Resistant Clients: We’ve All Had Them; Here’s How to Help Them!

If you inwardly cringe when a client becomes resistant to the counseling or psychotherapy you're providing, take heart. Encountering resistance is likely evidence that therapy is taking place. In fact, several studies indicate that successful therapy is highly related to increases in resistance, and that low resistance corresponds with negative outcomes.1 There is an upper level of resistance (too much) as well as a lower level of resistance (too little) that are counterproductive. Getting to moderate levels of resistance is important to successful therapy, especially when followed by effective approaches and techniques.

The most effective therapists are prepared to encounter their clients' resistance—they know how to deal with it, and how to help their clients break through it. They do this by understanding what resistance represents psychologically, and they have developed a way of conceptualizing and reacting to the resistance that allows them to remain emotionally comfortable or centered.

We can deal with highly resistant clients effectively when we:

  1. learn to avoid common errors that unnecessarily create or foster resistance;
  2. recognize when resistance has gotten the better of us; and
  3. are able to consider the positive side of resistance.

Resistance has been defined from a number of perspectives. Traditional definitions have their roots in Freudian theory and usually place resistance inside the client. Such definitions view resistance as representing the client's efforts to repress anxiety-provoking memories and insights, or efforts to fight the therapist's influence. For example, Bischoff & Tracey define resistance as "any behavior that indicates covert or overt opposition to the therapist, the counseling process, or the therapist's agenda." Although common, such perspectives leave therapists lacking control and too much at the mercy of other influences when attempting to foster change.

The social interaction theorists view resistance as being the result of a ''negative interpersonal dynamic between the therapist and the client."2 Here, resistance is seen as something that results from the interactional style of the therapist and the client. The therapist allows the client to form a mutual communication pattern that hinders counseling and the change process. “The interactional view of resistance forces the therapist to remain aware of what he or she may be doing that actually promotes resistance.” The great benefit of this perspective is that changing your interaction style results in changing what has been deemed resistance. This perspective empowers therapists in managing resistance in therapy.

Whose Goal Are You Working On?

When we experience resistance, we say that the client is "not going anywhere." We feel stuck. Central to these statements is the question: Where is the client supposed to be going? The client is showing no progress toward what? One of the primary therapist errors that causes resistance is failure to establish a mutually agreed-upon objective. If you and your client are not in agreement about a desired outcome, problems are inevitable. Furthermore, you and your client should be able to clearly state the mutually agreed-upon objective. If a mutually agreed-upon objective has not been established and reasonable time has been devoted to establishing rapport and understanding the client's situation, then it is critical to focus session time on the creation of such an objective.

The next time one of your colleagues complains to you about a particularly difficult client who does not want to change, ask them, "What is the goal?" If they begin stuttering or go into a vague, rambling explanation, you will know that a mutually agreed-upon goal has not been established. Then inquire, "If your client was asked what the goal is, would the client's response agree with what you just stated?" It is mind-boggling how many times this essential therapeutic component is not properly formulated.

Such goals do not have to be complex. For example, a simple goal may be for the client to spend at least 15 minutes each day in a discussion with their partner about their day before any other activities are begun. Another could be for the client to plan one night a week where they do an activity together with their partner. Such goals could be smaller components of an overall objective to increase communication and connection in the relationship.

The Who, Where, and When of it All

We are not helpful to our clients until we have reached a point where problems can be defined around a specific person, place, and time. David Burns, author of Feeling Good, taught me this concept and I have yet to prove it wrong. Sometimes the person, place, and time are obvious—e.g. a spouse at home, when the children need disciplining; or a boss, previously dealt with at work, in the past. Or maybe the problem is the client's traumatic experience at an earlier age with a family member. Sometimes it is the client and you, dealing with the conflict, at the present moment in the session!

Regardless of the case specifics, the person, place, and time components are present in solvable problems. Being clear on the person, place, and time of your client's problem brings clarity to the process and avoids ambiguity that hinders progress. For example, a client who enters therapy with a goal to "not be nervous" has yet to reach a point in problem clarity where help can be provided. The brief therapists would say that this problem has not been defined in manner that makes it solvable. As a result of the therapeutic discussion, such a vaguely defined problem would be transformed into a more specific goal such as to be "calm, relaxed, and assertive when discussing needed changes in the department with the boss." With this level of specificity, the definitive steps can be taken toward resolution. Skilled therapists most often move the discussion to a level of specificity almost without conscious awareness. However, clarity in understanding the essential elements of solvable problems can enhance the process. It is also quite helpful for beginning therapists who have difficulty figuring out exactly what they are trying to do.

When the Solutions are Terrifying

We all know the familiar axiom that our clients have the solution to their problem inside, and that it's our job to help them find it. What experienced therapists know is that “one of the main reasons clients come to therapy is not because they don't know the solution to their problem, but because they find the solutions terrifying.” From this perspective, one of the therapist's primary jobs is to normalize the fears surrounding the solution and support the client's courage to move forward in the midst of the perceived impending terror. In cases where fear of the solution is great, focusing too strongly on the solution may increase fear. In such instances, focus on dealing with the fear that accompanies the solution before moving the focus forward toward actions to be taken.

For example, I once counseled a woman who repeatedly discussed how much she hated her husband and how badly she wanted a divorce, but she was not proceeding with the divorce. As we addressed the issues further, we discovered she was filled with fear about the divorce—fear because she and her children were financially dependent on her husband, fear because she felt she had no marketable job skills, fear because returning to school for training was costly and scary. At this point the counseling session changed from focusing on whether she should divorce to the more pressing issue—addressing the fear that accompanied the divorce.

The Columbo Technique

An interesting paradox occurs with highly resistant clients. The greater the resistance, the more likely it is that they are refusing to consider any of a host of possible solutions. Typically, as we become aware of the myriad possible solutions to a client's problems, we become more certain that our knowledge can help them. As a result of such certainty, we begin talking more and more as an expert regarding the problem at hand.

But here's the catch: The more of an expert you become, the more you give the client something definitive to resist against and the less psychological freedom clients have to explore possibilities on their own. “Thus, being too knowledgeable about obvious solutions may actually create resistance.” A sure sign that you have become too much of an expert is getting, "Yes, but …" answers.

The way out of this situation is to reverse the paradox. The more obvious possible solutions become, the more naïve, inexperienced and uncertain your displayed attitude toward these solutions should be. The principle at work here is that your client cannot be resistant if there is nothing to resist. My students have dubbed this approach the Columbo technique because it is similar to the approach taken by fumbling television detective Columbo as he hoodwinked his suspects into revealing key information necessary to solving murders. “Columbo apprehended his suspect by constantly appearing to not understand the basic components surrounding the murder and by asking questions that forced the suspect to clarify his or her actions.” Although Columbo always appeared to be two steps behind the murderer, in reality he was two steps ahead.

A therapist I know explained to me that he used to get sucked into lecturing, argumentative discussions with alcoholic clients that expounded to them the many reasons not to drink. After reading my book, he says that he now avoids such vain, pointless conversations. Recently, in a first session with an alcoholic client, he inquired as to the client's reasons for drinking. Expecting a flood of reasons not to drink as a response, the client proceeded to build a case for drinking in which he explained how drinking help him to relax, deal with stress, manage his chronic pain, etc. After hearing the strong case for drinking, the therapists stated that he had no knowledge of any pill or therapeutic discussion that could substitute for the benefits received from continuing to drink. Almost immediately the client began to state something to the effect, "But, you don't understand, I have a fifty-dollar-a-week alcohol bill that I can't afford, my wife is threatening to leave me, my kids don't respect me, and I really don't like myself for drinking." In this instance, in order not to provide something to resist against and avoid the typical "Yes, but…" response, this therapist selectively became uncertain and naïve as to any solutions to the drinking problem.

By becoming naïve to the obvious, he quickly received from the client motivations to stop drinking, and the discussion proceeded from there. My therapist friend explained to me that, in similar situations in the past, he would have immediately provided information and knowledge for the client to resist against. However, he has since become much wiser and goes to great lengths to avoid providing a position for his resistant clients to oppose.

Is Rogers Still Right?

Many experienced therapists become lax in consistently showing empathy throughout their sessions. When we conduct sessions excessively loaded with questions without a foundation of understanding, our clients lose the feeling of psychological support necessary for them to proceed safely. An essential component to breaking through resistance is maintaining a foundation of understanding through a dialogue that engages the client's experience with empathic comments.

An equally important reason to consistently use empathic statements is to get clients in touch with the emotional energy they need in order to initiate change. “People rarely change because of the logic of the situation; people change when they have an emotionally compelling reason.” Yet, because emotions are often linked to uncomfortable feelings, clients have blocked awareness of or are in denial of their own emotions. Empathy is the tool that fosters the emergence of emotionally compelling reasons for change, and thus it ignites and fans the fires of change.

For example, I have often dealt with people who desire to quit smoking. One of the things I have learned is that people very rarely quit smoking because of the possibility for cancer, emphysema, heart attacks, bad breath, high costs, etc. People do quit when these issues directly affect them as a result of a medical checkup or in some other manner. I once worked with a man who wanted to quit smoking, where I initially struggled to get to the underlying emotional reason behind this life change. He appeared reluctant to offer up or get in touch with the real reason for breaking the habit. However, through continuing to respond in an empathic manner and to pull to the forefront all of the emotions I was sensing, I struck gold when I indicated that I sensed he was a very responsible person who cared for children. From this revelation, the underlying force for his habit change emerged in the conversation: His wife was pregnant! He was going to be a father! Now, he had an emotionally compelling reason to change. Therapists seeking to mine the compelling reasons for change should consistently use empathic statements that include specific reference to the emotions present. This is the most efficient avenue to discovering the emotionally compelling reasons that fuel the desire to change.

