Ethical Guidelines: Do We Really Want What Is Best For Our Clients?

Most therapists are familiar with the affliction of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). SAD impacts approximately seven million people each year in America, mainly women.

At one point in my career I shared a private practice office with a psychiatrist. She would use the office on some days and I would use it on others. When I entered the office for the first time I was struck by the fact that she had a phototherapy apparatus in the room. It was physically huge and was much larger than any commercial unit I had ever seen. Many experts believe that SAD is caused (or at least intensified) by a lack of sunlight. Hence, when the sun is not shining very often or the days get shorter depression sets in. Phototherapy devices fight the depression and emit massive amounts of full spectrum light. The phototherapy simulates or mimics the sunlight you would receive if you more spent time outdoors.
My initial reaction to this situation was beyond positive. I was elated that this psychiatrist was utilizing cutting edge technology. I thus decided to praise her and let her know in no uncertain terms that I was impressed.

The good doctor's reaction, nevertheless, was hardly what I expected. "Oh my gosh, no, I don't use it for my clients. That's fringe psychiatry. Somebody might think it was unethical. I might even be sued or reported to the Board of Healing Arts. I might be branded as a quack."

"Well what in the world is a light therapy lamp doing in your office?" I asked inquisitively.

"In the dreary short days of winter I am stuck in this office all day and I generally become extremely depressed, so I had an engineer build me a phototherapy unit that is stronger than anything you can purchase. As soon as my current patient exits the treatment room I flip on my phototherapy device. I then turn it off before the next patient enters the office."

Oh, so now I get it: It's good enough for you, but not for your patients. Go figure.

In one of my recent books, Favorite Counseling and Therapy Techniques, I share a fascinating story about a young man I treated who had such low self-esteem that he walked bent over like an ape. The kids at school thought it was hilarious and made the situation worse by calling him the Ape Man.

One reason for the young man's Ape Man posture was that he believed he was extremely ugly and could never date a nice young woman. To counter his feelings I set up a contrived situation in which a female colleague walked in the room and said, "Gosh, is that your client, he's really cute." He seemed shocked (exactly the reaction I wanted). I told him we weren't going to discuss his looks because we both knew he was an exceptionally good looking guy and there were serious issues of his we needed to work on. He walked out with the finest posture he had displayed in years. Cured, no. Improved, yes.

Unfortunately, I also point out in my book that today's ethics which stress informed consent would not permit an intervention of this ilk. The female colleague who gave him the compliment would need to be identified as part of the treatment or therapy team up front and there is a 99% chance he would have totally discounted her remarks as being staged. (The young man's mother had repeatedly told him he was a good looking guy many times to no avail.)

Along these same lines a client I shall call John came to see me who severely depressed. John's brother was a very well-known psychiatrist. Now I was aware of the fact that ethical codes frown on (or downright prohibit) dual or multiple relationships, but certainly John's brother knew another top notch psychiatrist who could help. Why was John seeking my little old services?

When I asked John why his brother did not provide a psychiatric referral John quoted his brother verbatim. "Look I give those dangerous psychiatric medicines to my patients, but I'm not going to let my family take them. You need psychotherapy."

I so I get it. It's not good enough for your family, but it's okay for your patients. Oh sorry, I think I said something similar to that that before.

I remember hearing a presentation given by Jay Haley once. He told a powerful story regarding a difficult client he had successfully treated. I raised my hand and asked if his psychotherapeutic intervention was in violation of the ethical principle of informed consent. It certainly seemed like that was the case.

Haley was silent for a moment and then grinned. "I never let ethics get in the way of good treatment."

The problem for those of us who are mere mortals is that Haley's philosophy might leave us without a therapist's license and standing in a long unemployment line.
 

How One Desperate St. Louis Psychotherapist Cured A Schizophrenic

Maggie began the session by telling me that she had been diagnosed by three different psychiatrists. The good news was that all three agreed on the diagnosis. The bad news was that each psychiatrist told her she was schizophrenic.

"So, what brings you here today?" I asked.

"Well, I saw something in the newspaper and it said you wrote some books on mental health and teach in the field so I thought you might know something these psychiatrists don't."

(Wow. How refreshing. A client who actually thought that a nonmedical mental health professional such as myself would know more than a bona fide MD psychiatrist. Perhaps this was my lucky day. Maybe I should purchase a lottery ticket or search Google for the nearest horse race track.)

As Maggie began talking my elevated mood and optimism began dropping like a thermometer placed in an overactive refrigerator freezer. In short order I was convinced that the psychiatrists were wrong — dead wrong. This lady wasn't just schizophrenic. Maggie displayed more hallucinations, delusions, and thought disorders, than ten schizophrenics combined. As I listened I couldn't help thinking that the folks who penned the DSM needed a new category. What? Oh heck, I didn't know, perhaps mega-psychotic or super-schizophrenic or something. Now I realize that doesn't sound nice and isn't very high on the Carkhuff Scales, but at least I was facing reality: something Maggie clearly was not doing.

The session went on for what seemed like eternity. At the end of our meeting I was faced with a dilemma. If I diagnosed Maggie as schizophrenic for the fourth time she would be devastated. I scribbled something on her insurance super bill and scheduled her for another appointment.

I continued to see Maggie weekly for approximately one year. To say that she made monumental progress would be an understatement. I thus terminated her.

About a year later I saw an article about her in the neighborhood newspaper. Maggie was being honored by her college for being the only student in her program to snare a perfect 4.0 straight A average as a chemistry major. The article also boasted that she landed a pristine job in her chosen field.

Just days after I read the article Maggie dropped in not for a therapy session (because she was doing very well), but just to say "hello."

"You are doing fantastic," I said. "Listen, I just have to know. What I'm about to ask you will help me with all the clients I will be seeing in the future. Why do you think you made such good progress in therapy? Was it because we explored the abuse in your childhood? Was it the relaxation techniques? Perhaps it was the dream work. Maybe it was the focus on your self-talk."

"Oh no," she replied. "I'm sure those things were helpful, but none of them cured me. No, not a single one of them. I can tell you precisely what it was.

Do you remember when you saw me for the first time and I mentioned that three psychiatrists had diagnosed me as schizophrenic? Well we decided right then and there that because you had written some books and taught in a college you knew a lot more than those psychiatrists. And when I left your office after my first session I felt terrific because I glanced at the insurance bill you gave me and you said I was an undifferentiated type. And that was wonderful news because schizophrenia is caused by chemical imbalances and genetics and it can't be cured. You know that.

But, I wasn't schizophrenic. I was just a normal person who was an undifferentiated type. And that meant I could be cured."

Thus, if you happen to be an advisor in a graduate program and an upbeat perky chemistry major named Maggie comes strolling in, please, pretty please with sugar on top, promise me you won't even think about letting her enroll in an abnormal psychology class.

