even mentioned EMDR, which was listed in a 1998 task force report of the Clinical Division of the American Psychological Association as being one of three psychological therapies (together with exposure and stress inoculation therapy) empirically supported for the treatment of PTSD. How could they miss that?
Bv: Well, they often get things not quite right! It intrigues me how the public is much more fascinated with the potential of false memories in patients than in the gross distortions of our society’s memory of trauma.
Articles like the one you cited often relate to the study of memories in mice. It is a huge leap, of course, from rodents to human beings, which not only leads to misinformation about the nature of traumatic stress and its treatments, but also about the rather trenchant differences between humans and mice. Humans are profoundly social animals—everything we do and think is in relation to a larger tribe. Our brains are cultural organs. It probably has something to do with people’s temperaments; people who do rodent research are drawn to the simplicity of rodent brains. In order to work with humans you need to have a taste for culture, complexity and uncertainty. People would be astonished if a psychotherapist gave advice to rodent researchers on how to run their labs! But the popular press takes the liberty of making these misinformed leaps with the general public all the time.
DB: How best to treat trauma is a crucial question, of course. You saw CBS’ 60 Minutes television show that first aired in November, 2013, describing a Veterans Administration program treating war veterans using “cognitive processing therapy” and prolonged exposure treatment methods. Your understanding of and approach to treating trauma is very different. Can you address a couple of points that distinguish your views from those presented by that VA treatment program?
Bv: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (and “Trauma Focused CBT”), talk therapies, and prolonged exposure therapies can make some changes in people’s distress, but traumatic stress has little to do with cognition—it emanates from the emotional part of the brain that is rewired to constantly send out messages of dangers and distress, with the result that it becomes difficult to feel fully alive in the present. Blasting people with the memories of the trauma may lead to desensitization and numbing, but it does not lead to integration: an organic awareness that the event is over, and that you are fully alive in the present. The VA seems to be surprised by how many veterans drop out of prolonged exposure therapy. It would be helpful for them to find out why, but the likely answer is that it is re-traumatizing them.
DB: More recently, there was the profile of your work with trauma in the Sunday Magazine of the New York Times (May 22, 2014). The author shadowed you for a month, and it seemed to me that the article minimized the outcome of the clinical demonstration you did with an Iraqi war veteran at an Esalen Institute workshop.
Bv: The current Family Therapy Networker magazine just ran a piece about all the inaccuracies in that article, and the difficulties journalists have in getting the story straight. “Eugene” was the participant in the workshop, and he said “The takeaway when I read [the New York Times article] was that I was confused by the experience and that it didn’t help, which just isn’t true…When I spoke with the reporter, I said very positive things about the concrete ways that it helped me in terms of physical symptoms that disappeared, and also the fact that Dr. van der Kolk recommended people for me to work with afterward. He really spent some time finding a good recommendation for EMDR, and it really helps.” He wrote a letter to that effect and they wouldn’t publish it. I just got an email from him with a picture of my new book saying, “Thank you for helping me to regain the capacity for calmness and focus to be able to engage, and read books again.”
DB: The New York Times article also quoted sound bites from some other researchers, seemingly questioning your work, but later corrected some misinformation.
Bv: That’s another intriguing issue. There seems to be a tendency among therapists to become very religious about their own particular method—some seem to be more committed to their method than to the welfare of their patients. When patients don’t improve, they blame their resistance, and slam the people who point out that one size never fits all. The New York Times article also alluded to the Roman Catholic Church’s problems with clergy abuse and trying to defend itself by claiming that these plaintiffs suffered from “false memories,” and were the victims of “repressed memory therapy.” Testifying on behalf of pedophiles became a whole industry that seems to have entirely disappeared now that these trials are over.
DB: The newspaper did publish your brief (and, I thought, restrained!) rejoinder clarifying the issues presented, and you received an overwhelmingly supportive response in other letters to the editor and online comments. Here’s an excerpt from your letter to the New York Times:
Trauma is much more than a story about the past that explains why people are frightened, angry or out of control. Trauma is re-experienced in the present, not as a story, but as profoundly disturbing physical sensations and emotions that may not be consciously associated with memories of past trauma. Terror, rage and helplessness are manifested as bodily reactions, like a pounding heart, nausea, gut-wrenching sensations and characteristic body movements that signify collapse, rigidity or rage…. The challenge in recovering from trauma is to learn to tolerate feeling what you feel and knowing what you know without becoming overwhelmed. There are many ways to achieve this, but all involve establishing a sense of safety and the regulation of physiological arousal.
Bv: I also mentioned in the Networker article, “What happened …is a reflection of the incredible difficulties society has with staring trauma in the face and providing people with the facts of what happens, how bad it is, and how well treatments work.”

Talent and Compassion Aren’t Enough

DB: I appreciate your emphasis on research and fact-based discussions versus theoretical ones. Along those lines, George Silberschatz, a past-president of the international Society for Psychotherapy Research, said in a recent interview that the between-therapist effects were as large if not larger than the between-treatment effects in current psychotherapy research, and this is perhaps from non-specific treatment effects.
Bv: Well, talent and compassion are central elements of being an effective therapist, but learning to feel your feelings and be in charge of your self, and working with someone who knows how to deal with bodily sensations and impulses can make all the difference between visiting an understanding friend once a week, and actually healing your trauma.
DB: Could it relate to Stephen Porges’ description of the Polyvagal Theory and the social engagement system? The nonspecific treatment effects from psychotherapy research seem to be powerful about the therapist helping to create a safe environment.
Bv: I have been very much inspired by Porges’ work. The reason that Porges has become an important part of our world is his finding that trauma interferes with face-to-face communication. It is very important how you get regulated in the presence of other people. We need to learn very specific ways to activate the social engagement system. Sitting in your chair and chatting might not always be the most effective way of doing that.