Baby Steps are No Joke

A considerable amount of resistance comes from poor timing. If you find that you are offering explanations before the client is ready to accept them, confronting the client too soon or moving too fast, then slow your pace, back up, and take smaller steps. Therapy is clearly one area of life where it pays to slow down to go faster. In fact, taking small steps is often a central part of effective therapy, including brief therapy.

In order to not rush your client, I suggest you constantly ask yourself, "What could I say that might move my client the smallest step possible toward where they need to be to resolve their problem?" This approach solves two problems for the therapist. First, it does not push the client and thereby create resistance. In fact, “if you slow down to the point that you are behind your client, then you can actually have the client pulling you along toward their solution.” Second, this approach takes an enormous amount of pressure off of you. The task at hand becomes manageable, and you will find that you are more able to remain balanced in sessions. Learning and practicing this skill can be an enormous stress reducer for therapists.

For example, to ask a person in denial over the loss of a loved one to fully accept the loss may be too threatening or inconceivable to them. This is simply too big of a step to take at the moment. To ask the same client to come up with ways to honor their loved one in his or her absence will likely appear much more palatable. In this way, perhaps some of the underlying emotions related to loss, meaning, closure, guilt, etc. can begin to be addressed. By suggesting smaller, more acceptable steps in moving through the grieving process, the therapist circumvents the resistance that the client would have experienced as a result of moving too fast toward closure.

Recognizing When Resistance Has the Upper Hand

Significant client resistance leaves psychotherapists feeling insecure, incompetent, frustrated, hopeless, stressed, and burnt out. When these feelings are indirectly communicated to clients, more resistance occurs and a negative spiral develops. Less-experienced burnt-out therapists are most vulnerable to the negative effects of resistance. One of the keys to dealing with resistance is to recognize that resistance is not personal. Resistance is a fact of therapy.

Watch for signs that resistance has gotten the better of you:

  • You feel like you are fighting or arguing with your client. Many times you may have felt like you were trying to convince your client of something and were not making headway.
  • You feel stressed and drained in an unhealthy manner after a session.
  • You are working harder in your session than your client is. If, after finishing your sessions, you have more work to do than your client, then you should take a close look at what you are doing. Something is likely amiss.
  • You are feeling burnt out with your work.

Typically, resistance conjures up ideas of stubbornness, obstinacy, and defiance. Beware! Once you place these labels on your client, you are generally just as stuck as your client. To avoid getting stuck, you may want to consider other perspectives on resistance.

Some possible dynamics of resistance

  • Resistance may be a reflection of the developmental level of your client.
  • Resistance may be a signal that the client is dealing with a very important issue that has multiple conflicts.
  • Resistance may be a result of the way the therapist and the client interact. Consequently, changing your interaction style will change the resistance.

(See Something Besides Stubbornness below for other reasons a client might be resistant.)

The Plus Side of Client Resistance

To fully understand resistance, the many positive benefits of resistance need to be examined. Resistance has a purpose; otherwise, it would not exist. When we understand the many benefits of resistance, we begin to realize that it is just as essential to mental health as it is a problem in therapy. The following purposes and benefits of resistance are compiled from the writings of Anderson and Steward.3

  • Without resistance, all social systems would dissolve into chaos and confusion, changing with every new idea presented.
  • Resistance is what prevents us from buying every product presented to us in commercials and infomercials.
  • Without a certain amount of resistance, we would have no stability, predictability, security, or comfort.
  • Resistance provides us with a sense of being right. Can there be a sense of right and wrong without an awareness of the opposition of one position against another, or without a resistance to certain positions?
  • Resistance can be a sign of good mental health and judgment; people often want new alternatives to problems before giving up old ways.
  • Understanding resistance—including its possible positive purposes—and knowing effective means for dealing with resistance is not merely intellectual enrichment. This knowledge can reduce therapist stress and burnout.
  • Resistance in therapy is a natural, necessary part of every client's problem. It is neither good nor bad, and the effective therapist neither abandons, rescues, nor attacks clients because of their resistance.
  • Resistance is the problem at hand. Many clients are ambivalent about change, and the decisions they make are typically not clear-cut—that's why they have come to therapy.
  • People resist difficult change because of the underlying conflicts. The therapist's job is to provide an environment where internal conflicts can be addressed.

When we have a plan for dealing with resistance before we encounter it in therapy, we won't get trapped in a futile battle with our clients. Instead, we will be able to remain objective and have a clear perspective about what is occurring. Hopefully some of the techniques for responding to resistance that I've suggested here will help you with resistant clients and keep yourself grounded in the process.

And if you find yourself feeling discouraged by resistant clients, think about this: Which is more troubling: a client who does everything you suggest, or one who takes time to assimilate and adjust to new ideas? Or if that idea doesn't buoy your spirits, then consider the following: "Without resistance, we would all be out of a job."4

Resistance: Something Besides Stubbornness?

Have you considered any of the following reasons clients might be resistant to therapy? Resistance could be a sign of:

Fear of failure. Client does not know how to be a client and has a high need for success or perfectionism and thus resists as a result of the fear of failure.

Fear of taking risks. Client sees counseling as a highly risky behavior and client is actually very conservative in his or her life approach.

Manipulation. The client enjoys manipulating others and, by not "moving" or responding therapeutically, they experience power in recognizing that they can manipulate the therapist.

Passive-aggressive behavior. Client is angry with the therapist or some other adult/authority that the therapist represents (transference). The resistance could be a reaction to authority figures in general.

Shame. The client may have feelings of shame because he or she has not been able to resolve the issues or because of the social implications of the issues.

Jealousy or desire to sabotage the therapy relationship. "If I get better, then I will not be able to come to these sessions and get all of this attention and maintain my relationship with my therapist." In this instance, an unhealthy dependence has developed between the client and therapist.

Exhaustion. Resistance could be an indication that the client is psychologically drained and does not have the energy to take on the tasks that will lead to change. Here, the therapist needs to back off and allow for replenishing of energy. Take a therapeutic break.

A personality style. Many people instinctively respond to change with resistance.

A client who enjoys resisting. Some people simply enjoy the battle of resisting, the stimulation of arguing, and controversy long beyond the initial reaction to change. These people often switch positions if they find others agreeing with them to keep the stimulation going (Kottler, 1994).

References

1Bischoff, M. M., & Tracey, T. J. G. (1995). Client resistance as predicted by therapist behavior: A study of sequential dependence. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 42(4), 487-495.

2Otani, A. (1989). Resistance management techniques of Milton H. Erickson, M.D.: An application to nonhypnotic mental health counseling. Journal of Mental Health Counseling, 11(4), 325-334.

3Anderson, C. M., & Stewart, S. (1983). Mastering resistance: A practical guide to family therapy. New York: The Guilford Press.

4Pipes, R. B., & Davenport, D. S. (1990). Introduction to psychotherapy: Common Clinical wisdom. New Jersey: Prentice Hall.

Supershrinks: What is the secret of their success?

Clients of the best therapists improve at a rate at least 50 percent higher and drop out at a rate at least 50 percent lower than those of average clinicians. What is the key to superior performance? Are "supershrinks" made or born? Is it a matter of temperament or training? Have they discovered a secret unknown to other clinicians or are their superior results simply a fluke, more measurement error than reality? We know that who provides the therapy is a much more important determinant of success than what treatment approach is provided. The age, gender, and diagnosis of the client have no impact on the treatment success rate, nor do the experience, training, and theoretical orientation of the therapist. In attempting to answer these questions, Miller, Hubble and Duncan, have found that the best of the best simply work harder at improving their performance than others and attentiveness to feedback is crucial. When a measure of the alliance is used with a standardized outcome scale, available evidence shows clients are less likely to deteriorate, more likely to stay longer, and twice as likely to achieve a change of clinical significance.

The boisea trivittatus, better known as the box elder bug, emerges from the recesses of homes and dwellings in early spring. While feared neither for its bite nor sting, most people consider the tiny insect a pest. The critter comes out by the thousands, resting in the sun and staining upholstery and draperies with its orange-colored wastes. Few find it endearing, with the exception perhaps of entomologists. It doesn't purr and won't fetch the morning paper. What is more, you will be sorry if you step on it. When crushed, the diminutive creature emits a putrid odor worthy of an animal many times its size.

For as long as anyone could remember, boisea trivittatus was an unwelcome yet familiar guest in the offices and waiting area of a large Midwestern, multicounty community mental health center. Professional exterminators did their best to keep the bugs at bay, but inevitably many eluded the efforts to eliminate them. Tissues were placed strategically throughout the center for staff and clients to dispatch the escapees. In time, the arrangement became routine. Out of necessity, everyone tolerated the annual annoyance—with one notable exception.

Dawn, a 12-year veteran of the center, led the resistance to what she considered "insecticide." In a world turned against the bugs, she was their only ally. To save the tiny beasts, she collected and distributed old mason jars, imploring others to catch the little critters so that she could release them safely outdoors.

Few were surprised by Dawn's regard for the bugs. Most people who knew her would have characterized her as a holdout from the "Summer of Love." Her VW microbus, floor-length tie-dyed skirts, and Birkenstock sandals—combined with the scent of patchouli and sandalwood that lingered after her passage—solidified everyone's impression that she was a fugitive of Haight-Ashbury. Rumor had it that she'd been conceived at Esalen.

Despite these eccentricities, Dawn was hands-down the most effective therapist at the agency. This finding was established through a tightly controlled, research-to-practice study conducted at her agency. As part of this study of success rates in actual clinical settings, Dawn and her colleagues administered a standardized measure of progress to each client at every session.

What made her performance all the more compelling was that Dawn was the top performer seven years running. Moreover, factors widely believed to affect treatment outcome—the client's age, gender, diagnosis, level of functional impairment, or prior treatment history—did not affect her results. Other factors not correlated with her outcomes were her age, gender, training, professional discipline, licensure, or years of experience. Even her theoretical orientation proved inconsequential.