Interrupting the Conversation: Gestalt Therapy Here and Now

It’s well established in the clinical literature that the therapeutic relationship is of key importance; attending to client-therapist contact is a useful lens for any therapeutic practice, whatever the orientation. But how this knowledge is played out in the course of our work can be unclear. It is easy to get caught up in our clients’ ever-urgent presenting problems and try to “fix” whatever is wrong.

Part of the power of Gestalt therapy is that its focus is not on problem solving or on getting people to think differently. Rather, Gestalt calls us to attend closely to the here and now of the relationship, creating an encounter in which the client can develop awareness of the therapeutic encounter—what is happening to him between us in the moment.

Jim: A Case Study

Jim came into therapy because he was feeling “stuck” in his life. When he strode into my office for the first time, grabbed my hand, and pumped it a few times. He seemed like he was in a hurry to catch a bus. But despite his energetic demeanor and polished appearance, Jim was deeply unhappy. Forty-one years old and divorced, Jim had two children from his previous marriage. He felt that he was in a dead-end job in finance. He was also unhappy with his ability to have deep, enduring positive relationships with women and peers.

In the first two minutes of our initial session, as I went briefly over what I do and how I do it, Jim interrupted me. “That’s really good,” he said, “but here is what I want to talk to you about.”

“Jim, let me just finish,” I replied, and continued what I was saying.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—I’ve got it.” Jim then barreled forward in great, great detail – overwhelming detail – explaining his concerns.

As he wrapped up his first monologue, I attempted to interject some thoughts about what he was saying; I particularly wanted to explore his relationships with women. As I asked my questions, he rolled right over me and continued to explain what it was that he thought I needed to know – completely oblivious to the idea that I was trying to explore what he had just said. I began to feel frustrated.

After a while, I said to him, “Jim, are you aware that every time I want to say something to you, you cut me off?”

But rather than respond to what I said, he raced on with his story about a terrible first date he’d recently been on. He explained that he had regaled his date with wild tales of his life. All the while he delivered his story, he did not look at me.

A few minutes later, I stopped him again and said, “Jim, I want you to notice as we talk what happens. I just want you to pay attention to what’s going on between us as we are talking. Not just what you’re saying to me, not just the ideas, but what’s happening between us.”

He answered me with a jerk of his head. “Okay, okay. Well, you did say that I don’t give you a chance.” He went on to tell me in greater detail the content of some of these stories with which he had entertained this beautiful young woman. “I can’t figure out,” he said, “how she couldn’t want to go out with me again!”

Now, in response to my repeated attempts to respond to him, Jim had raised his voice, was speaking even more quickly, and was leaning into me, gesticulating forcefully, as he explained to me in intricate detail how, after being so entertaining on this date, he couldn’t possibly have failed to get this woman’s attention.

Several minutes later, as I was preparing to say something, he raised his hands high, looked right at me, and said, “I know, I know. I need to let you talk.” But immediately he dropped his eyes and started up again. Clearly, he had noticed what I was doing but then had plunged forward into another rush of content.

This time I cut in firmly.

“You don’t ‘have’ to let me talk,” I said. “I’m just trying to help you notice what happens between us as I try to have this conversation. It’s very hard to get a word in edgewise.”

He stopped for a minute. Then, in a lower voice tinged at the end with an edge of sadness, he said, “You know, some of the women I’ve dated have complained to me about that.”

“Really?” I said wryly, with a slight amount of mock curiosity.

“They say I’m so enthusiastic that I never ask them about themselves.”

“What do you think it’s like to be in a relationship with somebody who does that, Jim?”

He paused again. “Ahh…Probably not great.”

“Probably not.”

“You know,” he said, “what you’re saying reminds me of the way it was at my dinner table. Everybody talked non-stop, especially my father and my brothers. It was hard to get a word in edgewise. We all fought for the mike, trying to get someone to listen to us.”

“Well, it’s obvious from the way you are now that it’s something you are still doing,” I replied.

“You’re right.” His face grew sad. “Do you think that has anything to do with my problem developing close relationships?”

“Of course I do. You’ve already told me that people have pointed this out, but clearly their pointing it out hasn’t had much of an impact on you.”

He shook his head sheepishly and looked down. “You’re right,” he repeated. After this, he began to look at me with a little bit of interest, with more respect and curiosity. He became a little more interested in what I had to say, as well as to notice his own voice. From a Gestalt perspective, he started becoming more aware of how he was interacting in the session. This, in turn, heightened his awareness of his internal experience as well as the impact of his behavior on me.

As the session continued, Jim began to be more aware not just of what he was saying, but how he was saying it. By the end, he was noticing how often he interrupted me. He seemed sadder, and his bullet-train monologue had slowed down. As I looked in his eyes, I could see a slight clouding and the beginning of a sorrowful look, as opposed to his earlier wild, intense expression. As he started to calm down, he paid more attention to me, and in the process, his sadness began to well up inside of him.

At the end of the session, he asked, “Is there something I can do?”

“I just want you to pay attention the best you can, between now and the next time we meet, to see if you can notice when you feel like interrupting anyone—before you do it.”

“This was really helpful,” he said, leaving.

The Here and Now: A Historical Perspective

Unlike other forms of psychotherapy, what was important to me with Jim in this first session was not understanding his history or his concerns in detail. Rather, from the very beginning of the session, I was paying attention to how we were together. What was important to me was the nature of contact, how we engaged each other. In this case, what I focused on was the experience of Jim not being able to listen to me, his talking a mile a minute, his inability to respond, and the fact that he was semi-disengaged from me and what I was saying.

So, from the very beginning of the session, I focused on raising his awareness, helping him to begin to notice how he was saying what he was saying as well as the quality of our engagement. Throughout the first session, I did not concentrate on gathering details of his life, trying to teach him how to combat the thoughts in his head, or trying to establish a relationship by getting to know him. I was primarily interested in helping him to experience the process of how we are together.

The Gestalt approach originated in the late ’40s with a group of New York intellectuals objected to psychoanalysis, which they saw as severely limited because it focused on pathology, as opposed to potential. These intellectuals—Laura and Fritz Perls, Paul Goodman, and Ralph Hefferline, among others—responded to this lack by creating a more open, engaged, enlivened psychotherapeutic experience, one focused on liberation and growth, which allowed the human personality to transcend the limitations of the defenses.

Gestalt took people off the couch and put them into a face-to-face encounter with the therapist. Rather than intellectual analysis, Gestalt’s primary vehicles were awareness and contact. In focusing on the “here and now” encounter, Gestalt made a left turn from psychoanalysis and brought the idea of the experience of the client into the therapy process, as well as the presence of the therapist into the encounter. It’s a relationship, and the therapeutic process emerges out of the relationship.

In its early days, Gestalt was closely connected to the work of Fritz Perls, who rightly or wrongly, was perceived as narcissistic and at times insensitive. Because of his aggressive approach, Gestalt got an unsafe, brutal, almost encounter-group-like reputation. But Perls was also incredibly bright and able to develop great insight into clients’ processes. In the years since its origins, Gestalt has emerged as a philosophy and methodological approach that is used by psychotherapists all over the world. While it is still true to the basic foundational principles outlined by its founders, Gestalt has evolved into a model that truly allows clients to experience themselves and use their resources to create fundamental change in themselves.