Porges’ work was very helpful and clarifying about where in the brain trauma makes it difficult to feel comfort, to feel intimate and connected with other people. Knowing those things can help therapists to become more conscious about the specifics of their interactions, and should become part of the training of therapists. For example, I recently took a month-long intensive training course for Shakespearean actors to learn how the modulations of my voice, the configurations of my facial muscles, and the attitudes of my body affect my self-experience, and that of the people around me.
Porges’ work points to the importance of working with the reptilian brain—the brain stem, as well as the limbic system. We need to teach breathing and movement and work with the parts of the brain that are most impacted by trauma—areas that the conscious brain has no access to.
So I am dubious about the nonspecific relational impact of treatment on benefiting traumatized individuals. Seeing someone nonspecifically does not help the fear circuits and that collapsed sense of self. We need to learn very specific ways to activate the social engagement system. Sitting in your chair and chatting might not always be the most effective way of doing that.
DB: A colleague of yours from your Harvard days, neuroscientist Catherine Kerr, recently writing about mindfulness research, said:
The placebo effect is usually defined, somewhat tortuously, as the sum of the nonspecific effects that are not hypothesized to be the direct mechanism of treatment. For example, having a face-to-face conversation is not hypothesized as what makes psychotherapy work—you could have a face-to-face conversation with anybody. But for some reason, if you go every week to therapy, you are going to get better. But you could talk about the weather! When we perform these rituals with a desire to get better, we often do. We now know that a lot of the positive therapeutic benefit from psychotherapy and from various pain drugs may come from that initial context; it often has nothing to do with the specific treatment that is being offered. It is really just about the person approaching a situation with a sense of hope and being met by something that seems to hold out that hope (October 01, 2014, Tricycle Magazine).
And I think Allan Schore at UCLA would say that there is “unconscious right brain to unconscious right brain communication” going on, between therapists and patients, or between any of us in close relationships that might be what is otherwise thought to be “nonspecific” in therapy research. A deep ability to be present and connect empathically with patients is easier for some individual therapists than for others. Perhaps we are discussing a situation in therapy of “necessary, but not sufficient!”
Bv: I can’t really comment on all that—you’ll have to ask Catherine Kerr and Allan Schore. I have always been a bit puzzled about that “right brain to right brain” stuff. The research shows that the part of the brain most impacted by trauma is the left hemisphere, and I would imagine that every single part of the brain is necessary for effective functioning and feeling fully alive in the present.
DB: Well, I will be interviewing Schore next month, so we now have some good material to discuss!
Bv: I’ll look forward to reading that.

Neurofeedback & Yoga

DB: Is there anything in your own thinking that you feel has significantly changed in the last couple of years due to your continuing growth in the work and in all you are exposed to?
Bv: The biggest has been my exposure to neurofeedback (a type of biofeedback that focuses on brain waves, instead of peripheral phenomena like heart rate and skin conductance). In neurofeedback you change your brain’s electrical activity by playing computer games with your own brain waves. Learning how to interpret quantitative EEG’s helped me to visualize better how the brain processes information, and how disorganized the brain becomes in response to trauma. What made it necessary to look for other, non-interpersonally-based therapies was the realization, followed by research that dramatically illustrated how being traumatized may interfere with the ability to engage with other human beings to feel curious, open and alive.
Learning how to interpret quantitative EEGs allowed me to actually visualize what parts of the brain are distorted by traumatic experiences, and this can help us target specific brain areas where there is abnormal activity and where the problem actually is.
The trauma is not the story of what happened long ago; the long-term trauma is that you are robbed of feeling fully alive and in charge of your self.
For example, for the part of the brain supposed to be in charge, after trauma it will have excessive activity, keeping people in a state of chronic arousal—making it difficult to sleep, hard to engage and to relax. We find neurofeedback can change the activity in parts of the brain to allow it to be more calm and self-observant.
In another example, the frontal lobes of traumatized people often have activity similar to that of kids with ADHD, which makes it difficult to attend with the subtlety that we need to lead nuanced lives.
DB: So would the neurofeedback be with or without exposure to a particular traumatic memory?
Bv: Again, traumatic stress results in not being able to fully engage in the present. The trauma is not the story of what happened long ago; the long-term trauma is that you are robbed of feeling fully alive and in charge of your self.
DB: You would say that also is a positive outcome from yoga and other body awareness exercises, activating and strengthening the parasympathetic nervous system?
Bv: In our NIH-funded yoga for PTSD study we saw people did considerably better after 8 weeks of yoga. It can make a contribution to help people be more present in the here and now. The whole brain gets reorganized. Some quotes from participants in that study included:

  • “My emotions feel more powerful. Maybe it’s just that I can recognize them now.”
  • “I can express my feelings more because I can recognize them more. I feel them in my body, recognize them, and address them.”

This research needs much more work, but it opens up new perspectives on how actions that involve noticing and befriending the sensations in our bodies can produce profound changes in both mind and brain that can lead to healing from trauma. When we understand these things about the brain, how it works, we learn more about how to adjust our treatments.

DB: I’ve heard you say that you do not identify as belonging to any one particular school of therapy; that you do not even identify as an EMDR therapist even though you often utilize it.
Bv: Well, that would be like a carpenter saying he was a “hammer carpenter.” We need many different tools that will work for different patients and different problems.

Meaningless Pseudo-Diagnoses

DB: Can you talk a bit about your battles to get deeper and more sophisticated understandings of trauma treatment into the professional arena? Your book recounts the research you did that identified a traumatized population quite distinct from the combat soldiers and accident victims for whom the PTSD diagnosis had been created.
Bv: Yes, well, in the early 1990’s our PTSD work group for the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders voted nineteen to two to create a new diagnosis for victims of interpersonal trauma: “Disorders of Extreme Stress, Not Otherwise Specified” (DESNOS), or “Complex PTSD” for short. But when the DSM-IV was published in May 1994 the diagnosis did not appear in the final product.
Fifteen years later, in 2009, we lobbied to have “Developmental Trauma Disorder” listed in the DSM-5. We marshaled a lot of support, such as that from the National Association of State Mental Health Program Directors, who serve 6.1 million people annually, with a combined budget of $29.5 billion.

Everybody who holds forth should have a practice, otherwise you get seduced by your ideas and don’t get confronted with the limits of your ideas in clinical practice.
Their letter of support concluded: “We urge the American Psychiatric Association to add developmental trauma to its list of priority areas to clarify and better characterize its course and clinical sequelae and to emphasize the strong need to address developmental trauma in the assessment of patients.”
It was turned down also, and a lot of criticism of DSM-5’s approach has since been levied and they have lost credibility from a variety of professional sources.
DB: You recently published the results of an international survey of clinicians on the clinical significance of a Developmental Trauma Disorder diagnosis. Can you tell us why it might be so beneficial to have such a diagnosis?
Bv: Because it would help us to start focusing on helping kids feel safe and in control , rather than labeling them with meaningless pseudo-diagnoses like oppositional defiant disorder, impulse control disorder, self-injury disorder, etc.
DB: A significant part of your career at the Trauma Center has been working with traumatized children. There is a lot in your book relevant to work with children.
Bv: Yes, with Joseph Spinazzola and Julian Ford, we are involved in studies through the Complex Trauma Treatment Network of the National Child Traumatic Stress Network, which now is comprised of 164 institutions in almost all States.
DB: You are doing so much traveling with international teaching, you are involved in ongoing research, and you have quite a large staff at the Trauma Center in Boston to manage.
Bv: About 40 people are working at the trauma center now.
DB: Are you still personally able to do one-on-one clinical work or only have a supervisory role?
Bv: Everybody who holds forth should have a practice, otherwise you get seduced by your ideas and don’t get confronted with the limits of your ideas in clinical practice.