Contrast Dawn with Gordon, who could not have been more different. Rigidly conservative and brimming with confidence bordering on arrogance, Gordon managed to build a thriving private practice in an area where most practitioners were struggling to stay afloat financially. Many in the professional community sought to emulate his success. In the hopes of learning his secrets or earning his acknowledgment, they competed hard to become part of his inner circle.

Whispered conversations at parties and local professional meetings made clear that others regarded Gordon with envy and enmity. "Profits talk, patients walk," was one comment that captured the general feeling about him. And the critics could not have been more wrong. The people Gordon saw in his practice regarded him as caring and deeply committed to their welfare. Furthermore, he achieved outcomes that were far superior to those of the clinicians who carped about him. In fact, the same measures that confirmed Dawn's superior results placed Gordon in the top 25 percent of psychotherapists studied in the United States.

In 1974, researcher D. F. Ricks coined the term supershrink to describe a class of exceptional therapists—practitioners who stood head and shoulders above the rest. His study examined the long-term outcomes of "highly disturbed" adolescents. When the research participants were later examined as adults, he found that a select group, treated by one particular provider, fared notably better. In the same study, boys treated by the pseudoshrink demonstrated alarmingly poor adjustment as adults.

The fact that therapists differ in their ability to effect change is hardly a revelation. All of us have participated in hushed conversations about colleagues whose performance we feel falls short of the mark. We also recognize that some practitioners are a cut above the rest. With rare exceptions, whenever they take aim, they hit the bull's-eye. Nevertheless, since Ricks's first description, little has been done to further the investigation of super- and pseudoshrinks. Instead, professional time, energy, and resources have been directed exclusively toward identifying effective therapies. Trying to identify specific interventions that could be dispensed reliably for specific problems has a strong common-sense appeal. No one would argue with the success of the idea of problem-specific interventions in the field of medicine. But the evidence is incontrovertible. “Who provides the therapy is a much more important determinant of success than what treatment approach is provided.”

Consider a recent study conducted by Bruce Wampold and Jeb Brown in 2006 and published in the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology. Briefly, the study included 581 licensed providers, including psychologists, psychiatrists, and master's-level providers, who were treating a diverse sample of over 6,000 clients. The therapists, the clientele, and the presenting complaints were not different in any meaningful way from clinical settings nationwide. As was the case with Dawn and Gordon, the clients' age, gender, and diagnosis had no impact on the treatment success rate and neither did the experience, training, or theoretical orientation of the therapists. However, clients of the best therapists in the sample improved at a rate at least 50 percent higher and dropped out at a rate at least 50 percent lower than those assigned to the average clinicians in the sample.

Another important finding emerged: in those cases in which psychotropic medication was combined with psychotherapy, the drugs did not perform consistently. As with talk therapy, effectiveness depended on who prescribed the drug. People seen by top providers achieved gains from the drugs 10 times greater than those seen by the less effective practitioners. Among the latter group, the drugs virtually made no difference. So, in the chemistry of mental health treatment, orientations, techniques, and even medications are inert. The clinician is the catalyst.

The making of a Supershrink

For the past eight years the Institute for the Study of Therapeutic Change (ISTC), an international group of researchers and clinicians dedicated to studying what works in psychotherapy, has been tracking the outcomes of thousands of therapists treating tens of thousands of clients in myriad clinical settings across the United States and abroad. Like D. F. Ricks and other researchers, we found wide variations in effectiveness among practicing clinicians. Intrigued, we decided to try to determine why.

We began our investigation by looking at the research literature. The Institute has earned its reputation in part by reviewing research and publishing summaries and critical analyses on its website (www.talkingcure.com). We were well aware at the outset that little had been done since D. F. Rick's original paper to deepen the understanding of super- and pseudoshrinks. Nevertheless, a massive amount of research had been conducted on what in general makes therapists and therapy effective. When we attempted to determine the characteristics of the most effective practitioners using our national database, with the hypothesis that therapists like Dawn and Gordon must simply do or embody more of "it," we smacked head-first into a brick wall. Neither the person of the therapist, nor technical prowess, separated the best from the rest.

Frustrated, but undeterred, we retraced our steps. Maybe we had missed something, a critical study, a nuance, a finding that would steer us in the right direction. We returned to our own database to take a second look, reviewing the numbers and checking the analyses. We asked consultants outside the Institute to verify our computations. We invited others to brainstorm possible explanations. Opinions varied from many of the factors we had already considered and ruled out to "it's all a matter of chance, noise in the system, more statistical artifact than fact." Put another way, supershrinks were not real and their emergence in any data analysis was entirely random. In the end, there was nothing we could point to that explained why some clinicians achieved consistently superior results. Seeing no solution, we gave up and turned our attention elsewhere.

The project would have remained shelved indefinitely had one of us not stumbled on the work of Swedish psychologist K. Anders Ericsson. Nearly two years had passed since we had given up. Then Scott, returning to the U.S. after providing a week of training in Norway, stumbled on an article published in Fortune magazine. Weary from the road and frankly bored, he had taken the periodical from the passing flight attendant more for the glossy pictures and factoids than for intellectual stimulation. In short order, however, the magazine title seized his attention—in big bold letters, "What it takes to be great." The subtitle cinched it, "Research now shows that the lack of natural talent is irrelevant to great success." Although the lead article itself was a mere four pages in length, the content kept him occupied for the remaining eight hours of the flight.

Ericsson, Scott learned, was considered to be "the expert on experts." For the better part of two decades, he had studied the world's best athletes, authors, chess players, dart throwers, mathematicians, pianists, teachers, pilots, physicians, and others. He was also a bit of a maverick. In a world prone to attribute greatness to genetic endowment, Ericsson did not mince words, "The search for stable heritable characteristics that could predict or at least account for superior performance of eminent individuals [in sports, chess, music, medicine, etc.] has been surprisingly unsuccessful . . . Systematic laboratory research . . . provides no evidence for giftedness or innate talent."

Should Ericsson's bold and sweeping claims prove difficult to believe, take the example of Michael Jordan, regarded widely as the greatest basketball player of all time. When asked, most would cite natural advantages in height, reach, and leap as key to his success. Notwithstanding, few know that "His Airness" was cut from his high school varsity basketball team! So much for the idea of being born great. It simply does not work that way.

“The key to superior performance? As absurd as it sounds, the best of the best simply work harder at improving their performance than others.” Jordan, for example, did not give up when thrown off the team. Instead, his failure drove him to the courts, where he practiced hour after hour. As he put it, "Whenever I was working out and got tired and figured I ought to stop, I'd close my eyes and see that list in the locker room without my name on it, and that usually got me going again."

“As time consuming as this level of practice sounds—and it is—it isn't enough. According to Ericsson, to reach the top level, attentiveness to feedback is crucial.”

Such deliberate practice, as Ericsson goes to great lengths to point out, isn't the same as the number of hours spent on the job, but rather the amount of time devoted specifically to reaching for objectives "just beyond one's level of proficiency." He chides anyone who believes that experience creates expertise, saying, "Just because you've been walking for 50 years doesn't mean you're getting better at it." Of interest, he and his group have found that elite performers across many different domains engage in the same amount of such practice, on average, every day, including weekends. In a study of 20-year-old musicians, for example, Ericsson and colleagues found that the top violinists spent twice  as much time (10,000 hours on average) working to meet specific performance targets as the next best players and 10 times as much time as the average musician.

“As time consuming as this level of practice sounds—and it is—it is not enough. According to Ericsson, to reach the top level, attentiveness to feedback is crucial.” Studies of physicians with an uncanny ability to diagnose baffling medical problems, for example, prove that they act differently than their less capable, but equally well-trained, colleagues. In addition to visiting, examining, taking careful notes, and reflecting on their assessment of a particular patient, they take one additional critical step. They follow up. Unlike their "proficient" peers, they do not settle. Call it professional compulsiveness or pride, these physicians need to know whether they were right, even though finding out is not required nor reimbursable. "This extra step," Ericsson says, gives the superdiagnostician"a significant advantage over his peers. It lets him better understand how and when he's improving."

Within days of touching down, Scott had shared Ericsson's findings with Mark and Barry. An intellectual frenzy followed. Articles were pulled, secondary references tracked down, and Ericsson's 918-page Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and Expert Performance purchased and read cover to cover. In the process, our earlier confusion gave way to understanding. With considerable chagrin, we realized that what therapists per se do is irrelevant to greatness. The path to excellence would never be found by limiting our explorations to the world of psychotherapy, with its attendant theories, tools, and techniques. Instead, we needed to redirect our attention to superior performance, regardless of calling or career.

Knowing what you don't know

Ericsson's work on practice and feedback also explained the studies that show how most of us grow continually in confidence over the course of our careers, despite little or no improvement in our actual rates of success. Hard to believe but true. On this score, the experience of psychologist Paul Clement is telling. Throughout his years of practice, he kept unusually thorough records of his work with clients, detailing hundreds of cases falling into 84 different diagnostic categories. "I had expected to find," he said in a quantitative analysis published in the peer-reviewed journal Professional Psychology, "that I had gotten better and better over the years . . . but my data failed to suggest any . . . change in my therapeutic effectiveness across the 26 years in question."

Contrary to conventional wisdom, the culprit behind such mistaken self-assessment is not incompetence, but rather proficiency. Within weeks and months of first starting out, noticeable mistakes in everyday professional activities become increasingly rare, and thereby make intentional modifications seem irrelevant, increasingly difficult, and costly in time and resources. Once more, this is human nature, a process that dogs every profession. Add to this the custom in our profession of conflating success with a particular method or technique, and the door to greatness for many therapists is slammed shut early on.

During the last few decades, for example, more than 10,000 "how-to" books on psychotherapy have been published. At the same time, the number of treatment approaches has mushroomed, going from around 60 in the early days to more than 400 psychological treatment models today. At present, there are 145 officially approved, manualized, evidence-based treatments for 51 of the 397 possible DSM diagnostic groups. Based on these numbers alone, one would be hard pressed to not believe that real progress has been made by the field. More than ever before, we know what works for whom. Or do we?