Moving Forward

In the Gestalt process, as the client makes contact and begins to experience himself in relationship to the other, his self becomes more visible to him and to his therapist. As Jim became more aware of what was going on inside of him, his self began to emerge in the moment. He began to be able to access his internal world in a different way than he had before, and he began to be more aware of the impact of his behavior on others.

As the therapy progressed, he began to feel and express sadness about his low quality of life; and as he experienced his feelings more, his engagement with me improved. Rather than talking at me, he made eye contact and talked to me about his sadness and loneliness, and his inability to be successful in the way he wanted to be with women and with peers.

One of the things that he discovered in our encounters was that as he began to interrupt less and focus more on what I had to say, he became more anxious and unsure of himself. He realized talking so much was an effort to relieve his anxiety—he was scared to slow down and engage people in a more intimate way. Clearly, Jim began to encounter on a deeper level the core issues that were troubling him about his current existence.

Staying in the Present While Working With the Past

One of the myths that have floated around the therapy world for many years is that Gestalt is only about the present. Somehow the here-and-now focus of the Gestalt approach created an impression that the past was never dealt with in Gestalt therapy. What is different about Gestalt is not whether the past is dealt with, but how it is dealt with.

As I worked with Jim through our relationship in the moment, his past began to emerge in a historical way. At one stage, when I pointed out to him that he never responded to what I said, but rather told me whatever came to mind in reaction to my words, some childhood memories emerged forcefully. As a child, he told me, his parents had always been telling him what to do, talking at him, and very seldom listening to him or taking what he said and making that the focus of the conversation. In other words, as I pointed out in our sessions what was happening in the present, Jim’s past began to emerge organically.

In another moment in the therapy when Jim tuned into a feeling of sadness at his current lack of relationships, he began to talk about how difficult it was that his family was isolated. They didn’t have very many family friends, and didn’t spend much time together as a unit. As a result, Jim did not have a lot of practice at engaged relationship building.

In this way, the past is slowly unwound and filtered into the present. Early childhood issues emerge in the moment and are dealt with in the moment, rather than being called up intellectually by taking a history.

When the past does emerge in Gestalt therapy, we frequently bring it back into the present. For instance, when Jim brought up his mother, I often asked him to imagine her in the room and to say something to her, so that he was able to experience vividly his feelings about the past, in the present. As a result, he was more able to encounter and engage the impact of the past on his behavior today.

Jim’s Turning Point

Jim slowly became able to notice his own tendency to coopt conversations with his own thoughts rather than respond to what others were saying. He recognized that this was keeping him from deepening his relationships. As Jim’s therapy continued, he began not only to listen, but for the first time also to respond to those around him.

At this point in the therapy process, he met a woman named Sarah. The interesting part for Jim was that he met her on a flight home from a business trip. While he was sitting next to her on the plane, he had what he called his “little Norman bird” on his shoulder, who told him he needed to listen to what she had to say, draw her out, and try to understand her perspective, instead of regaling her as he always did with vignettes from his life.

He spent time talking to Sarah and really used his newfound skills. They got into what he called “a wonderful conversation.” They had so much fun on the plane that Sarah gave him her number. He asked her out and she accepted. They began to date.

It was important for Jim to handle the dating process a completely new way. Rather than focusing on trying to interest her in himself and thereby driving her away, he actually reversed the process and listened; and as he spent time getting to know her, she became increasingly interested in learning about him.

In addition to his budding relationship with Sarah, Jim began to do a better job in his work environment. He had always been semi-successful professionally, but as he became more engagement savvy and able to build relationships with people, his rapport with his employees began to flourish. Previously, those who reported to him at work had seen him only as a windbag and taskmaster. As he began to change, his employee satisfaction scores rose and he even got promoted, solely because his employees began to experience him as a more effective manager and leader.

Jim’s Ability to Live a Fuller Life: The Goal of Gestalt

As Jim engaged more fully in life by actively listening and responding to what was happening around him, life in turn rewarded him. This is one of the most powerful parts of psychotherapy, and of Gestalt therapy specifically. Jim received more attention from women as they began to feel like he was interested in them. Jim’s colleagues noticed his new responsiveness and relative ease at engagement. All of these changes emerged as a result of struggling in the encounter.

Of course, my work with Jim was much richer and more multifaceted than it has been presented here, but focusing on this particular issue illustrates what happens in the Gestalt therapy process and how the world can begin to seem different to our clients. He heard more. He was more aware. He took more personal responsibility. He really heard what people said and it had more of an impact on him, he was able to be touched by others. He got more positive feedback and support from the world as his self evolved.

This, then, is the heart of Gestalt therapy: to help our clients expand and meet their potential for fuller, more rewarding lives, while always starting in the moment, wherever they happen to be. For Gestalt therapists, strengthening the therapeutic relationship by attending to contact in the here and now of the session is not merely an end in itself; rather, it is by attending to the quality of connection in that moment that the client learns how to be present, both with his own internal experience and in relationship with the therapist. This awareness itself is the catalyst for change, opening new doors of possibility to both the past and the future.

The God of Hellfire Will See You Now

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown

On a number of occasions in the late 1960s, an exceptionally gangly gentleman made up in skeleton face paint would affix what has been described as a metal plate to the top of his head with a leather strap and commence singing a song called “Fire” to assembled crowds in a dark, cramped Paris nightclub. The song begins with the spoken/shouted intro, “I am the God of Hellfire and I bring you…FIRE!” The key to making this routine particularly dangerous (rather than just slightly odd) was the fact that the plate, probably more of a shallow bowl, contained gasoline, which would be set aflame as the performer took the stage. The showman in question would cavort about the stage in an approximation of a cross between a witch doctor’s contortions and the popular ’60s novelty dance, the Frug. Not surprisingly, his ill-designed headgear would tip and spill varying amounts of flaming liquid on his body and brightly-colored stage costume, turning the already smoky club even more so. Fortunately for him, his bandmates quickly became adept at performing as an ad hoc fire brigade.

While the DSM may not have a particular diagnosis for such behavior (yet), a casual observer might be forgiven for assuming that the sort of person who would behave in such a manner might be more likely to be a recipient of psychotherapy rather than a provider. The fact that in this instance the reverse is true provides one of the more interesting chapters in the annals of mental health practice. Arthur Brown, the pop singer who gave new meaning to the term “smoldering stage presence,” followed a long and unusual path from performing rock and roll in the psychedelic sixties to performing psychotherapy in the early 1990s in Texas.

Brown was born in England on June 24, 1942. Like many artistically inclined young Englishmen of his generation, Brown went away to college and ended up in a band. But unlike ersatz “art” students Mick Jagger and John Lennon, despite his keen interest in music, Brown stayed the course and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy.