Posttraumatic Growth and Aliveness

DB: I’ve always liked the subtitle of Peter Levine’s book Waking the Tiger: Through Trauma Into Aliveness. Others are talking about “posttraumatic growth.”
Bv: That’s what the New York Times article should have been about. The guy they described so poorly actually recouped his life. People get better by befriending themselves. People can leave the trauma behind if they learn to feel safe in their bodies—they can feel the pleasure to know what they know and feel what they feel. The brain does change because of trauma and now we have tools to help people be quiet and present versus hijacked by the past. The question is: Will these tools become available to most people?
DB: You are certainly doing your part, Bessel, by being so very active and productive. I counted 35 workshops out-of-town on your calendar for 2014, in addition to your teaching at the various medical schools in Boston, at the Trauma Center and a new certification program. Right now you are about to embark on a 10-day bo

Therapy: A Poem

Therapy

In that billowing silence.
A silence to loathe and love,
like the first gasp of submersion at the pool.

In that silence I examined the paintings
on your wall and thin splits between the floor boards,
the leavings caught in them – crumbs and dust
and once a tiny blue bead. In the roaring
silence while I scrambled away from my edges,
I came to know well the hem of your skirts
and the lay of your hands on your lap. Still.

Each Tuesday I sat in the corner of your couch,
ringed by a wreath of damp tissue.
You rocked in your chair.

Sometimes I thought
you were a beatific witch
just waiting with your gentle prods
to send me back into my seas,
to push me under, over and over,
sometimes I thought you invented the pearl
I sought – a mean joke on me.

I thought you knew what I was going to say next,
knew my interior as if it were written in a code
for which you held the key.
Sometimes I liked this, then I didn’t.

How still our bodies were! While I dangled
over the fire at the bottom of my darkest pits,
writhed in the salt of my ordinary wounds.
How quiet and desperate that year of weekly hours.
How seasons of light dwindled
and blossomed across the planks of your floor,
how my singular and universal dreads met
and wrestled under your watch.

How I wanted to crawl into your lap
and have you stroke my hair
and say there, there,
and how, in a way,
never touching me,
you did.
 

On Quitting The Practice of Psychotherapy

Workplace Wounds

My name is Michael Sussman and I’m a recovering psychotherapist.

By this I don’t mean that I am a therapist who attends Alcoholics Anonymous, but rather that I’m in recovery from being a therapist.

I made a decent living as a clinician, and took great satisfaction in helping people in distress. Over time, however, the strains of practice overwhelmed my own coping capacities and I was forced to close up shop. Ironically, it appears that working as a therapist aggravated the very same wounds that first drew me to the field.

Like many practitioners, my early family experiences groomed me for the role of psychotherapist. As a typical middle child, I felt unsure of my place in the family and hungered for acceptance. I dealt with these insecurities by becoming mother’s little helper and confidante. Outwardly, I did all I could to help her care for my younger brother. But underlying feelings of jealousy and malice toward the intruder drove me to torment my brother on the sly. This, and my failure to somehow heal my parents’ troubled marriage, left me with deep reservoirs of guilt and remorse. As I’d later learn, such feelings—along with intense needs to atone and make amends—supply a powerful impetus toward pursuing a career in the helping professions.

Unfortunately, they also provided fertile soil for the development of emotional illness. By the age of 15, I was already showing signs of depression. In my late teens I dropped out of college and joined a cult, and by my early twenties I was bouncing in and out of psychiatric wards with bouts of both depression and mania.

I eventually stabilized enough to return to school and earn a bachelor’s degree in music composition and performance. And who knows? If I’d become a professional musician or a music teacher, perhaps I would never have suffered another episode of severe mental illness Instead, with considerable trepidation, I entered graduate training in clinical psychology.

From the start, graduate school undermined my emotional stability by weakening my defenses. As I learned in class, we all employ an array of defense mechanisms to help maintain psychological equilibrium. These protective strategies tend to function largely outside of conscious awareness. Why? Because our psychic defenses—like a nation’s military strategies—must remain concealed in order to be effective. If you become aware, for instance, that you’re using denial to avoid facing painful feelings, those feelings are more likely to emerge.

By gaining understanding of these defensive maneuvers, my own defenses were inevitably compromised. And in a variant of what has been dubbed medical students’ disease, I began experiencing the symptoms of the disorders we covered in class.

If studying psychopathology was a bit dodgy, actually working with disturbed people turned out to be downright perilous. The empathy that allowed me to tune in and connect with patients also left me vulnerable to taking on their pain. In addition, I was ill prepared for the enormous burden of responsibility entailed in caring for the sick. During my third year, a middle-aged patient of mine jumped to her death from the window of her 20th-floor apartment, shortly after transferring to a new therapist. Though devastated by her death, it only intensified my dedication to the calling.

But as the years passed, the emotional toll mounted. Overly dedicated to work, I neglected my social life and grew increasingly isolated. Rather than freeing me from an introspective disposition, clinical practice only deepened it. And while clinical successes were exhilarating, they did little to assuage the guilt from my childhood “crimes.” Clinical setbacks and failures, on the other hand, intensified my inner sense of badness. Far from bringing redemption, the practice of psychotherapy engendered in me what the psychiatrist Richard Chessick termed soul sadness.

Ultimately, my career was cut short by full blown major depressive episodes requiring electroshock treatment. I’m better now and have had former patients literally plead with me to return to practice. But my susceptibility to depression precludes me from providing emotional stability to others. Moreover, I can no longer ignore the fact that practicing psychotherapy is hazardous to my own health.

Recovery

So, what broader lessons can be drawn from my saga?

First, wanting to help people is not sufficient reason for becoming a therapist. Admissions committees must help applicants explore their hidden motivations for practice.