Comparing the success rates of today with those of 10, 20, or 30 years ago is one way to find out. One would expect that the profession is progressing in a manner comparable to the Olympics. Fans know that during the last century, the best performance for every event has improved—in some cases, by as much as 50 percent. What is more, excellence at the top has had a trickle-down effect, improving performance at every level. For example, the fastest time clocked for the marathon in the 1896 Olympics was just one minute faster than the time that is required now just to participate in the most competitive marathons like Boston and Chicago. By contrast, no measurable improvement in the effectiveness of psychotherapy has occurred in the last 30 years.

The time has come to confront the unpleasant truth: our tried-and-true strategies for improving what we do have failed. Instead of advancing as a field, we have stagnated, mistaking our feverish peddling on a stationary bicycle for progress in the Tour de Therapy. This is not to say that therapy is ineffective. Quite to the contrary, the data are clear and unequivocal: psychotherapy works. Studies conducted over the last three decades show effects equal to or greater than those achieved by a host of well-accepted medical procedures, such as coronary artery bypass surgery, the pharmacological treatment of arthritis, and AZT for AIDS. At issue, however, is how we can learn from our experiences and "improve" our rate of success, both as a discipline and in our individual practices.

Incidentally, psychotherapists are not alone in this struggle to increase our expertise. During our survey of the literature on greatness, we came across an engaging and provocative article published in the New Yorker magazine. Using the treatment of cystic fibrosis (CF) as an example, science writer Atul Gawande showed how the same processes that undermine excellence in psychotherapy play out in medicine. Since 1964, medical researchers have been tracking the outcomes of patients with CF, a genetic disease striking 1,000 children yearly. The disease is progressive and, over time, mucus fills, hardens, and eventually destroys the lungs.

As is the case with psychotherapy, the evidence indicates that standard CF treatment works. With medical intervention, life expectancy is on average 33 years; without care, few patients survive infancy. The real story, as Gawande points out, is not that patients with CF live longer when treated, but that, as with psychotherapy, there is a significant variation in treatment success rates. At the best treatment centers, survival rates are 50 percent higher than the national average, meaning that patients live to be 47 on average.

Such differences, however, have not been achieved through standardization of care and the top-down imposition of the "best" practices. Indeed, Cincinnati Children's Hospital (CCH), one of the nation's most respected treatment centers—which employs two of the physicians responsible for preparing the national CF treatment guidelines—produced only average to poor outcomes. In fact, on one of the most critical measures, lung functioning, this institution scored in the bottom 25 percent.

It is a small comfort to know that our counterparts in medicine, a field celebrated routinely for its scientific rigor, stumble and fall just as much as we "soft-headed" psychotherapists do in the pursuit of excellence. But Gawande's article, available for free at the Institute for Healthcare Improvement website (www.ihi.org), provides so much more than an opportunity to commiserate. His piece confirms what our own research revealed to be the essential first step in improving outcomes: knowing your baseline performance. It just stands to reason. If you call a friend for directions, her first question will be, "Where are you?" The same is true of RandMcNally, Yahoo! and every other online mapping service. To get where you want to go, you first have to know where you are—a fact the clinical staff at CCH put to good use.

In truth, most practicing psychotherapists have no hard data on their success rates with clients. Fewer still have any idea how their outcomes compare to those of other clinicians or to national norms. Unlike therapists, though, the staff at CCH not only determined their overall rate of effectiveness, they were able to compare their success rates with other major CF treatment centers across the country. With such information in hand, the medical staff acted to push beyond their current standard of reliable performance. In time, their outcomes improved markedly.

A formula for success

Turning to specifics, the truth is we have yet to discover how supershrinks like Dawn and Gordon ascertain their baseline. Our experience leads us to believe that they do not know either. What is clear is that their appraisal, intuitive though it may be, is more accurate than that of average practitioners. It is likely, and our analysis thus far confirms, that the methods they employ will prove to be highly variable, defying any simple attempt at classification. Despite such differences in approach, the supershrinks without exception possess a keen "situational awareness": they are observant, alert and attentive. They constantly compare new information with what they already know.

For the rest of us mere mortals, a shortcut to supershrinkdom exists. It entails using simple paper and pencil scales and some basic statistics to compute your baseline, a process we discuss in detail in what follows. In the end, you may not become the Frank Sinatra, Tiger Woods, or Melissa Etheridge of the therapy world, but you will be able to sing, swing and strum along with the best.

“The prospect of knowing one's true rate of success can provoke anxiety even in the best of us. For all that, studies of working clinicians provide little reason for concern.” To illustrate, the outcomes reported in a recent study of 6,000 practitioners and 48,000 clients were as good as or better than those typically reported in tightly controlled studies. These findings are especially notable because clinicians, unlike researchers, do not have the luxury of handpicking the clients they treat. Most clinicians do good work most of the time, and do so while working with complex, difficult cases.

At the same time, you should not be surprised or disheartened when your results prove to be average. As with height, weight, and intelligence, success rates of therapists are normally distributed, resembling the all-too-familiar bell curve. It is a fact, in nearly all facets of life, most of us are clustered tightly around the mean. As the research by Hiatt and Hargrave shows, a more serious problem is when therapists do not know how they are performing or, worse, think they know their effectiveness without outside confirmation.

Unfortunately, our own work with regard to tracking the outcomes of thousands of therapists working in diverse clinical settings has exposed a consistent and alarming pattern: those who are the slowest to adopt a valid and reliable procedure to establish their baseline performance typically have the poorest outcomes of the lot.

Should any doubt remain with regard to the value and importance of determining one's overall rate of success, let us underscore that the mere act of measuring yields improved outcomes. In fact, it is the first and among the most potent forms of feedback available to clinicians seeking excellence. Several recent studies, demonstrate convincingly that monitoring client progress on an ongoing basis improves effectiveness dramatically. Our own study published last year in the Journal of Brief Therapy found that providing therapists with real time feedback improved outcome nearly 65 percent. No downside exists to determining your baseline effectiveness. One either is proven effective or becomes more effective in the process.

There is more good news on this score. Share your baseline—good, bad, or average—with clients and the results are even more dramatic. Dropouts, the single greatest threat to therapeutic success, are cut in half. At the same time, outcomes improve yet again, in particular among those at greatest risk for treatment failure. Cincinnati Children's Hospital provides a case in point. Although surprised and understandably embarrassed about their overall poor national ranking, the medical staff nonetheless resolved to share the results with the patients and families. Contrary to what might have been predicted, not a single family chose to leave the program.

That everyone decided to remain committed rather than bolt should really come as no surprise. Across all types of relationships—business, family and friendship, medicine—success depends less on a connection during the good times than on maintaining engagement through the inevitable hard times. The fact the CCH staff shared the information about their poor performance increased the connection their patients felt with them and enhanced their engagement. It is no different in psychotherapy. Where we as therapists have the most impact on securing and sustaining engagement is through the relationship with our clients, what is commonly referred to as the "alliance." When it works well, client and therapist reach and maintain agreement about where they are going and the means by which they will get there. Equally important is the strength of the emotional connection—the bond.

Supershrinks, as our own research shows, are exquisitely attuned to the vicissitudes of client engagement. In what amounts to a quantum difference between themselves and average therapists, they are more likely to ask for and receive negative feedback about the quality of the work and their contribution to the alliance. We have now confirmed this finding in numerous independent samples of practitioners working in diverse settings with a wide range of presenting problems. The best clinicians, those falling in the top 25 percent of treatment outcomes, consistently achieve lower scores on standardized alliance measures at the outset of therapy, enabling them to address potential problems in the working relationship. By contrast, median therapists commonly receive negative feedback later in treatment, at a time when clients have already disengaged and are at heightened risk for dropping out.

How do the supershrinks use feedback with regard to the alliance to maintain engagement? A session conducted by Dawn, rescuer of the box elder bugs, is representative of the work done by the field's most effective practitioners. At the time of the visit, we were working as consultants to her agency, teaching the staff to use the standardized outcome and alliance scales, and observing selected clinical interviews from behind a one-way mirror. She had been meeting with an elderly man for the better part of an hour. Although the session initially had lurched along, an easy give and take soon developed between the two. Everyone watching agreed that, overall, the session had gone remarkably well.

At this point, Dawn gave the alliance measure to the client, saying "This is the scale I told you about at the beginning of our visit. It's something new we're doing here. It's a way for me to check in, to get your feedback or input about what we did here today."

Without comment, the man took the form, and after quickly completing it, handed it back to Dawn.

"Ohm wow," she remarked, after rapidly scoring the measure, "you've given me, or the session at least, the highest marks possible."

With that, everyone behind the one-way mirror began to stir in their chairs. Each of us was expecting Dawn to wrap up the session—even, it appeared, the client who was inching forward on his chair. Instead, she leaned toward him.

"I'm glad you came today," she said.

"It was a good idea," he responded, "um, my, uh, doctor told me to come, in, and . . . I did, and, um . . . it's been a nice visit."

"So, will you be coming back?"

Without missing a beat, the man replied, "You know, I'm going to be all right. A person doesn't get over a thing like this overnight. It's going to take me a while. But don't you worry."

Behind the mirror, we and the staff were surprised again. The session had gone well. He had been engaged. A follow-up appointment had been made. Now we heard ambivalence in his voice.

For her part, Dawn was not about to let him off the hook. "I'm hoping you will come back."

"You know, I miss her terribly," he said, "it's awfully lonely at night. But, I'll be all right. As I said, don't worry about me."

"I appreciate that, appreciate what you just said, but actually what I worry about is that I missed something. Come to think about it, if we were to change places, if I were in your shoes, I'd be wondering, 'What really can she know or understand about this, and more, what can she possibly do?'"

A long silence followed. Eventually, the man looked up, and with tears in his eyes, caught her gaze.

Softly, Dawn continued, "I'd like you to come back. I'm not sure what this might mean to you right now, but you don't have to do this alone."