Soon after, music became his full-time vocation, and his band, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, released their eponymous debut album in 1968. Their single, the aforementioned “Fire,” reached number 1 in the UK charts and number 2 in the States. Their failure to follow up this initial success marks Brown and company as one of the benighted breed popular culture terms “One-Hit Wonders.” Despite their lack of chart success, Brown, with his band and later as a solo artist, continued to work steadily well into the 1970s. His greatest contribution to music history, however, may be the influence he wielded through his choice of material and stage persona. Brown may today be viewed as a clear link on the continuum from Screamin’ Jay Hawkins in the 1950s to artists like Alice Cooper in the 1970s and Marilyn Manson today. You may or may not have heard of Brown or his most famous song, but his Goth-before-Goth-was-cool style has influenced just about every bombastic and excessively theatrical heavy metal/progressive rock act you’ve ever seen.

By 1980, his career as a musician was at such a low ebb that Brown and his then-wife decided to make a fresh start in America. They chose as their destination “the live music capital of the world,” Austin, Texas. Willie Nelson had famously retreated there for similar reasons a decade earlier with productive results, and Brown found amiable company in a number of other expatriates from the world of rock stardom. Brown kept at the music but soon found himself working as journeyman carpenter and the proprietor of a house painting business. While the work was rewarding enough financially, it did little to satisfy the creative muse. Brown found himself ready for another change but unsure what it was to be.

From Rockstar to Masters Student

Then in 1989, Vincent Crane, former keyboardist in The Crazy World of Arthur Brown and Brown’s longtime friend and bandmate, lost his long battle with bipolar illness, committing suicide. Whether this tragedy was the catalyst for Brown’s next move is open to speculation. But not long after returning to Texas from the funeral in Britain, Brown enrolled in the Masters in Counseling program at Southwest Texas State University (today known as Texas State University).

Such an endeavor may seem to be a truly unexpected left turn in the life of an avant-garde artiste. However, there were portents aplenty in Brown’s past which indicated an interest in helping others and exploring personal growth. In a period when it seemed almost de rigueur for pop stars to explore Eastern religion, Brown took a shine to Sufism. Other religions had been a fascination as well, as he studied formally and informally with everyone from practicing Druids to priests of the Greek Orthodox Church. Moreover, Brown seems to have delved deeply into the primordial soup of the ’70s self-actualization/encounter ethos, taking a self-guided tour of the “Me” decade. A trip to Israel during the Yom Kippur War to entertain wounded soldiers (presumably he spared them the flaming hat) inspired in him a keen interest in the healing properties of music.

But perhaps the biggest giveaway to his future career was the b-side of “Fire,” a song called “Rest Cure.” While the term is now archaic, it refers to a discreet stay in a sanitarium of the sort described by Simon and Garfunkel in “Mrs. Robinson”—a getaway to nice, quiet facility to collect one’s nerves. The lyrics reveal that Brown seems even then to have seen himself as able to provide a cure for the ills of modern society.

When the world is getting you down.
And nothing is in its right place;
Your friends are letting you down.
And you can’t seem to find the right face.
All you want is me,
All you need is me to give you,
Rest cure for all your ills,
Rest cure to make the world stand still.
Rest cure and the world won’t bring you down no more.

Brown was an able and ardent non-traditional student, making the 60-mile round trip from home to school each day, and he rapidly established positive relationships with classmates and professors alike. It was at a party on campus one day at which both groups mixed that Brown performed a light-hearted impromptu tune, name-checking all present. This so impressed one of his professors that she was moved to suggest he find a way to blend his musical gifts with his newly minted learning.

Brief Atypical Music Therapy

Shortly after picking up his diploma, he set up a counseling practice with a fellow alumnus to do just that. They named their venture “Healing Songs Therapy,” and in this context Brown and his cohort introduced a new therapeutic form.

As described in various media outlets, the session began much like a normal 50-minute hour. Brown’s partner would allow the client to describe his or her concerns and issues offering feedback in the normal therapist-client interaction as Brown sat to the side of the room with notepad and guitar at hand. Following the cessation of the first portion of the session, Brown would then perform an original song in which he brought forth insights and reflection about things he believed he had heard in the client’s narrative. The client would be given an audiotape of the song and be sent on his or her way, having completed a course of what might be called Brief Atypical Music Therapy.

In 1992, not long after Healing Songs had opened up shop, a feature reporter from the Austin daily paper came to Brown and his partner ostensibly seeking help with a mild phobia of driving in rush hour highway traffic, and more to the point, for a story. Following her hour with the duo, she reported coming away with her trepidations at least somewhat alleviated, along with a personalized song on cassette which she could pop into her stereo the next time she was caught in traffic. Evidently from the snippet of lyrics she published of her seven-minute personalized “healing song,” Brown saw in her presenting problem echoes of deeper existential issues.

I have a dream that I am keeping,
And I will not let it surface,
For the fear that rules my life
Has taken me and chained me to my own
Image of reflecting everything,
That I can’t hold onto.

A certain amount of notoriety followed as the fledgling practice grew. Other news outlets across Texas began to feature stories, as did People magazine with a story entitled “The Singing Shrink.” Of these stories, the early reporter/client from Austin offered one of the few independent reviews of Brown’s new therapy technique. Most of the accounts are long on Brown’s unmistakable enthusiasm for his latest venture and favorable words from experts about the broad efficacy of more traditional forms of music therapy, but very short on any sort of objective examination of the Healing Songs modality. The rejoinder from more knowledgeable quarters (such as representatives of the duos’ alma mater) was less than favorable, however. In response to the mostly positive article in the Austin paper, a professor from the Southwest Texas counseling faculty took exception in a letter to the editor decrying the inference that the university in any way endorsed or even recognized the potential validity of Brown’s approach.

The perturbed prof seemingly didn’t need to worry so, as what might one day have developed into a new therapeutic discipline seems to have fallen by the wayside when Brown’s music career began to heat up once again, probably due in part to the sudden spate of publicity regarding his side venture. Just when Brown put aside the formal role as a budding psychotherapist is hard to ascertain. The state credentialing board offers no record of Brown ever actually obtaining licensure as a Professional Counselor or Music Therapist. However, it’s safe to assume he gave up formal counseling at some point after departing Texas for a European tour with his new band in late 1992. Given Brown’s interest in his own inner world as well as that of other human beings, it seems likely that he still, shaman-like, exerts whatever healing powers he believes are in his possession from the stage. However, office hours are a thing of the past.

In the end, one has to wonder about the great unreleased Arthur Brown album. Ballads and Poems of Fin-de-Siècle Problems of Living, it might be called, or Arthur Brown Makes Your World Not So Crazy. According to the account in People, Brown and his partner had reached a height of 20 sessions a month at the time of writing. Thus, there could well be as many as hundreds of unknown Arthur Brown compositions out there in the world. While cassette tapes are today an almost forgotten technology, surely a personalized song dealing with a deeply personal issue and written by an erstwhile rock star is the sort of thing more than just a few people might have held onto. Secreted away in junk drawers and the back of closets, they await a 21st-century John Lomax to bring them to light once more.