Second, although a mild to moderate degree of emotional conflict needn’t be problematic, training programs ought to be wary of admitting applicants with a history of serious mental illness.

Third, all applicants ought to be fully warned about the potential dangers inherent in learning and practicing psychotherapy, and therapist self-care should be included in the curriculum.

Fourth, the last bastion of the stigma of mental illness appears to be within the mental health profession itself. It can no longer be denied that a substantial percentage of practitioners are significantly stressed or impaired. It’s imperative that the professional community stops fostering shame, and begins creating an environment in which struggling clinicians dare to reach out for help and support.

Meanwhile, I’m writing fiction. I’ve spoken to several former colleagues who are also in recovery. One runs her own bakery, another owns a bookstore, and a third raises llamas. What’s disturbing to contemplate is that, in all likelihood, there are thousands of therapists out there who ought to be doing something else, but continue to practice.

*This article was originally published in the May/June 2013 issue of New Therapist magazine.

Counseling Kids: When a Cigar Is Just a Cigar

Nine year old Malcolm was one of the fortunate clients. Because his family had a very modest income a local counseling center with a sliding fee scale was seeing Malcolm on a pro bono basis. Better yet, the agency was providing free transportation for him on a school bus. His emotional difficulties began two years ago after his parents got a divorce. He was now living with his natural father and his new step-mother.

Treatment seemed to be working well. Then it happened and it changed everything. One day while riding to the agency, he pointed out the window at a very upscale, plush shopping center and exclaimed, "My mother owns that shopping center."

The bus driver (who was trying to talk some sense into the young man) said, "Now Malcolm, that's not true. You know your parents don't have a lot of money and they surely do not own that shopping center. You lied. Now you need to admit to the other kids you a not being honest and apologize."

Malcolm began crying and insisting his family really did own this center. The kids on the bus starting yelling at Malcolm and insisted he owed all of them an apology. The incident ended with Malcolm screaming at the top of his lungs at the children who taunted him.

The bus driver dutifully reported the entire incident to the clinical director of the organization who thanked him and swung into massive therapeutic action. They knew Malcolm was depressed since the divorce, nevertheless, the clinicians had never seen anything resembling this seemingly psychotic like break from reality and tendency to lie, combined with extreme hostility.

The treatment plan was stepped up to a whole new level. Instead of Malcolm seeing only an individual counselor, he would also be placed in group counseling and play therapy. He was also referred for an extensive battery of psychological tests, a medical management session with their psychiatrist, and a session with the neurologist at the agency. He was also referred to a therapist specializing in anger management. Malcolm's progress (or lack of it) would be assessed 30 days later at a case conference in which all the aforementioned psychotherapeutic players would be present.

Finally, it was the day of the big staffing but there was one new treatment player on the field. David, a graduate student serving his practicum at the facility.

The meeting began with the clinical director turning to David and asking, "David, this is a fascinated case. How do you think we should proceed with our intervention with Malcolm?"

"Well sir," said David, "since this is my first day here I haven't had time to read the record. Like everybody else, I just recall that his natural mother is filthy rich. I'm sure we can all remember the firestorm of publicity in the newspaper and on television when she built the upscale giant mall down the street from us. Right?"

The room was dead silent for what seemed like eternity. You could hear a pin drop even if you were using construction worker grade ear plugs during the staffing. Score one for Malcolm!

Since Freud was the master of symbolism, the story goes that around 1920 somebody wanted to know about the symbolism of Freud's own propensity to smoke upwards of 20 cigars a day. The Freudian interpretation at the time was that a cigar was a phallic symbol. When confronted by his fellow analysts about his own behavior Freud remarked, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

As of late, scholars have come to the conclusion that the famous "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar" statement attributed to Freud is false. Or to put it forthrightly, Freud never said it. My humble two-cents regarding Freud is that even if he never said it, he should have!

But here's the point. If 20 years from now Malcolm is lying on an analyst's couch babbling on about his tendency to smoke cigars, the analyst would do well to keep the notion in mind that sometimes a cigar really, truly is . . . well just a cigar.

A Short Piece on Disrespecting Teenagers

We have an American cultural norm to disrespect teenagers. For example, it’s probably common knowledge that teens are:

  • Naturally difficult
  • Not willing to listen to good common sense from adults
  • Emotionally unstable
  • Impulsively acting without thinking through consequences

Wait, most of these are good descriptors of Bill O’Reilly. Isn’t he an adult?

Seriously, most television shows, movies, and adult rhetoric tends toward dismissing and disrespecting teens. It’s not unusual for people to express sympathy to parents of teens. “It’s a hard time . . . I know . . . I hope you’re coping okay.” Even Mark Twain had his funny and famous disrespectful quotable quote on teens:

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

This is a clever way of suggesting that teens don’t recognize their parents’ wisdom. Although this is partly true, I’m guessing most teens don’t find it especially hilarious. Especially if their parents are treating them in ways that most of us would consider unwise—at least if we were treated similar ways in the workplace.

And now the neuroscientists have piled on with their fancy brain images. We have scientific evidence to prove, beyond any doubt, that the brains of teens aren’t fully developed. Those poor pathetic teens; their brains aren’t even fully wired up. How can we expect them to engage in mature and rational behavior? Maybe we should just keep them in cages to keep them from getting themselves in trouble until their brain wiring matures.

This might be a good idea, but then how do we explain the occasionally immature and irrational behavior and thinking of adults? I mean, I know we’re supposed to be superior and all that, but I have to say that I’ve sometimes seen teens acting mature and adults acting otherwise. How could this be possible when we know—based on fancy brain images—that the adult brain is neurologically all-wired-up and the teen brain is under construction? Personally (and professionally), I think the neuroscience focus on underdeveloped “teen brains” is mostly (but not completely) a form of highly scientifically refined excrement from a male bovine designed to help adults and parents feel better about themselves.

And therein lies my point: I propose that we start treating teens with the respect that we traditionally reserve for ourselves and each other . . . because if we continue to disrespect teenagers and lower our expectations for their mature behavior . . . the more our expectations are likely to come true.

The No-Fee Session

I live in a neighborhood in New Jersey where people say hello to one another in the street even if they don’t know each other well. One man stood out for me in the many years I am living here: He doesn’t say hello even though he sees me several times a week. He doesn’t even bother to nod his head. I could never understand what I had done to him, but I just felt as if he hated me.