Nodding affirmatively, the man stood, took Dawn's hand, and gave it a squeeze. "See you, then."

Several sessions followed. During that period his scores on the standardized outcome measure improved considerably. At the time, the team was impressed with Dawn. Her sensitivity and persistence paid off, keeping the elderly man engaged, and preventing his dropping out. The real import of her actions, however, did not occur to any of us until much later.

All therapists experience similar incisive moments in their work with clients; times when they are acutely insightful, discerning, even wise. However, such experiences are actually of little consequence in separating the good from the great. Instead, superior performance is found in the margins—the small but consistent difference in the number of times corrective feedback is sought, successfully obtained, and then acted on.

Most therapists, when asked, report that they check in routinely with their clients and know when to do so. But our own research found this to be far from the case. In early 1998, we initiated a study to investigate the impact on treatment outcome of seeking client feedback. Several formats were included. In one, therapists were supposed to seek informal client input on their own. In another, standardized, client-completed outcome and alliance measures were administered and the results shared with fellow therapists. Treatment-as-usual served as a third, control group.

Initial results of the study pointed to an advantage for the feedback conditions. Ultimately, however, the entire project had to be scrapped as a review of the videotapes showed that the therapists in the informal group failed routinely to ask clients for their input—even though, when later queried, the clinicians maintained they had sought feedback.

For their part, supershrinks consistently seek client feedback about how the client feels about them and their work together; they don't just say they do. Dawn perhaps said it best: "I always ask. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, it doesn't go anywhere—at least at the moment. Sometimes I'll get a call, but rarely. More likely, I'll call, and every so often my nosiness uncovers something, some, I don't know quite how to say it, some barrier or break, something in the way of our working together." Such persistence in the face of infrequent payoff is a defining characteristic of those destined for greatness.

Whereas birds can fly, the rest of us need an airplane. When a simple measure of the alliance is used in conjunction with a standardized outcome scale, available evidence shows clients are less likely to deteriorate, more likely to stay longer, and twice as likely to achieve a change of clinical significance. What is more, when applied on an agency-wide basis, tracking client progress and experience of the therapeutic relationship has an effect similar to the one noted earlier in the Olympics: across the board, performance improves; everyone gets better. As John F. Kennedy was fond of saying, "A rising tide lifts all boats."

While it is true that the tide raises everyone, we have observed that supershrinks continue to beat others out of the dock. Two factors account for this. As noted earlier, superior performers engage in significantly more deliberate practice. That is, as Ericsson, the expert on experts says, "effortful activity designed to improve individual target performance." Specific methods of deliberate practice have been developed and employed in the training of pilots, surgeons, and others in highly demanding occupations. Our most recent work has focused on adapting these procedures for use in psychotherapy.

In practical terms, the process involves three steps: think, act, and, finally, reflect. This approach can be remembered by the acronym, T.A.R. To prepare for moving beyond the realm of reliable performance, the best of the best engage in forethought. This means they set specific goals and identify the particular ways they will use to reach their goals. It is important to note that superior performance depends on simultaneously attending to both the ends and the means.

To illustrate, suppose a therapist wanted to improve the engagement level of clients mandated into treatment for substance abuse. First, they would need to define in measurable terms how they would know, what they would see, that would tell them the client is engaged actively in the treatment (e.g., attendance, dialog, eye contact, posture, etc.). Following this, the therapist would develop a step-by-step plan to achieve the specific objectives. Because therapies that focus on client goals result in greater participation, the therapist might, for example, create a list of questions designed to elicit and confirm what the client wants. Not only this, but time would be spent in anticipating what the client might say and planning a strategy for each response.

In the act phase, successful experts track their performance. They monitor on an ongoing basis whether they used each of the steps or strategies outlined in the thinking phase and the quality with which each step was executed. The sheer volume of detail gathered in assessing their performance distinguishes the exceptional from their more average counterparts.

During the reflection phase, top performers review the details of their performance, and identify specific actions and alternate strategies for reaching their goals. Where unsuccessful learners paint with broad strokes, and attribute failure to external and uncontrollable factors (e.g., "I had a bad day," "I wasn't with it"), the experts know exactly what they do, more often citing controllable factors (e.g., "I should have done x instead of y," of "I forgot to do x and will do x plus y next time"). In our work with psychotherapists, for example, we have found that average practitioners are more likely to spend time hypothesizing about failed strategies, believing perhaps that understanding the reasons why an approach did not work will lead to better outcomes, and less time thinking about strategies that might be more effective.

Returning to the example above, an average therapist would be more likely to attribute failure to engage the mandated substance abuser to denial, resistance, or lack motivation. The expert on the other hand would say, "Instead of organizing the session around 'drug use,' I should have emphasized what the client wanted—getting his driver's license back. Next time, I will explore in detail what the two of us need to do right now to get him back in the driver's seat."

The penchant for seeking explanations for treatment failures can have life-and-death consequences. In the 1960s, the average lifespan of children with cystic fibrosis treated by "proficient" pediatricians was three years. The field as a whole attributed the high mortality rate routinely to the illness itself, a belief which, in retrospect, can only be viewed as a self-fulfilling prophecy. After all, why search for alternative methods if the disease invariably kills? Although certainly less dramatic, psychologist William Miller makes a similar point about psychotherapy, noting that most models do not account for how people change, but rather why they stay the same. In our experience, diagnostic classifications often serve a similar function by attributing the cause of a failing or failed therapy to the disorder.

By comparison, deliberate practice bestows clear advantages. In place of static stories and summary conclusions, options predominate. Take chess, for example. The unimaginable speed with which master players intuit the board and make their moves gives them the appearance of wizards, especially to dabblers. Research proves this to be far from the case. In point of fact, they possess no unique or innate ability or advantage in memory. Far from it. Their command of the game is simply a function of numbers: they have played this game and a thousand others before. As a result, they have more means at their disposal.

The difference between average and world-class players becomes especially apparent when stress becomes a factor. Confronted by novel, complex, or challenging situations, the focus of the merely proficient performers narrows to the point of tunnel vision. In chess, these people are easy to spot. They are the ones sitting hunched over the board, their finger glued to a piece, contemplating the next move. But studies of pilots, air traffic controllers, emergency room staff, and others in demanding situations and pursuits show that superior performers expand their awareness, availing themselves of all the options they have identified, rehearsed, and perfected over time.

Deliberate practice, to be sure, is not for the harried or hassled. Neither is it for slackers. Yet the willingness to engage in deliberate practice is what separates the "wheat from the chaff." The reason is simple: doing it is unrewarding in almost every way. As Ericsson notes, "Unlike play, deliberate practice is not inherently motivating; and unlike work, it does not lead to immediate social and monetary rewards. In addition, engaging in [it] generates costs." No third party (e.g., client, insurance company, or government body) will pay for the time spent to track client progress and alliance, identify at-risk cases, develop alternate strategies, seek permission to record treatment sessions, insure HIPAA compliance and confidentiality, systematically review the recordings, evaluate and refine the execution of the strategies, and solicit outside consultation, training, or coaching specific to particular skill sets. And, let's face it, few of us are willing pay for it out of pocket. But this, and all we have just described, is exactly what the supershrinks do. In a word, they are self-motivated. What leads people, children and adults, to devote the time, energy, and resources necessary to achieve greatness is poorly understood. Even when the path to improved performance is clear and requires little effort, most do not follow through. As recently reported in The New York Times, a study of 12 highly experienced gastroenterologists, each having performed a minimum of 3,000 colonoscopies, found that some were 10 times better at finding precancerous polyps than others. An extremely simple solution, one involving no technical skill or diagnostic prowess, was found to increase the polyp-detection rate by 50 percent. Sadly, despite this dramatic improvement, most of the doctors stopped using the remedy the moment the clinical trial ended.

Ericsson and colleagues believe that future studies of elite performers will give us a better idea of how motivation is promoted and sustained. Until then, we know that deliberate practice works best when done multiple times each day, including weekends, for short periods, interrupted by brief rest breaks. "Cramming" or "crash courses" don't work and increase the likelihood of exhaustion and burnout.

The Institute for the Study of Therapeutic Change is developing a web-based system to facilitate deliberate practice. The system is patterned after similar programs in use with pilots, surgeons, and other professionals. The advantage here is that the steps to excellence are automated. At www.myoutcomes.com, clinicians are already able to track their outcomes, establish their baseline, and compare their performance to national norms. The system also provides feedback to therapists when clients are at risk for deterioration or drop-out.

At present, we are testing algorithms that identify patterns in the data associated with superior outcomes. Such formulas, based on thousands of clients and therapists, will enable us to identify when an individual's performance is at variance with the pattern of excellence. When this happens, the clinician will be notified by e-mail of an online deliberate practice opportunity. Such training will differ from traditional continuing education in two critical ways. First, it will be targeted to the development of skill sets specific to the needs of the individual clinician. Second, and of greater consequence in the pursuit of excellence, the impact on outcome can be measured immediately. It is our hope that such a system will make the process of deliberate practice more accessible, less onerous, and more efficient.

The present era in psychotherapy has been referred to by many leading thinkers as the "age of accountability." Everyone wants to know what they are getting for their money. But it is no longer a simple matter of cost and the bottom line. People are looking for value. As a field, we have the means at our disposal to demonstrate the worth of psychotherapy in eyes of consumers and payers and increase its value. The question is, will we?

References

Clement, P. (1994). Quantitative Evaluation of 26 Years of Private Practice. Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, 25, 2, 173-76.

Colvin, G. (2006, October 19). What It Takes to Be Great. Fortune.

Ericsson, K. A. (2006). Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and Expert Performance. United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press.

Gawande, Atul. (2004, December 6). The Bell Curve. The New Yorker.

Hiatt, D. & Hargrave, G. E. (1995). The Characteristics of Highly Effective Therapists in Managed Behavioral Provider Networks. Behavioral Healthcare Tomorrow, 4, 19-22.