Sleep and the Therapist: A Poem

Most times it is courteous
Sending notice of its pending arrival
Yawns that begin tiny, politely, and gradually stretch the jaw
Blinks that seem to beat in slow motion to some unknown tune and then even slower to some unheard command
This time, however, its approach was one a stealth bomber would envy
A stealth attack if there ever was one and in the most inconvenient place . . . a therapy session

It was not that I was bored or even distracted
Looking at the clock in disbelief that what I knew was half an hour
was in fact just five minutes
Just seconds before, I had been attentive, present when suddenly, sleep descended
Seductive, irresistible, folding me in soft arms
And I was in trouble
Struggling to contain jaw splitting yawns in the twin caves of my cheeks
Changing positions frequently as if the chair's cushion was suddenly holding the heat of a Texas summer day
or had morphed into its cousin, holding pins
Crossing first the right knee over the left
Then the left over the right
Crossing the ankles in similar fashion
Trying to do all this with style and nonchalance

Usually I value eye contact but now I am grateful for the seconds my client looks down or away
Shutting my eyes quickly for sweet relief
Hoping I can open them before she looks up again
But desperation sets in when I see three identical clients where there is only one
Prayers ascend rapidly and fervently
"God, please don't let me fall asleep." "Please help me stay awake." "Please, God, please!!"
"Just for a few more minutes, help me keep my eyes open"
And I almost believe that I hear sleep's soft laughing whisper, "Stop fighting and embrace me."
My prayers are now one word, "Help!" "Please!"
Then finally, it is time to end and if I was ever happier to see quarter or ten till the hour
I cannot recall it

Supervision of Executive Coaching

Last year I was tempted out of my retirement as a psychotherapist to provide supervision to a group of colleagues working with business executives. This was not psychotherapy but coaching, and my protests that I had never done any coaching or even read very much about it were overruled: they wanted me and they had every confidence that I would do a good job. I was flattered of course, intrigued too, and the extra money was welcome. So I began. Sessions were individual and scheduled to last an hour and a half, not the usual fifty minute hour. I met my supervisees just once a month. These parameters took some getting used to and I found myself having to take detailed notes in the session, something I had not done for years, simply in order to keep in mind who people were, what their place was in a particular firm, what work they were doing and who they related to. It was a steep learning curve and, more than once, I wondered whether I had taken on something of a monster. But I got used to it and developed a way of working that suited me. Interestingly, only one person out of the six I was supervising asked me at the outset what my model of supervision was. I was not expecting the question and answered without preparatory thought. I listen to what you tell me, I said, and, where appropriate, I shall say something. I admit that this is terribly vague but it is nevertheless accurate. I could have said something about attending to the currents and undercurrents in the material, or about the dynamics of relationships, or about the transactional nature of coaching. But I felt that that was too prescriptive and even, to some degree, false. I would do what I was good at and what I had done as a therapist, which was work out what I thought might be going on and seek out the best moment to make an intervention. This is not as straightforward as it sounds.

In supervision there are three levels of ‘what might be going on.’ What the coach/therapist and client are doing in the world outside, what material the coach/therapist chooses to bring to the session, and what is happening there and then in the supervisory relationship. The last is particularly important. One of the supervisees was someone I had met 20 years ago when we were both involved in training clinical psychologists but I had not seen since. He is a likable and charismatic person with an unusual background. At our first supervisory meeting, he said that, when he had heard I was to be their supervisor, he had told his colleagues how great I was and how he had known me for 20 years. My ears pricked up not just at the effusive compliment but the claim to have known me for 20 years when the truth was he had known me briefly 20 years ago, an important difference. I said nothing. Time would reveal whether his desire for special recognition would be important in the work as indeed it has proved to be.

The man who asked me what my model of supervision was suddenly quit. He came to one session and bluntly told me that he had decided to stop. It was not adding enough value and he was a busy man. I was filled with overwhelming anger. I felt the narcissistic wounding and I knew this was in part counter-transference, how I hated to be wrong-footed and made to seem a worthless minion. I waited a while for my feelings to lessen and then formulated my response. “You have sacked me,” I said, deliberately using that dismissive word, “and I am feeling quite angry at that.” Immediately, he acknowledged the peremptory way he had done this, apologising for it. The anger, which had been felt by both of us, was transformed and even though, he stuck to his decision to quit, we could spend the last session in productive work.

There are some who argue that supervisors have a responsibility to tell their supervisees what they are doing wrong or to suggest particular techniques to use. While there is a place for this, it is far less important that understanding and reflecting back. It is better for supervisees to find things out for themselves and unless something very bad is going on, the supervisor should not be directive. In a heated debate on supervision in the late 1970s, I vividly recall a distinguished psychoanalyst quietly saying, “Those who tell their supervisees what to do end up telling their clients what do.” He did not mean it as a compliment.
 

Training for the Treatment of Eating Disorders

Eating disorders are widely recognized as some of the most challenging psychological diagnoses. I was surprised to learn that they are also the most dangerous: eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any diagnosis. Many clinicians assume that eating disorders only occur in young women. However, research has shown that the frequency of eating disorders is rising across a wide range of client populations, including men, middle-aged, and the elderly. Regardless of the population you work with, sooner or later you will encounter clients with eating disorders.

How can a clinician get training to help clients with eating disorders? I recently discussed this with Deborah Brenner-Liss, PhD, the director of the Association of Professionals Treating Eating Disorders (APTED). APTED is an affiliation of eating disorder specialists based in the San Francisco Bay Area. APTED provides support and training for clinicians, and referrals and direct service for clients.

APTED emphasizes a multi-modal method of treating eating disorders, including trauma, attachment-focused, somatic, experiential and affect-focused treatments. Given the complexity of eating disorder ontology and treatment, Dr. Brenner-Liss encourages students to “enlarge the depth of their conceptualizations”. APTED treatment includes a wide range of providers in the treatment team, including therapists, social workers, physicians, psychiatrists, nutritionists, body workers and coaches. (I personally find this to be a welcome relief from the all-too-common clinical turf battles!)

For clients with sub-clinical eating disorders, Dr. Brenner-Liss recommends consulting with an eating disorder specialist. Like other addictions, eating disorders are behaviors that build over time, and can sometimes be arrested in the early stages if they are addressed early with serious treatment.

For clinicians who want to work with clinical-level eating disorders, Dr. Brenner-Liss recommends getting formal training. In the San Francisco Bay Area, both UC Berkeley extension and JFK University provide eating disorder certificates. For those in other areas, the International Association of Eating Disorders Professionals Foundation (IAEDP) provides an online training and certification course (http://www.iaedp.com/). The IAEDP course includes readings, audio records from IADEP conferences, and writing assignments. I am currently taking this course myself, and have found it very rich.

Dr. Brenner-Liss also recommends joining a eating disorder-focused consultation in order to get exposure to a wide range of case material. Likewise, attending a weekly 12-step eating disorder group for a few months can provide valuable insight into the nature and course of eating disorders. Most ED groups are “open” so clinicians can be a “fly on the wall.”