One day not too long ago I was surprised to get a telephone call from him. “I really need your help, he said. “I need to talk. My son who is in his early 20's punched me in the face – lightly, but still a blow.” I understood very quickly that though he wasn’t injured physically, to be attacked by one’s son had to be a trauma. I gave him an appointment – a midday hour the following day and he showed up at the given time.

He went into detail about the incident and asked me all kinds of questions. His main purpose was to be helpful to his son, get him “the right medicine” as he called it. He wanted to know who I could recommend that might “help him.”

“Does your son feel he has a problem,” I asked.

“No, he thinks I have the problem.”

And then the man gave even more detail about a long and somewhat tortured relationship with his wayward son. “I could never give him what he needed.” He described his son as “lost and adrift” and again asserted that his son was in great need of “psychological help.”

“What does your son want from you?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” the man said. “I don’t think I ever knew. All I know is that I have got to send him somewhere to get help.”

I can’t put my finger on exactly when, but I had the distinct feeling somewhere within the first 20 minutes of the session that this man had no intention of paying me for the session. He was going to take and take. He asked question after question about my experience. He sighed and talked, sighed and talked. The idea occurred to me that just as he had failed to say hello to me all these years and perhaps just as he had failed to give to his son, he would fail to give to me. Although it was hard to tell from one session, it seemed that he had little interest in knowing anything about himself and evinced even less interest in knowing something about his son. He wanted a 'solution.' At the same time as this realization dawned on me I threw myself into the work, giving him the best possible session I could give, listening and feeling the feelings as if he were giving me a million dollars.

As I listened to him, I saw the lines of trauma etched on his face. He was 57 years old, but looked somewhat older. I caught a glimpse of him as he walked toward my office. He didn’t walk so much as trudge as though he were walking through invisible snow drifts even though it was summer. Further discussion revealed that he was the son of elderly holocaust survivors. His relationship with neither his mother nor his father was what you would call “loving” or even “pleasant” in his words. “They are very bitter, un-giving people,” he explained. Apparently, he had inherited and internalized one thing from his parents: the idea that “nothing good can or ever will happen to you” and he lived his life accordingly, investing as little as he possibly could get away with.

It was not long before the session time was used up and beyond. Even as I rose to signify the end of the session, he remained seated, being both talkative and acquisitive. It felt that he was trying to extract as much as he possibly could from me.

It would have been tempting to broach the fee with him then. After all, he wanted something from me, wasn’t I entitled to “get” something from him. Quid pro quo, give something, get something. Isn’t that an idea that everyone can understand, even one with a distorted sense of entitlement?

I have come to understand, however, that often people’s sense of entitlement stems from not from evil or even greed, but is a maladaptive way of addressing their traumas. They are still angry about the long-ago past, but they don’t know that. Instead, they seek reparations perversely — through something that feels like exploitation to the other, but they are unaware. For such damaged, wounded people, the language of quid pro quo, though utterly reasonable to you and me, can be experienced as a trauma. It is especially ironic (and enraging) because his own stance with the world is far more exacting and exploitative than the language of even exchange. It was more like: do for me and maybe, just maybe I will do for you.

Finally, he got up at the end of the session and weakly thanked me for my time. He made no mention at all of payment and neither did I make mention of it. We shook hands and he left.

When he walked out of the office, surprisingly, I did not feel the way I thought I would feel. Oddly, I felt enriched. He had given me a chance to understand him even as his view of the world and his son were distorted. I had made up my mind that my only objective was to provide him with a healing experience. Under no circumstances would I allow him to be re-traumatized even as he was a traumatized man who unconsciously traumatizes others, I knew he could only ingest kindness. Nothing else.

I had honored our profession and was nourished by the feeling of having done the right thing.

A few weeks later I saw him in the street. To my utter surprise he said hello to me for the first time. He updated me on his son’s status and then said, “You can send me a bill for the session.” He said it half-heartedly, I think, hoping that I wouldn’t actually do it, but there was a trace of sincerity there. It gave me cause to feel that perhaps with my kindness, I contributed a little bit to his healing.

Howard Kassinove on Anger Management

“I can see your bald head”

Christian Conte: Dr. Howard Kassinove, how did anger management became a central focus for you?
Howard Kassinove: When I went to graduate school, the central focus seemed to be anxiety, and the physiological or biophysical aspects of emotion. So we studied heart rate, sweating, pupillary response to light—but all with regard to anxiety. I then went out to study with Joseph Wolpe and of course his major area was anxiety. But he really put me in touch with this notion of approach versus avoidance behaviors—moving towards, moving against, or moving away from. I was also trained by Albert Ellis and he was very interested in emotionality in general.
But with that background, once I went into private practice what I discovered was that lots of my patients were angry at each other. Husbands angry at wives, parents angry at children, adolescents angry at their parents, and I had been ill trained. I really didn’t know much about it, because anxiety was the major focus of my training. So I began to study and read and my practice moved along. But then in about 1992, I really decided I had to get some kind of a handle on this. So with my then Ph.D. graduate student Christopher Eckhardt, now a professor at Purdue, he and I just started cold calling people in the field of anger: Charlie Spielberger, Jerry Deffenbacher and a range of figures. We put together an edited book, which included all aspects of anger from Spielberger’s measurement to Sergei Tsytsarev and Junko Tanaka-Matsumi’s cross-cultural perspective, and this was the beginning of me becoming centrally involved.
Then I started doing more cross-cultural research—in India, Russia, Romania and many other countries. We collected data on anger in all these other countries and I did a number of doctoral dissertations on anger. One of the most important was with my colleague Chip Tafrate, who of course is doing books with me and did the video released this month by psychotherapy.net. He did a very interesting study in which we would try to insult people—“I can see your bald head!”—and Chip would ask people to respond in different ways. One was, “How could you say that to me? That’s terrible. I can’t stand it!” And the other was, “It’s unpleasant that you’re saying that. I wish you weren’t saying it, but I can tolerate it.”
CC: The old Albert Ellis stuff.
HK: Albert Ellis, exactly. We even had a controlled condition where I would kind of insult you like that, and you would say things like, “A stitch in time saves nine.” What we found was that both the Ellis rational ideas and the distracting statements led to anger reduction.
CC: So for you it centers on cognitive behavioral techniques—on changing the thoughts around and having people learn different forms of self-talk.
HK: Yes, but my original training was at Adelphi University, which is a very psychodynamic place. One of my great heroes always was Karen Horney, because she spoke about the tyranny of the shoulds well before Ellis did. She spoke about moving against, moving away from, and moving towards people. So I also have that background.