Miller S., Duncan, B., Brown, J., Sorrell, R., & Chalk, M. (2007). Using Formal Client Feedback to Improve Retention and Outcome. Journal of Brief Therapy, 5, 19-28.

Ricks, D.F. (1974). Supershrink: Methods of a therapist judged successful on the basis of adult outcomes of adolescent patients. In D. F. Ricks, M. Roff (Eds.), Life History Research in Psychopathology. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 275-297.

Villarosa, L. (2006, December 19). Done Right, Colonoscopy Takes Time, Study Finds. The New York Times, Health Section.

Wampold, B. E. & Brown, J. (2005). Estimating Variability in Outcomes Attributable to Therapists: A Naturalistic Study of Outcomes in Managed Care. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 73, 5, 914-23.

The Therapist Mourns His Mother’s Death: Being With Clients While Heartbroken

My mother died Dec. 18, 2005. She was 84 years old and died of complications from open heart surgery. I am a psychotherapist in private practice and had to return to work shortly after her death. I wondered how I would deal with my deep and heart-stabbing grief while I tried to help my clients work through their issues. Yet, little in graduate or post-graduate training prepares us to deal with such a time in therapy, let alone our lives.

I was fearful that a client would make a comment that would trigger me to sob in the middle of a session. Although I felt very raw in those days after her death, I knew I needed to maintain the boundary between therapist and client. After all, the therapy sessions were for my clients' benefit, not mine. Breaking down and sobbing would definitely make the session about me.

I was also worried that my level of concentration would not be one hundred percent. Normally, I can focus naturally on what a client says while seeking out a helpful response at the same time. I've become adept at checking in on my countertransferance, noticing if the client is saying anything to stir up my issues or causing me unexpected anger, sadness, or confusion. It is important for me to be aware of these feelings because they may indicate unresolved issues. In this period of grief, I wondered if I could be anywhere near as effective at this as I normally was.

As a therapist, I expect myself to be entirely present throughout the therapy hour. I expect myself to help heal clients' wounds, help them feel better about themselves, and assist them in alleviating their pain. During optimal circumstances, these goals are difficult to attain. While in the throngs of grief, it was going to be exponentially harder.

Still, I wondered what insights, revelations, and understandings I would develop while in a state of grief and mourning. Was it possible I could use my own grief during therapy sessions to help clients work through their grief? “How would I react with clients who were grieving their own losses? Would I hide my grief, break down myself, or make use of my grief for the client's benefit?” I soon found I had a chance to face these questions when I began engaging Abe about the loss of his father.

Abe's Loss

I have been working with Abe, an 18-year-old man whose father died when he was three years old. He is very bright and has a basic curiosity about how the mind and emotions interact. Abe is a seeker of all life's truths. He is very social, does well academically, and also has strong interests in drama, sports, and politics. Abe came to see me because, for the first time, he was experiencing a myriad of feelings about his father's life and death. He found these feelings to be at times overwhelming and unpredictable. He would start crying out of the blue or become agitated for no apparent reason, all the while struggling to make sense of what was happening to him.

Abe's father was only 37 years old when he died from cancer. His dad was active in city and regional politics, and a successful attorney. He loved baseball, politics, marathon running, and his family. Abe imagined that his dad was a larger-than-life figure who he should have had the opportunity to bond with. Instead, he never got to know the man and had no memories of him at all. Over the years he heard stories about his dad, but felt guilty, angry and hurt because he felt no connection with him.

Throughout his childhood, Abe's mother and older brother talked often of his father, their memories and their sadness from missing him. But Abe could not relate to their sadness since he had no memories of his father. When Abe reached his late teens, he began to notice that his life was off kilter. He found himself being sad and angry for no reason. At other times, he had difficulty with rejection and was quite moody. Abe noticed these changes and wondered if they were part of normal adolescence or if they had something to do with his father's death. As he began to face his loss, he began to grieve for the first time. He began to understand that a void was created within him after his father died; when he tried to conjure up memories of his father, nothing was there but his own sadness and anger. He was overwhelmed with the pain of not having his father's guidance and love in his life. Abe found that he felt emotional much of the time and that his feelings of loss were right on the surface. “Abe told me he had a bittersweet relationship with these feelings of grief, yet he let on that, "It feels good to grieve; it makes the loss so much more real."”

Disclosing My Mother's Death to Abe

As Abe spoke, I felt as though he was hitting the same complex note that I was facing in my life. I'd been thinking the same thing about my mother. I wondered if I should share my feelings with Abe. Would this approach be over the top and way too intense for him and me? Was I doing this because it would make him feel better or was I really doing it because it would make me feel better? I paused a moment and decided that my words would likely be helpful to him. It is difficult in the moment to know for certain if our self-disclosures will be beneficial for our clients, yet we must proceed with sharing based on what we sense and intuit.

I told Abe that I thought I understood what he was feeling. I shared that I run five miles every day while listening to music and I cry deeply when memories, thoughts, or feelings about my mother arise. Abe said that he had similar feelings about crying over the loss of his father. The powerful sadness opened a door that allowed him to make his father's death real instead of some distant intellectual construct. Although he had no memories of him, he truly knew that his father loved him, and he feels this love when he is immersed in tears. This spiritual connection provided solace to Abe.

“I learned from this encounter that although I was grieving and not operating on all cylinders in the regular world, in the therapy office it was okay to trust my intuition to intervene.” There is always some risk with a powerful intervention that clients will feel frustrated, misunderstood, and even possibly shamed. Yet, at the same time, mistakes can be utilized in the therapy if the therapist is open to dealing with the client's disagreement or fallout. With Abe, though, I felt confident that I was connecting with him in a meaningful way and that he was having none of these negative reactions. In fact, it led him to reveal more about what was going on inside of him.

Deciding to Hold Back Certain Grief Reactions from Abe

Abe talked about his experience of sharing his feelings about his father with his peers. Most of them seemed to suggest that he needed to "get over it." It seems that exploring themes of loss in a deep way is as taboo now as it was when my father died in 1966. This was the same attitude I felt from peers and adults at the time. I found my mind drifting back to the day of my father's death and I began to feel angry.

“Yet, I knew that this was not the time to process my memories of the loss of my father, and I would have to come back to it later.” Instead of sharing those awful memories, I encouraged Abe to continue searching for people who could support him. I realized that he believed this type of support was almost non-existent, but I nonetheless urged him to persevere.

Abe found one. During a tour of historic sites of the civil rights movement, he met the daughter of a slain civil rights worker and they shared their common story of losing their fathers when they were young. Abe was able to feel a deep connection with this woman and express his anguish over his loss. This experience served to move the grief along. As Abe told me about this experience, I remembered what it was like when I first heard of my mother's death. Unlike my father's death, where I didn't feel anything but numbness for years, my mother's death affected me immediately. My sister called to say that my mother had died during the early morning. The doctors did their best to save her, but she only fought as long as her body and spirit would allow. When I heard this, I moved from panic to sorrow to relief in a matter of moments. This pattern would repeat itself continually after that horrible day.

I thought about sharing the details of the day my mother died with Abe, but I decided that this was more about my own work and would not necessarily advance his mourning process. I knew that I could drift into the terrible memory and totally lose the therapeutic focus. So, I decided to process this experience on my own during my daily run the next day and in the present listened more carefully to Abe.

Using My Own Grief to Connect to Abe's Grief with Few or No Words

Abe told me that he was worried about what his grief would be like as he got older. Would he feel resolved about his father's death? If so, what would that feel like? Would he ever feel more of a connection with him than he did now?

I was facing a very similar existential dilemma. I was unclear if I would ever feel resolved about my mother's death. Would this pain ever let up? I decided to keep this struggle to myself, and said to Abe that it was wonderful that he was so introspective and that he valued challenging himself emotionally. I also said that he did not have to worry about finding answers to these questions, because he would discover solutions over time.

There were times during my sessions with Abe that he would experience deep, intense, overwhelming sorrow. I would empathize with his angst and at the same time have sharp, clear memories of my mother's last days in the hospital. I knew that I could not let these memories overtake me, which might lead me to obvious distraction or painful screams—at least not while Abe was in the room. I felt a deep empathy for Abe. I needed to use few words, and mostly utilized the invisible therapeutic bond between us. This was a moving and healing time for Abe. At times my grieving energy connected with his without me having to state directly what I was thinking about regarding my own losses; the unspoken connection was what was needed. I felt the presence of my mother's spirit in the room, filled with warmth and wisdom. I felt her smiling over me and letting me know I was doing great work. “I was learning to use my grief, sometimes directly, and, as in this moment, indirectly in my work with Abe.”

Abe, as an 18-year-old, fluctuates between the need for independence and the need for being dependent upon his mother. While this dilemma plays out with all the adolescents I work with, Abe is unique in that he is aware of these forces literally pulling him apart. I continue to be amazed at the level of his insight. He knows that on the one hand he wants his mother to grant him unconditional freedom. On the other hand, he realizes that at times he is motivated by the look of disappointment upon her face.

He told me that he and his mother had been fighting because she felt he was not giving his best efforts academically, socially, or in his drama work. It became clear that his mother's definition of best effort was not the same as Abe's. After a long and, at times, difficult discussion, both Abe and his mom cried. They came to accept each other. Abe now realizes that deep down inside his mother only wants him to be happy.

As Abe recounted this story, my eyes filled up with tears, but didn't stream down my face. I am unsure if Abe noticed this, but it would have been fine with me if he had, because my crying validated his feelings of loss. My showing of emotion also enhanced my alliance with him, and I am sure he realized that I was moved by his story and resonated with what he was going through.

I stated that he was fortunate to discover his mother's unconditional love for him at such a young age. My mother and I did not feel at ease with each other until I reached my forties. As time went on, we became closer and closer. I let down the wall that I had built up since I was 15 when my father died. When my mother died, we knew we loved each other without any reservations. The pain of her loss is often overwhelming and sometimes I miss her so much I can hardly breathe. I'm grateful, though, that I had the opportunity to experience unconditional love—a feeling you can never have if your heart is sealed shut.