For those in the SF Bay Area, APTED is hosting a two-day conference, “Re-Finding Our Way to Wholeness: What heals? Eating Disorders and Trauma,” September 24-25th, 2011, in Berkeley.  Registration required by September 10th. For more info, call 415-608-6307, or e-mail AptedSF@aol.com.  Notably, the conference is open to both clinicians and individuals in recovery.  I am personally encouraged by the growing movement in the psychotherapy community to break down the barriers between providers and clients.  (Another notable recent example is the Marsha Linehan's courageous self-disclosure about her struggle with mental illness.)

Listening versus Hearing in Psychotherapy

In my memoir, The Gossamer Thread: My Life as a Psychotherapist, I describe my treatment of ‘Angie’, a young mother with horrific fantasies of killing her two young children by stabbing them through the heart with a kitchen knife. It was back in the 1980s and I was in the process of shedding my old behaviour therapy skin, realising I needed to listen to the client more carefully before embarking on any specific intervention. My therapy was a success, or so it seemed at the time. I even wrote her case up for a behaviour therapy journal under the grandiose title, Verbal methods of behaviour change. I had confidently formulated her fantasies as extreme anxiety since there was no evidence of her ever harming her children. I discovered that they had begun after she had read a newspaper account of a couple’s murder of their children in a Satanic ritual. She worried that, however much she loved her children, that she too could be taken over by the Devil and do things she would never normally do. I saw this as vicarious traumatisation and her anxiety stemmed from her ruminations about this. I was able to help her, getting her to monitor the fantasies, reframing them as anxious thoughts, and substituting more positive ones, until the fantasies declined significantly in both intensity and frequency. This was my pre-cognitive therapy days and Angie was to lead me into training as a cognitive therapist. But that is another story.

I revisited the case in my book and, looking back, I realised that, while I had listened to Angie, I had not really heard her. Or rather I had heard what I had wanted to hear. She was a young mother, looking after two very young children while her husband was away working on the North Sea oil rigs. She was living hundreds of miles from her home town and the family she had grown up with. She had relatively little money and had given up her job. She was trapped like many young mothers are. Was that perhaps what this was all about? After all, what trapped her most were her children as they needed her constant care and attention. Could her fantasies be an unconscious expression of her resentment of them? If I had trained in systemic therapies, I might have heard a different story to the one I had carefully elicited with my prototype cognitive therapy hat on. I might have heard how unhappy she was, perhaps heard her fear that her marriage was a mistake and that she no longer loved her husband. Or had I been more analytically inclined, I might have wondered about the aggression in the fantasies and perhaps linked that to infantile aggression or sibling rivalry or other possible unconscious conflicts from her past. I did none of these things because I had heard what I had wanted to hear. I prided myself on attentive listening, on my sensitivity and creativity as a therapist. I had done a really good job. But had I? Listening is not a passive matter. It always reflects what we expect to hear. Hearing, on the other hand, is something else altogether as I later went on to learn. To hear properly one has to suspend one’s preconceptions and be prepared to question one’s own thoughts and beliefs. It is important to give a space to the client and not fill it with one’s artful questions, ideas or interpretations. It is to take a step back for a moment and wonder. We all listen but how much do we actually hear?

Awakening to Awe: A Book Review

Kirk J. Schneider, Ph.D., is a leading spokesperson for contemporary humanistic psychology and is the editor of the Journal of Humanistic Psychology. He is a pioneer in developing existential-integrative psychotherapy and in the application of awe-based consciousness to existential-humanistic psychotherapy. Awakening to Awe explores the nature and power of awe from Dr. Schneider’s theoretical and therapeutic stance as well as through interviews of people transformed by their experience of awe.

His theoretical and therapeutic stance emphasizes the importance of living life with reverence, respect, humility, wonder, inclusiveness, and uncertainty, yet also with faith and trust. This is a very bold way to live as his stance advocates living one’s life by being open to its mystery and magnificence while simultaneously taking responsibility to live the life that is authentically your own.

The people Dr. Schneider interviewed represent a range of stories demonstrating qualities and experiences of awe. Three examples are:

A woman who grew up with a schizophrenic father in the 1950s and coped with her maelstrom of feelings by opening to the grandeur and danger of nature and by cultivating a strong sense of compassion. She used the realizations gleaned from her experience to become an avid sailor and to develop a thriving career as a professor of psychology who values the importance of the full range of human nature.

An ex-gang member who listened to a stirring from his soul after witnessing the assassination of his younger brother. This stirring encompassed a surrender to a Higher Power and a realization that life is an amazing, unpredictable adventure. He used that experience to become a youth educator providing violence prevention work for elementary school students in an awe-based cultural curriculum.

A professor, who is a Stage 3 cancer survivor and has had heart disease, discovered that by engaging with his chronic illness with an attitude of awe, he also experiences chronic vitality. Awe for this man is a communion and an intimacy into dialogue and participation with the wonders and tempests of existence. He embodies how to embrace the joy and wonder of living within the context of physical suffering and decay.

I feel this book, in conjunction with Dr. Schneider’s Rediscovery of Awe, is ground-breaking. Dr. Schneider’s emphasis on awe-based consciousness derives from his personal philosophy of enchanted agnosticism. I believe the exploration of awe-based consciousness can catalyze a reemergence of a contemporary existential-spiritual movement in much the same way that Abraham Maslow’s exploration of self-actualization catalyzed the human potential movement.

Existential philosophers and psychotherapists have long been at odds about spirituality. On one side of the debate, Soren Kierkegaard emphasized being authentic to your religious values and Paul Tillich emphasized that the holy is a “God-Beyond-God”. On the other side, Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Irvin Yalom all emphasize that we are thrown into being and there is no God to save us, thus we need to make meaning for ourselves. While Camus, Sartre, and Yalom come from an atheistic perspective, they all acknowledge that life is an unknown in which both beauty and horror can happen.

Since a core component of existentialist theory is questioning the meaning of life and not coming up with ultimate answers, both sides of the argument bear examination. The common thread between the two is that in order to live the most fulfilled life as a human being, it is essential to be open to the unknown, the wonder, and the mystery of life in order to take optimal responsibility for ourselves in how we live.

One perception of existential philosophy is that there is nothing more to life than what you experience in the immediate moment. This outlook can be perceived as pessimistic and gloomy. Dr. Schneider emphasizes the spiritual dimension of existence by highlighting it under the symbol of awe. The spiritual dimension celebrates that there is always something more, whether you call this mystery, awe, wonder, God, Higher-Power, or daimon. Bringing awe into the equation emphasizes that our experience also transcends the immediate moment. Our human experience is always evolving. We are always both being and becoming. This can allow for a more positive and hopeful perspective.

In Dr. Schneider’s exploration of awe he emphasizes how awe connotes an openness to life as it is, with its mystery, with its depth, with its pain and joy. It can be “awe-some” or “awe-ful.” It is an invitation to value life as it is. Awe is a meta level which invites us to fully engage in life without knowing how it is going to unfold, even as we intend to impact life as we move towards a specific goal. This implies that spiritual presence is an important part of existence.