What Exactly is Anger Management?

CC: Obviously anger has been around as long as there were human beings, but in the news over the last several years it seems like anger management in particular is getting more attention than it has in the past. From your perspective, what exactly constitutes anger management?
HK: Let’s go back to the beginning of modern anger management—Ray Novaco’s 1975 book, Anger Control. Prior to that we were not really dealing much with anger management. Ray came on the scene and became a major figure, but the word “control” has kind of disappeared and now we talk about “anger management.”
I think of it as developing less intense disruptive responses to aversive stimuli. The fact is that we live in a world where there are lots of aversive stimuli:
People take our parking spots, students tell us we’re lousy teachers, our wives and husbands tell us that we didn’t mow the lawn correctly. We are kind of bombarded with this aversive stimulation environment. Lots of good things occur in the environment, of course, but the bombardment with the aversive stuff leads us either to be angry—”How dare you say that to me?! You know you don’t have any right! You should treat me with more respect!”—and it can also lead to anxiety, when we’re being threatened by someone in authority or someone with a knife or gun.
CC: Sure.
HK: So I think that anger management in a broader sense is emotion management or emotion regulation. I try to live my life in the most mellow way possible. Most of the time these days I succeed. But it’s not only anger or annoyance I want to bring under control; I also want to bring anxiety under control. This is where Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT) has played such a central focus in my own life. Lots of abrasive events occur in life that are overwhelmingly unpleasant. These days I try and leave them there—whether it’s difficulties with my own children or difficulties with my students or my car or whatever. So in the broader sense, it’s emotion management.
CC: That’s exactly the word I use: emotional management. You’ve developed what you call the “anger episode model.” Can you talk a little bit about the evolution of that?
HK: As the years were going by, I found myself becoming kind of disgusted with the notion that kids are lazy, people are stupid—this kind of broad overarching condemnation of people. Instead, because I became more and more of a behaviorist as time went along, I wanted to speak about how people behave in particular situations. You might become angry at your wife, let’s say, when she does something wrong, and you might yell at her and maybe even demean her verbally in some way. But I bet you wouldn’t do that if you were at a state dinner with President Obama, because in that environment you’re going to behave very differently.
So I found myself moving away from the notion of “he’s an angry person,” “she’s such an angry woman,” to the idea of—how can we deal with individual situations? We started to develop the notion that people have “anger episodes” and that led to the anger episode model. The more episodes we can help them bring under control, the more likely it is they will become more generally controlled.
It’s kind of like an incremental model. I don’t think we can really change broad-spectrum personality. If I define personality as the cross-situational stability of behavior, then what I’m trying to do is change behaviors in a number of situations with the hope that eventually through generalization people become less angry.
CC: That’s fantastic.
HK: We needed a very specific and relatively simple model that we could teach to our patients.

Triggers

CC: I really identify with what you’re saying. You put people in different situations, they respond in different ways. I say to people all the time, “If I gave you a million dollars, would you respond in the same way?” They say, “Well, I don’t know if I’d be that angry if somebody cut me off in traffic if I knew I was getting a million dollars.” So we really get at the heart of those thoughts.
You talk about triggers, and I wondered does it always, from your perspective, take an outside trigger to set someone off into an anger episode?
HK: I wouldn’t necessarily say it takes an outside trigger. Something has to initiate the sequence, but it can be an inside trigger. It can be a memory of what you did to me yesterday, how you treated me as a colleague or as a student or as a professor yesterday. I remember when you gave me the mid-term examination and you were unfair then. I’m quite sure you’re going to be unfair now. That’s an inside memory. But most of the time, I still see anger as a social, interpersonal process.
Most of the time, I’m going to become angry at a person or a group of people because of something that I perceive they did wrong. Let’s face it—I’m looking around in your office right now; I bet you don’t get angry at your bookcase.
You don’t get angry at your doorknob. You don’t get angry at your carpet. But you might get angry at your wife or your children or something like that. It’s always the social, interpersonal process. But it could be what the kids are doing today, or it could be you’re lying in bed and remembering what they did yesterday.
CC: That’s so powerful. I’ve specialized in working with people convicted of violent crimes and people are always really fascinated by the intense experiences I’ve had. I wonder if you could recall for us memorable and intense situation you encountered throughout your years in anger management.
HK: That’s an interesting question. I run an anger management program at Hofstra, and it’s housed in a generic building that has little children who are learning how to read, people who are having marital problems, and kids who are there all day as part of a child care center. So we’re always worried—is there going to be an intense anger problem? I’m always worried about my students, who are upstairs behind closed doors with anger patients, many of whom come from the probation department, and they’ve been convicted of anything from pushing and shoving to murder. They have histories. I’m always concerned. But I have to tell you that in the last nine years, we have had zero intense anger problems.
CC: Many new therapists are intimidated whenever it comes to working with angry patients. They’re scared of dealing with angry people, so I have my own approach to orienting them to the work. What’s something that you teach new therapists to do if they find themselves intimidated by the anger of their clients?
HK: Well, look at how I approached you, Christian, before we started this interview. I even made fun of your bald head.
CC: Yes, you did.
HK: Right? This is really important. The interpersonal therapeutic relationship, for me, is critical. You have to know how to not make every interaction into the most serious problem in the world. Most people, I find, are willing to kid around with me. They’re willing to take my barbs, my probes, my jabs, and that’s really what I say to students. Let your clients know that you’re in their corner. You know, “I understand you have been sent by your wife, sent by your husband, sent by the judge, from the probation department, and I’m going to be as respectful of you as I can, but I’m also going to jab you a little bit.” Then I ask, “Christian, would it be okay if I jabbed you a little bit? Can we play together like that?”
I think the only way people really get better is if we engage in reinforced practice in the office. So if I’m going to consider you as my patient for a moment, I might say things like, “Well, Christian, we’ve learned a bit about your life. You’re married and you have two children, and I know that you’re having troubles with your wife, who sometimes calls you lazy. Would it be okay if I called you lazy?”