I shared with Abe that I felt that he was way ahead of the game in this respect, and that he was ahead of where I was at that age. He was able to appreciate the his mother's good attributes , as well as notice her less than admirable qualities, such as being overly protective. I mentioned that being able to tolerate as well as appreciate the good and the imperfect in his mom would make it easier to tolerate those aspects inside him. He responded to my comments by affirmatively nodding his head while tears formed in his eyes. He was aware that he had a special relationship with his mother; he could share most anything with her and she would still love and accept him. He felt that I understood his relationship with his mother and this tightened my connection with him.

Finding Some Grace in the Sorrow of Grief

“I was so raw during those first few weeks after my mother's death. At times I felt that I had lost the means to filter out any kind of physical or emotional pain.” This stark vulnerability somehow increased my need to do my job well. Even in this early stage of loss, I realized that having a purpose helped in the recovery process. My main purpose was to help others heal from loss and trauma.

I feel that my work with Abe has been successful. I was able to help him understand that the loss of his father did impact his feelings of rejection from peers. I also helped him discover the gifts of grieving: the release of the angst and ultimately a real connection with his father. As I experienced this sense of a successful therapy with Abe, I felt a sense of spiritual grace surround me. This phenomenon seemed more important to me now than at any other time of my life.

During one session, I asked Abe why he thought his dad died at such a young age. Abe told me that he supposed his father died when he did because he learned all the wisdom that he was meant to learn, and therefore it was time to leave this earth. He recognized that it was comforting to give himself a reason why such tragedies occur but that these words did little to heal him.

I think that each client has the right to have his own spiritual and religious beliefs. Just the same, it is worthwhile to explore their beliefs. I shared my feelings with Abe to illustrate this point. I mentioned to Abe that I have no idea why my parents died when they did. I haven't uncovered any words of wisdom that give me solace. Expressions like, "It was God's will," "She is in a better space now," or, "It was her time to be with God" do nothing for me. This terminology may be well intended, yet is often not meaningful to the newly bereaved. I much prefer people to be good listeners and share their experiences of loss than to repeat some Hallmark Card homilies. I noticed how cynical I sounded, and decided to change the subject and come back to it later. I didn't think my words were harmful to Abe, nor did I believe they had therapeutic value. Indeed, Abe did not seem to connect to those comments one way or another, so it was best to move on.

When I first began working with Abe, he was very sensitive to rejection. He would feel rejected at times even when it wasn't clearly the case—such as when he joined a conversation with his friends late and they would not immediately respond to him. This level of sensitivity can occur while one is in the midst of grieving. I shared a story with Abe that he related to: One recent Saturday soon after my mother's death, I was feeling angry towards my wife because she could not anticipate what I was going to think or feel in the next five minutes. I cannot know what I will feel in the next five minutes, so how could I expect her to do so? However, I was feeling so raw and lost that I put those expectations on her. Suddenly I began to sob and said to my wife, "I'm really missing my mother." She hugged me and said. "I didn't know you cared for your mother so much." "Neither did I," I replied.

Feeling the Presence of the One who Died

I recently celebrated my 55th birthday, the first one without my mother. She used to call me and we would talk endlessly about the condition of the world. I knew she was on my side and I was grateful. As I headed out the door for my run that morning, I noticed something different. The sun was shining immediately after an early morning downpour. I felt my mother's presence caught between my imagination and the spirit world.

As I started to run, I listened to Etta James singing "Somewhere There's a Place for Us" and it felt as though my mother was actually listening with me. I saw her alive, laughing. Then I imagined her dead, eyes closed, smile on her face, and felt a deep sense of gloom. I wondered if this was the only connection I would ever have with her again. Although I was still running, I suddenly felt as though I was standing still. A brand new thought entered my mind: Will my spirit join hers when I die? If so, how will it be? Will I be surrounded by her unconditional love? Will I have the ability to move from the spirit of one loved one to another? Is this what heaven is like? This was the first time I ever considered that there might be an afterlife. Before this, I had always been so cynical about it. Perhaps this major gift comes out of my mother's dying.

I shared this story with Abe, and I asked him if he believed in an afterlife. He wasn't sure, but he felt that he was in touch with his father's spirit. He talked about coming-of-age events like shaving and dating. When he reached these events, he felt that his father was instructing him how to succeed at them. Tears came to his eyes as he shared this story. He was aware that these grief-filled moments brought him closer to his father's spirit.

I shared this experience with Abe, because I sensed that he was wondering about the afterlife and I hoped it would be another experience where I could connect with him. I did not have a sense that Abe would feel pressured to agree with me, but that it would stimulate his own thinking and feelings, which would further his healing process.

I didn't share Abe's experience of not having any memories of a deceased parent and I attempted to help him come to terms with this burden. He knew innately that his father loved him, and this grounded him for the deep work he immersed himself in. I felt that my job was to guide him from the point of numbness, to healing his deep wounds and gaining a fuller understanding of what happened to him when his father died. When possible and relevant, “I often direct those clients who are dealing with mixed feelings about the loss of a loved one to find a place inside to hold that loved one in a peaceful manner.”

I am not sure what Abe will go through or what this place will be like when he discovers it, but I feel honored to participate in his voyage. I do know that I have been blessed with the rare opportunity to help a client face his grieving process while dealing with the death of my mother. And I believe that going deeper into my own grief helped me understand Abe's losses more fully, connect to him in a real way, and assist him in coming to terms with the loss of his father. The pain of loss can be a powerful means to heal others.

Suggestions for therapists in the initial stages of recovering from the loss of a loved one

Have a strategy in place

Now is not the time for flying by the seat of your pants. If your style is to not share your personal life with your clients, there is no reason to change that now. My style has been to self-disclose and share parts of my life with clients when I believe that this information will enable them to work through conflicts and grow emotionally. I continued this way of working after my mother died. Still, I needed to remind myself that I was telling my story for the client's sake, not mine.

Take Care of Yourself

How often have we instructed our clients that self-care was of supreme importance? This principle also applies to therapists who are in the early stages of grief. I exercise almost every day, and writing has also been a healing vehicle. Individual therapy, grief support groups, and other self-help groups are viable options. I feel that it is important to face and embrace the pain of my mother's loss every day. This way of mourning is not for everyone. We all need to discover our own pace and our own means to work through the anguish.

Be Self-Aware

Whether you are alone or in a therapy session, you are always grieving. You cannot just turn it on and off like a light switch. If you suddenly feel profoundly sad during an interaction with a client, you need to ask yourself why you are feeling this way. During the past month, my despair came from the death of my mother. I trained myself to be aware of why I felt the way I did, what triggered my feelings, and what the client said that caused me to feel sad. Then I would determine if I would use this experience to illuminate what the client was facing.

Integrate your knowledge of grief and your own loss

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with feelings of hopelessness. I recently came down with a sinus infection for the first time in a decade. There are nights that I do not sleep very well. I realize that all of these unwelcome changes are the result of losing my mother and that they are normal. I also know from experience that my grief will gradually subside and at some point in time I will not feel as devastated as I do today.

Suggested Resources on Grief and Mourning

Livingstone, B. (2002). Redemption of the Shattered: A Teenager's Healing Journey through Sandtray Therapy, http://www.boblivingstone.com.

Livingstone, B. (Planned August, 2007). The Body-Mind-Soul Solution: Healing Emotional Pain through Exercise, Pegasus Books.

Simon, S, & Drantell, J. J. (1998). A Music I No Longer Heard: The Early Death of a Parent, Simon and Schuster.

Grollman, E. (1995). Living when a Loved One has Died, Beacon Press.

James, J. W. & Friedman, R. (1998). The Grief Recovery Handbook, Collins.

Worden, J. W. (2001). Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy: A Handbook for the Mental Health Professional, Springer Publishing.

Self-Help Snake Oil and Self-Improvement Urban Legends

People seeking the help of a psychotherapist almost always do so after trying—and failing—to help themselves. Many have self-medicated, using everything from herbal remedies (e.g., St. John's Wort for depression) to alcohol or other drugs. Still others have tried to enact the psychological advice they sought from friends or family. But many turn to the products and services put forth by what we might call the self-help or self-improvement "industry." It is a large industry indeed. A 2004 study by Marketdata estimated that Americans spend $8.5 billion on self-improvement products and services annually, including over $600 million on self-help books alone.

The problem with the self-improvement industry is that it is better described as an unregulated "wild west" rather than staid science. Certainly much of what this industry offers is high quality, and is put forth by reputable psychologists. But in this article we'll focus on the seamier side of this industry, as we explore self-help snake oil and self-improvement urban legends. In particular, we'll focus on how professional psychologists can help the general public, and their clients in particular, separate the good this industry has to offer from the bad and the ugly. As we shall see, fruitful conversations with clients can result from discussing the misperceptions fostered by snake oil, and the deeper truths underlying many psychological urban legends.

Repeat after me: "Affirmations don't work. Affirmations don't work."

Many self-help books advocate the use of "incantations" or "affirmations." Simply repeat phrases such as "I like myself" over and over again, we are told, and soon we will experience an enhanced self-image and boosted self-esteem. This idea is not new. In the 1920s, French pharmacist Emile Coué created an international fad of "autosuggestion" by encouraging everyone to repeat the mantra: "Day by day, in every way, I am getting better and better." Repeating it aloud 20 times each morning and evening was supposed to result in health, wealth, and pretty much whatever else one wanted (it does, after all, specify improvement "in every way.")

This technique supposedly influenced the unconscious mind, and struck a chord amidst the growing popularization of Freudian psychology. But of course, if this technique worked as advertised, the vast majority of psychotherapists would immediately be out of business, today's epidemic of depression would be easily reversed, and everyone would walk around grinning like Stepford wives. Research clearly demonstrates the many psychological and physical benefits of optimism. The problem is "getting there from here," and affirmations are unlikely to foster an authentic and lasting change from a pessimistic style of thinking to a more optimistic one.