Although the book is directed toward a more general audience, it also supports the existential-humanistic psychotherapist to embrace an awe-based dimension of life in working with clients. This allows the therapist to not be conflicted if they are spiritually oriented. It reminds me of the question I asked Rollo May at a conference I attended at the beginning of my career as an existential-humanistic psychotherapist. I asked if one could be both existential and spiritual. He responded that it was essential to be both, and that even atheistic existentialists like Camus and Sartre were spiritual. Having an openness to life with its mystery, from ecstasy to tragedy, is spiritual whether you call it that or not.

I very much value Schneider taking a chapter to explore the qualities which need to be cultivated for awe to awaken in our everyday life. These qualities are transiency, unknowing, surprise, vastness, intricacy, sentiment, and solitude. The embracing of these qualities supports a grounded understanding and experiencing of awe as it applies to daily life. Similarly, Schneider takes a chapter to explore the general conditions favorable for the cultivation of an awe-based society. The conditions for this are presence, freedom, courage, and appreciation. Schneider describes a specific application he’s initiating to bring awe into politics in California. He calls it the Experiential Democracy Project. Thus, I appreciated this book not only for its thorough examination of awe but also for its clear call to take action with an awe-based attitude informing us individually and collectively.

Some of the interviews are rambling and thus were at times hard to follow. I presume this was due to the use of the actual transcripts of the interviews with limited editing. Also, some interviews didn’t strike a strong chord in me. However, I also know, given how the experience of awe is unique to each of us, these same interviews may strike a strong chord in others.

I very much value this book and encourage both professionals and the general public to read it with an awe-based attitude. If you are not sure what an awe-based attitude means before your read it, you will by the time you are finished.

Originally published in the Association for Humanistic Psychology Perspective Magazine Feb/Mar 2011. Reprinted with Permission.
 

Turning Blaming into Confiding in Couples Therapy

The defining task in a Collaborative Couple Therapy session is to create an intimate conversation out of whatever is happening—frequently a fight. Sometimes that means helping the partner who has just been accused deal with the accusation. Sometimes, and this is my focus in this write-up, that means reshaping the accusing partner’s angry statement. I speak as if I were that partner, translating his/her blaming statement into a confiding one, in a method similar to doubling in psychodrama. I show what this partner might be saying if the couple was having a conversation rather than this fight. Here are the principles I use for making these translations.

• Change the tone of voice
• Omit the blaming
• Report the blaming
• Add or substitute heartfelt feelings
• Append a question that turns the monologue into a dialogue
• Acknowledge

1. CHANGE THE TONE OF VOICE. If I can’t immediately think of ways to modify a partner’s angry comment, I repeat or paraphrase it, but now in a nonprovocative, nonaccusing, nondefensive, warm, intimate tone. Of course, if I can think of how to modify what was said, I still change the tone. None of the changes listed below would do much good if they were stated in the partner’s original angry, defensive, arrogant, sarcastic, contemptuous, or distant tone.

2. OMIT THE BLAMING. An important way to turn a partner’s fight-fostering comment into a conversation-fostering one is, of course, to omit (or at least reduce) the blaming, accusations, anger, attack. Lynn says to Fred, “You’re selfish, immature, and totally irresponsible to go out to a bar with your office pals after work, and come home late for dinner. You’re probably flirting with what’s-her-name in the next cubicle.” Moving in and speaking for Lynn, I say, “I’m going to restate what you just said but change the tone in order to help you get your message across to Fred. In my version, Lynn, you’d say, ‘I hope you can understand why I might be upset about your going to a bar and coming home late and why, given the situation, I might be imagining all kinds of things like your flirting with other women’.”

3. REPORT THE BLAMING. Another way to eliminate (or at least reduce) the toxic fight-fostering effect of blaming is to report the anger rather than unload it. Bob says angrily to George, “You’re nasty and mean-spirited and never think of anybody but yourself!” I move over and speak for Bob in an effort to show him what it would sound like if he were to talk about the anger rather than from within it. I say for Bob, “I can’t remember when I’ve felt as angry at you as I do now” or “As you can see, I’m still furious about that comment you made this morning” or “At times like this when I’m really angry at you, I forget all that I like about you and just see you in a super negative way.”

The effect of such reporting is to create a platform, a perch, a meta-level, a vantage point above the fray from which Bob confides being angry. Most of the other interventions on this list create such a platform or vantage point.

4. ADD OR SUBSTITUTE HEARTFELT FEELINGS. In a fight, people lose the ability to make “I” statements. They lose contact with their vulnerable, heartfelt feelings and become “you” statement generating machines. In speaking for a partner, I uncover these vulnerable feelings: the wishes, fears, worries, longings, disappointments, self-reproaches, shame, guilt, self-hate, loneliness, and so on. I reveal the “I” statement hidden in the “you” statement. Here, as in other instances in which I guess what the partner might be thinking or feeling, I use information gleaned from earlier in the therapy, label my comments as speculations (saying, for example, “I give myself about a 30% chance of being right”), and check back to see if my guess was correct (“Where was I right and where was I wrong?”). At times I recast much of the partner’s original statement, changing “you” statements to “I” statements. Sometimes, as in the following examples, I append a vulnerable feeling (an “I” statement) to the partner’s attack.

John snaps at Judy, “You’re being selfish thinking of going back to school when you’ve got our kids to take care of, and in this rotten economy. Don’t you ever think of anybody but yourself?” Moving in and speaking for John to Judy, I append “… and I worry that your going to school might be the first step toward your leaving me.”

Sylvia says to Bob angrily, “I’m tired of always being the one who has to manage the family: schedule everything, make all the phone calls, assign all the chores.” In saying “I’m tired,” her comment appears to be an “I” statement. But implied is: “You don’t do your part,” “You take me for granted,” and “You’re selfish and irresponsible.” Moving over and speaking for her to Bob, I add the following clearer underlying “I” statement to what she just said: “I feel lonely” or “I don’t like the kind of person I’ve become in this relationship.”

5. APPEND A QUESTION THAT TURNS THE PARTNER’S MONOLOGUE INTO A DIALOGUE In an effort to make their cases, partners often give little lectures presenting their evidence, making speeches, pronouncements, or indictments. They deliver monologues. I try to turn these monologues into dialogues by appending a dialogue-creating question. Sue expounds on her knowledge of interior decorating and denigrates Phil’s taste in an attempt to prove to him that she should have the larger say in what furniture to buy. Moving over and speaking for her to Phil, I append to what she just said, “What do you think about what I’m saying?” or “Am I convincing you?” or “You probably disagree with most of what I just said. Am I right?” or “Is there any part of what I’m saying that you agree with?”