The Comeback

HK: I’d talk to you a bit about that, and then I’d say, “Well let’s start off with some deep muscle relaxation.” I would make sure that you and I are on the same page, but then I would think about some kind of a hierarchy of insults. I’d start off with, “Well, Christian, take a deep breath. Just let your body relax. Consider what a nice day it is. I can see the sunshine behind you there. It’s really a nice day. Are you ready?”
CC: Yes.
HK: Here it comes. “You know, Christian, you seem very immature today. Take a deep breath in, and out.” So that was very mild.
CC: Very, yes.
HK: As the weeks go along, it’s going to escalate to, “Christian, you’re damned immature. Do you know that?” Then I’m going to go up to, “Christian, what the hell is wrong with you? How could a man of your age be so goddamned immature?”
CC: That’s awesome.
HK: And we’ll do two things. One, I’m going teach you to engage in those cognitive coping responses. So for example, say it to me.
CC: All right. Howard, you seem awfully immature.
HK: I understand what you’re saying. Thanks for sharing it with me.
CC: So you’re kind of putting me off there. That’s a sure sign of immaturity. You seem really immature.
HK: You have a real firm impression. It’s unpleasant to hear it, but I do want to thank you for sharing with me. It shows we have an honest relationship. Thank you.
CC: That’s great. That was a good comeback.
HK: What I’m trying to do is teach the patient a way of responding that, first of all, does not inflame, because—actually come at me again.
CC: Howard, you seem awfully immature.
HK: What about you? I mean, look at that shirt that you’re wearing. It’s like something I would wear around the supermarket or something, and here we are being interviewed! There’s that come back. Or, I could teach you another comeback—try it again.
CC: Boy, Howard, you really are immature.
HK: Yes, Christian. I bought a new hard drive for my computer yesterday.
You don’t know what to do with that, right?
CC: No, that totally threw me off.
HK: In my therapy, I try to, first of all, focus in on in your particular family or life, what are the adverse verbalizations that you might be receiving? That’s what I want to hone in on. I try to teach you either to relax deeply and not respond, to say something that’s really totally silly like, “I got a new hard drive,” to thank you for being honest, to say, “It’s unpleasant. I don’t like to hear it, but I can tolerate it.” So I’m teaching a variety of responses, you know?
CC: That’s great. It’s fantastic. I love the immediacy of the role-play right there in the moment.
HK: It works pretty well. Not all the time, obviously. I’m so interested about your work in the criminal justice system. Some of those people are kind of tough cookies.
CC: Yeah. Some of them are tough to crack, but overall, even though we’ve never met before this interview, there are so many things that you’re saying that I’m putting into practice. It’s so fun to be even in a role-play on the other end of that for even just a moment. It’s just great.
Tell me about your co-author. How did you get involved with Raymond Chip Tafrate?
HK: That’s kind of a funny story. Chip was originally my PhD student, and he was just going to become a practitioner and open up a mental health center. But then when he and I did this dissertation together on anger, we started to form this close bond. He went on to become a professor in a criminology and criminal justice department in Connecticut. We just bonded. He’s a wonderful man. If there is one thing I’ve learned—I’m sure you’ve been a professor also—there are just lots of things I don’t think about. We are both experts in the field, but you and I can really learn from each other.
And I thought I could learn from Chip. He’s thoughtful. He’s grounded. He comes out of a literature base now in criminology, that’s a little bit different from mine. Even though I taught him originally about REBT or relaxation training, he also studied with Ellis and he taught me about motivational interviewing. He really turned me on to that. So it’s just been a synergistic relationship.
CC: Well the book you wrote together, Anger Management: The Complete Treatment Guidebook for Practitioners, is extremely well done.
What’s something that you know now that you wish you could go back and tell yourself as a new therapist?
HK: I think I’d tell myself to be happy with small gains. If I can just teach that person not to rebel when the boss says, “I’d like you to stay an extra two hours tonight,” and not to flip off the boss, I’m happy with that these days.
CC: I think that’s so deep for people to get and really understand. Those little things, when people have been thinking one way their entire lives and all of a sudden now they can go that extra two hours and look at it differently, I think that’s big. I think learning to appreciate that is really big.
HK: I’m kind of unhappy when I go to some of the professional meetings these days. I hear about one-session or three-session or five-session treatments for Disorder X. I think we have a lifetime of learning. We have all kinds of reinforcements and punishments and incentives that are with us all day long. You really need time, and that’s something I didn’t understand as a young person.
Many times the judges here will mandate people to come see us for twelve sessions, twenty-four sessions. It’s not enough.

CC: I totally agree.

HK: I have a cousin who is a family court judge in California, and she says she recommends people for fifty-two sessions. I said, “I’m praying for that.”
CC: I just moved back to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a year-and-a-half ago, but I was a professor at the University of Nevada before that. I co-founded a center for violent offenders in South Lake Tahoe, California. So in California, if they commit a violent crime, they are sentenced to fifty-two weeks of anger management. That’s standard. But in Nevada, just on the other side of state line, if they get in trouble there they were only sentenced to twenty-six weeks. I found in my own research that people did not make the kind of changes in twenty-six weeks, not even close, to the ones who were sentenced to fifty-two weeks. So I am a big proponent of a long treatment. Here in Pennsylvania, I’ve have judges say, “If they need a session or two.” A session or two to change a lifetime of anger? That’s just funny.
HK: Sometimes we ask patients, “How much anger management did the judge tell you you need?” “Today, just today.”
CC: “I just need to come to this one class.”
HK: If there’s anything I’ve also learned it’s that change comes about not from a class, not from education, but from practice. I teach my students practice makes better. We have to get these people into our offices and practice better behaviors with them. I even had one case, one of my students, where we started to transition from kind of barbing him and insulting in the office and frustrating him in the office, to out in the real world. So this patient happened to have worked as a shoe salesman, and what my student did is he went to the shoe store and without the patient seeing, pushed over a whole batch of shoes. This guy used to respond with great anger, but we wanted to see if we had done anything. Indeed, he responded very well. So I think practice makes better, starting in the office, going to the natural environment. That’s one thing I’ve learned that I really didn’t fully understand as a beginning therapist.
CC: I wholeheartedly and really sincerely appreciate this interview and this time with you because it’s tremendous to listen and hear and say I agree. I mean, two people practicing in totally different parts of the country and our experiences sound so similar. To me, that’s grounded in truth. There’s an essence to that change that obviously is just there regardless of words.
HK: Thank you.

Fear and Consciousness: What I Learned from a Bike Accident

"Smile, breathe, and go slowly." — Thich Nhat Hahn
 

I got doored on Saturday night. I was riding my bike out to dinner with my husband and a guy in a big SUV opened his car door into the bike lane without looking and knocked me over. My face hit the pavement, I still don’t really know how my teeth weren’t knocked out, but my lips were cut and bleeding and my forehead was gashed and scraped. It happened so quickly and was so scary and weird.