6. ACKNOWLEDGE. In a fight, each partner argues his/her case and either ignores or refutes that of the other. Neither acknowledges the validity of any of the other’s points or admits weaknesses in his/her own case. In speaking for partners, I do this acknowledging and admitting for them by doing one or more of the following:

• Acknowledge what the other partner has been trying to say
• Agree with parts of it
• Recognize the other partner’s efforts or achievements
• Appreciate the difficult position the other partner is in
• Admit his/her (the person on whose behalf I’m speaking) own role in the problem
• Confide doubts about the validity or fairness of what he/she is saying
• Express concern about how the other partner might hear what he/she is saying

Acknowledge what the other partner has been trying to say. In a fight, each partner feels too unheard to listen, which is what keeps the fight going. In speaking for a partner, I do the listening for him/her. I demonstrate how it would sound if this person were to do a bit of active listening and acknowledge what the other partner has been trying to say.

Judy complains to Bill, “Are you at all aware that you hardly ever talk to me except to complain about things I haven’t done right.” Bill pays no attention to this and, instead, tells her what is on his mind: “You forgot to lock the front door again.” Judy pays no attention to this and, instead, repeats her concern: “That’s all you care about—the front door. What about the fact that we never talk about anything important, like about us?” Bill says, “Keeping the door locked is important. We’ve got a lot of valuable stuff in here. You’ve got to think about that.” Judy says, “I’ll tell you what you’ve got to think about, and it’s that I’m starting to feel closer to my friends than I do to you.” Bill says, “But this is serious. Half the time you don’t lock the door; it’s just luck that we haven’t been robbed.” Judy says, “Speaking of robbed, I feel totally alone in this relationship.” Bill says, “All I’m asking is for you to be a little more careful when you leave the house.” The partners go back and forth repeating their point (because the other appears not to have heard it), paying little attention to what the other is saying.

Moving over and speaking for Judy, I say, “I know you’re worried about my not locking the door, but I can’t listen to that right now because I’m so frustrated that you won’t listen to my concern, which is that we never have intimate conversations.” I could just as easily have moved over and spoken for Bill, saying: “I know you’re saying that I don’t talk enough, but I can’t listen to that right now because I’m so frustrated that you won’t listen to my concern about locking the door.”

Agree with parts of what the other partner has been trying to say. In a fight, neither partner gets the satisfaction of having the other agree with anything. Each partner rebuts or ignores what the other says. In speaking for a partner, I do the agreeing for him/her. “You have a good point that I…and I have a good point that….” Or, “If we weren’t in the middle of a fight, I’d admit to you that you are making some good points.”

Often I turn to one partner and say, “I’m going to repeat what you just said, but begin by agreeing, which would then put you in a better position to make your point.”

Gloria criticizes Ed for being too harsh with the kids. Ed criticizes Gloria for being too lenient. The argument goes back and forth in this way for some time. Moving over and speaking for Gloria, remembering what she had said in a previous session, I say, “You’re right that I can be too soft with the kids. I need to work on that. My concern right now is to get you to consider that maybe you’re too hard on them.”

Paul criticizes Cheryl for something she did. Cheryl’s justification seems to convince Paul, but instead of acknowledging that, he goes on to make another complaint. I say, “Paul, were you feeling at that moment, ‘Okay Cheryl, you convinced me. But it just reminds me of something else I’m upset about, which is that…’”

Recognize (at times even celebrate) the other partner’s efforts or achievements. Sam proudly describes doing what Ann had asked him to do—pay the bills and clean the bathrooms. Ann replies, “Yes, that’s good. It’s about time. You act like you’re still single. You don’t take responsibility.” Moving over and speaking for her talking to Sam, I say, “You obviously paid attention to what I asked for last time. That’s wonderful! I really appreciate it. I hadn’t thought you would. But—and I’ll make this a multiple-choice question, Ann—A, I don’t want to get too excited about it and get my hopes up that the change is permanent, or, B, it’s too small a part of what I want to be really excited about. Ann, is it A or B. Or is it C, something else entirely?” (When I am uncertain what the person is feeling, I often ask such a multiple choice question.)

In her original statement, Ann skipped over Sam’s achievement. I try to show how it might make sense that she did so and how it would sound if she hadn’t done so.

Appreciate the difficult position the other partner is in. In a fight, each partner feels too unempathized with to empathize, too worn down by his/her own struggle to notice that the partner is caught in one, too. In speaking for partners, I do the appreciating, empathizing, and noticing for them.

Sara says to Ralph, “You never stand up for me when your mother pulls one of her numbers.” Ralph says, “Can’t you just do what everyone else in the family does—just accept that that’s how Mom has always been and realize there’s no way to change her.” Hearing this argument, I look for the right time and moment to say for Ralph, “I feel bad that I haven’t protected you from my mother” and for Sara, “I see how you’re caught in the middle.”

Admit his/her own role in the problem. In a fight, each partner blames the other partner for the problem and denies or minimizes his/her part in it. In speaking for a partner, I do the admitting for him/her. “I came home frustrated and took it out on you.” Or, “I overreacted.” Or “I know it didn’t help that I…” Or, “I’m suddenly seeing you as my father, which I know isn’t fair” Or, “I’m feeling hurt, but you have no way of knowing that, because my hurt is coming out as anger.”

Express concern about how the other partner might hear what he/she is saying. In a fight, partners lower their heads and bull ahead without acknowledging that what they are saying is provocative. In speaking for a partner, I do the acknowledging for him/her, often as a kind of prefacing statement. I say, “I know you never like it when I bring this up, and that’s why I mostly keep it to myself, but it’s been really bothering me lately so I need to say something…” or “I know this is a criticism, but I need to say it anyway” or “I’m angry, so I’m probably not saying this in the best possible way” or “I hope you see my distress peering through my anger,” or “This could get us into trouble, but I want to talk about it anyway” or “I wish I could find a way to say it that wasn’t a criticism because there’s something important here that I want to get you to see.”

Admit doubts about the validity or fairness of what he/she is saying. In a fight, partners focus on making their case. They put aside (and often lose awareness of) any doubts or reservations they might have about what they are saying. In speaking for a partner, I reintroduce these doubts or reservations. I say, “I know this isn’t fair, but it’s on my mind so I want to say it anyway and it’s that…” or “I know I’m on shaky ground here because I do the same thing myself, but…” or “I go back and forth between blaming myself for this problem and blaming you and, as you can see, at the moment, I’m deeply into blaming you” or “For a fraction of a second I was pleased by the lovely thing you did—and began to hope that it meant that you’ve really changed—but then I thought, ‘Wait a minute. I’m not going to get my hopes up just to be disappointed again’” or “I know I’m difficult to live with, so I probably don’t have a right to complain about something you do that’s so minor, but here it is…”

In speaking for partners, I try to make their case more effectively than they had been able to do so themselves. I repeat what they had just said but now in a more disarming, engaging, and heartfelt way. At times, I shorten what they have said and at times lengthen it. At times I reformulate what they have said and at other times append something to it. My effort in each case is to restate what the partners have just said in a way that will give them greater satisfaction and that their partner will be better able to hear.

My purpose here was to list the principles I use for arriving at my statements for partners in an effort to turn their blaming statements into intimate ones.