Immediately kind people came up to me and asked over and over “are you ok?” “are you ok?” I didn’t want to answer yes because I didn’t really know. I was sitting on the street with blood all over me and I wasn’t sure if I was ok. I assessed my pain, my mind, my body. But when I didn’t answer immediately people began to say, “she’s in shock”; “she might have a concussion.” Although I was reluctant, the hostess at the Chapel bar across the street called the EMTs to come and assess me, and I didn’t argue.

When the EMTs arrived, they crowded around me, about four or five people, and began firing questions at me about what happened, “were you wearing a helmet?” “do you take any blood thinners?” “do you remember what happened?” “is this painful? is this?” Again I had the impulse to stay quiet and try to think before I answered questions, a state of being that was a bit unfamiliar to me, a person who normally anxiously blurts things out, responding as quickly as I can to anything that comes at me.

When they determined that I might have head trauma and drove me to the hospital on a back-board, an epic round of this activity began. At the trauma center people swarmed around me, some asking questions, some doing things to me, sometimes introducing themselves and explaining what was going on, sometimes not, questions, questions came one after another. I began to feel at home in my temporary (of course it was temporary) stillness. I was alive, I was still a human body, my man was with me, I was going to go home. I thought about the questions and answered them. At one point I said, “I need to cry a bit now” and I did. It was strangely wonderful.

And the funny thing was, the more chaotic it became the more calm I grew. I felt like a still, benevolent presence in my neck brace, slowly breathing and thinking about what was happening‚ exactly what is usually so hard to achieve internally. It was only when I was home and quiet later that I felt shaky, scared, and overwhelmed, but I think I had more tenderness for myself than I normally would. For instance, I would not let that internal voice berate me that the accident was somehow my fault. A breakthrough for sure.

What all these interactions reminded me of was nothing more than my own mind. It was as if by experiencing a state of high-anxiety all around me I was given some distance from that way of being in the world. All the pedestrians and EMTs and doctors were like representations of all my worries and concerns, they were each vying for attention so they could do their job, and so they could help and even save me. But what helped me was being safe in my own mind, feeling calm, thinking about what was happening and speaking when I knew something.

I greatly respect and feel gratitude towards all the kind people who helped me that night, they were doing their jobs wonderfully and I would not want them to behave any other way. What I mean to offer here is idea that life’s experiments with us can lead to a better sense of how we’d like to be present in the world.

I don’t recommend a bike accident to get to experience a tiny little shard of perception, but I bow to its terrible wisdom.
 

I’m Rubber, You’re Glue

“I’m rubber, you’re glue, what bounces off me sticks to you.” Recently one of my colleagues taught me this childhood taunt and response to name calling. It is one of the simplest and most accurate descriptions of projective identification that I have ever heard and makes me think of my client Nancy.

Nancy and I occupy different ends of the political spectrum. It is interesting to me that I can work comfortably with clients who are different from me in very many ways, yet the issue of political ideology is one that I have frequently found internally troublesome. Nancy hates Obama. She listens to conservative talk radio. She makes racist comments and I squirm in my chair, miserably caught between my values as a human and my experience of what is effective in a therapist. When she launches into a political rant, which is not uncommon in spite of my best efforts, I find myself backing up so far I could tip myself right out my window. I feel pissed off, defensive, and, weirdly, a little afraid.

I have a lot of theory at my disposal to think about this. Melanie Klein comes to mind most of often with this particular client, because Nancy occupies the paranoid-schizoid end of the spectrum more often than not (and oh how tempting it is to view our political differences in these developmental terms). Her world is peopled with mother and father substitutes who withhold and reject in ways that feel to her completely random and unpredictable. In this world, she is both utterly powerless and omnipotent. At a slightly different angle, her internal world (and through this lens, her external world as well) is peopled with victims, perpetrators, and passive observers. She bounces on and off these different self-concepts, always in motion, always caught within their confines. Or, afraid and disconcerted by her own aggression and hostility, she locates it in others. I think about all these things, and more, and these thoughts provide me with a little distance, a little room to process my own uncomfortable feelings, a space from which to offer observations, and, on good days, genuine empathy.

Nancy believes I am naïve about the nature of evil. She is certain that my trust in others and their motives is dangerous. Often, she accuses me of being the passive observer, allied with those who would stand by without protest and allow Jews to be herded into boxcars (and I share with her my thought that she fears I am like her mother, standing apart and not protecting her from her father’s abusiveness). For my part, I feel that, in her fantasy life at least, she would give Goebbels a run for his money. We are both right, in our way.

She hits a nerve with her accusations. It is true that I am uncomfortable with aggression and confrontation. I hope I would risk all for what is right, but confronted with risk to myself or my family, would I stand up to real evil? Or would I rationalize my cowardice? I have been fortunate enough to have had relatively few opportunities to test myself on any really grand scale, but on a smaller scale I am well aware that have sometimes been less courageous or morally upright than I would like.

The problem between us is not new, on the grand scale or the small one. Our worldviews are so wildly different that just expressing our perspectives feels like a fundamental and dangerous challenge to our disparate values and perceptions of reality. Hers is a world of impingements and threats, a world that requires constant vigilance and active self-protection. How can I say she is wrong, with all the objective evidence to the contrary? She feels like I counter the Holocaust with Sesame Street. I feel like she would be perfectly willing to napalm my village to secure her safety from the very people—gay, black, poor, Muslim, “Others”—that I wish to protect. We scare each other at a very primitive and regressed level.

What I end up doing is what we all do as therapists. It seems so simple when I write it. “You are frightened to think that I might not stand up for you if you were really in danger. You are right, I can be naïve. Is it possible sometimes you are afraid to see, or trust, what is good in people? Maybe we are sometimes both wrong, or both right.” Though it is a trial, I do not defend Obama or taxes or affirmative action or gun control or “socialist” medicine to her. I will not convince her through argument, that is certain, and there is no therapeutic gain to be had. Sometimes we are invigorated and challenged by our dialogue.

We have years between us, a small room, a therapeutic contract, and many opportunities for repair. Without this, I wonder, how easily could it happen that we would be willing to harm each other, each deeply convinced of the malign intent and potential for cruelty in the other? I fear it would be very, very easy.