The same criticism could be made of Norman Vincent Peale's The Power of Positive Thinking, which had a record-setting run on best-seller lists in the 1950s and remains popular today. Few would argue with its basic premise, but today its techniques seem quaint and simplistic (For example, Peale recommended "mind clearing," which simply meant purging the mind of negative thoughts and replacing them with positive ones.). Many clients will express some familiarity with the concept of positive thinking, and perhaps some frustration with the ineffectiveness of techniques such as affirmations. Psychologists can use these occasions as segues to discussing the very real benefits of optimism, and the more potent techniques for achieving it such as reshaping one's attributional style, or the types of counter-arguing strategies offered by cognitive-behavioral therapy.

Subliminal self-help tapes: Just when you thought affirmations couldn't get easier

Self-help snake oil is typically sold with the promise of easy, effortless change. And perhaps the only thing easier than repeating affirmations is listening to someone else repeat them for you. That's the premise behind subliminal self-help tapes, a $50 million industry featuring products that promise to improve memory, enhance workplace performance, aid in weight loss, and make a host of other lifestyle changes.

These products are simply affirmations with a high-tech makeover and bigger marketing budgets, and every independent study has shown that these tapes don't work as advertised. In fact, they have only two reliable effects, with the first being removing money from the buyer's pocket and placing it into the seller's. The second, more psychologically interesting effect is what psychologist Anthony Pratkanis has called the illusory placebo effect.

Consider one of the studies conducted by Pratkanis and his colleagues. Participants took baseline tests of self-esteem and memory, and then listened to subliminal tapes purported to improve either self-esteem or memory. But here's the twist—half of the participants received tapes that were correctly labeled, while the other half were given mislabeled tapes. In other words, some purported self-esteem-enhancing tapes were labeled as memory improvers, while some tapes that promised to improve memory were labeled as self-esteem enhancers. Everyone was given instructions on how to use the tapes, and each participant was called weekly with encouragement to continue listening to the tapes. Five weeks later, the self-esteem and memory of all participants were measured again.1

Consistent with other studies, these tapes did not deliver the benefits their manufacturers had promised, as there was no significant improvement in self-esteem or memory. Although the tapes themselves had no effect, the labels did. Those who listened to tapes labeled as self-esteem enhancers believed their self-esteem had improved (in fact, self-esteem remained stable). Similarly, those who listened to tapes labeled as memory enhancers believed their memory had improved (in fact, their memories had not improved). Thus the illusory placebo effect: Like a placebo, the tapes had an effect only because users expected them to have an effect, but the effect was illusory, not real.

This study and others like it not only debunk ineffective products, they reveal the insidious nature of self-help snake oil. When people mistakenly believe they have been helped, they fall short of their own potential, and unwittingly aid dubious companies by becoming loyal customers and persuading others to do the same. Nineteenth-century snake oils had similar effects. Many contained a mixture of alcohol and opium known as laudanum, and it pretty much doesn't matter what's wrong with you—taking alcohol and opium will make you feel better, even though the underlying medical conditions often become worse. It is an important message for psychologists and clients alike: Just because something makes you feel temporarily better doesn't mean it is safe, effective, or does what its proponents claim.

For psychotherapists whose clients have tried these products, an opportunity exists to discuss their misleading claims, and contrast them with how psychological change truly happens. A cognitive-behavioral therapist, for example, would likely dismiss the entire premise of reshaping the unconscious mind, choosing to focus instead on conscious thoughts and overt behaviors. In contrast, someone of a more psychoanalytic bent would likely explain that, although unconscious desires are important, psychological change begins with bringing those desires into conscious awareness, a process not facilitated by subliminal affirmations.

The Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study: A fictitious study can't create an international uproar . . . can it?

How do marketers sell self-help snake oil? By using the "supporting" research from self-improvement urban legends. Subliminal self-help tapes are often sold on the basis of an infamous study conducted in the mind 1950s, in which advertising "expert" James Vicary supposedly exposed thousands of New Jersey movie-goers to the subliminal messages Eat Popcorn and Drink Coke. Vicary claimed dramatic results: an 18-percent increase in Coke sales and a 57.5-percent increase in popcorn sales.

Even more dramatic were the results outside the movie theater. After the study was publicized, several nations outlawed subliminal advertising, and the US Federal Communications Commission threatened to strip the broadcast license of anyone using it. In less than one year after the results were announced, nearly half of Americans had heard of subliminal advertising; by the 1980s, that figure had risen to nearly 80 percent, with two-thirds of those believing it could be effective in shaping behavior. By the mid-90s, subliminal advertising achieved a pop culture mainstream double-whammy—Saturday Night Live and beer commercials—with Kevin Nealon's character Subliminal Man. Today, an online search for "subliminal advertising" yields over 280,000 hits, with "eat popcorn drink coke" yielding over 60,000. And although the first few online results clearly debunk the study, many of these Internet sources present the study as valid evidence for the effectiveness of subliminal self-help products.

There are many "footnotes" to this study that never gained the notoriety of the original—particularly the fact that Vicary recanted. Sort of. In 1962, he admitted that the study wasn't quite as good as advertised (pun intended): "We hadn't done any research, except what was needed for filing for a patent. I had only a minor interest in the company and a small amount of data—too small to be meaningful. And what we had shouldn't have been used promotionally." This carefully worded "non-admission admission" stops short of acknowledging the study as an outright fraud, and opens a loophole that many snake-oil-peddling web sites use to question the sincerity of Vicary's recantation.

But even more damning have been the repeated failures to replicate Vicary's dramatic results. Precisely replicating Vicary's methodology wasn't easy, given that his study was never published in a scientific journal, and the most detailed description of its methodology was in a 1957 issue of Senior Scholastic—a magazine written for junior-high students. But that didn't stop researchers from conducting hundreds of similar studies, virtually all of which conclude that subliminal messages have no significant effect on behavior at all.

Although carefully controlled laboratory studies may be most persuasive to scientists, perhaps it is a pair of naturalistic field studies that best illustrate the point. In 1958, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation subliminally flashed the message "Phone Now" 352 times during one of their programs. Not only was there no increase in calls, but when viewers were later asked to guess the message, most reported being hungry or thirsty. Apparently Vicary's subliminal messages of Eat Popcorn and Drink Coke shaped behavior after all—they created a placebo effect that was felt years later and a country away. Remarkably, police in Wichita, Kansas conducted an almost exact replica of this study 20 years later. Desperate for a break in the hunt for the publicity-hungry murderer known as the BTK Killer, police instructed a local television station to subliminally flash the message "Now Call the Chief" during a news broadcast. Unfortunately, no one called, and another 30 years passed before police made an arrest in the case.

Like all great urban legends, the story of the Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study captured the public imagination despite the evidence largely because it conveyed a message that people were particularly ready to hear. The Zeitgeist of the late 1950s was characterized by Cold War paranoia and the fear that science was being used for negative purposes. Movies like The Manchurian Candidate depicted brainwashed assassins whose behavior was controlled by forces of which they weren't consciously aware. Books like Vance Packard's The Status Seekers revealed how marketers had shifted from overt messages such as Buy Product X to more subtle methods of capitalizing on consumers' fears and insecurities.

The Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study was not the first—or the last—time that subliminal phenomena became a national fad because they meshed with what people wanted to hear. Consider that…

  • In the early 1900s, psychology and advertising texts described potent subliminal effects, even though the evidence at the time was far from consistent. Not coincidentally, several popular spiritual and self-help movements of the day, such as Christian Science and the New Thought Movement, preached that the human mind had powerful but unconscious abilities to bring about health and happiness.
  • In the 1970s, Wilson Bryan Key created a lucrative cottage industry for himself with a series of best-selling books claiming that subliminal messages were being widely used in print ads. Even today, many people remember his claim that sex is subtly written into ads for everything from alcohol to Ritz crackers, but they reached mainstream popularity during the me decade because they meshed with Americans' rising distrust of advertisers and general loosening of sexual mores.
  • In the 1990s, Americans yearned for more self-help products as the "recovery movement" and "therapy culture" went mainstream. Little wonder they were so ready to believe the claims about subliminal self-help tapes.

Of course, this legend is not the only marketing weapon in the arsenal of snake oil salespeople. They are, for example, experts at making irrelevant research seem as if it supports their claims, and are skilled at blurring the lines between subliminal perception and subliminal persuasion. Research on subliminal perception has conclusively shown that, under highly controlled laboratory conditions, individuals can perceive images which are flashed very briefly, even without being consciously aware of having seen the images. But that does not translate to subliminal persuasion—there is no evidence that broad patterns of thought and behavior can be substantially influenced by subliminal messages. Yet many snake oil web sites deceptively cite studies of subliminal perception as if they are evidence for subliminal persuasion and, by extension, their snake oil products. But as selling tools these studies are not nearly as effective as the Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study. The fact is that a single vivid study with name recognition is, for most people, far more persuasive than a dozen studies published in scientific journals.

Although professional psychologists are no doubt dismayed that a dubious study is being used to sell dubious products, this is not the only detrimental effect of subliminal myths they are likely to face. Recently a young man called my office seeking something to block subliminal messages because he was being "bombarded" with them. He had seen an article on my web site debunking the subliminal industry, and had clearly missed the point. The sad fact is that he was a troubled young man, and subliminal messages were the least of his problems. The myth of subliminal persuasion led him to misinterpret the psychological challenges facing him, and distracted him from exploring more relevant and effective psychological techniques.

The Yale Study of Goals: Tony Robbins, Brian Tracy and Zig Ziglar can't all be wrong . . . can they?

Unfortunately, the Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study isn't the only urban legend used to sell less-than-effective self-improvement products. The "Yale Study of Goals," for example, has become a staple in the repertoire of motivational speakers and modern self-help writers. It has even been described in more than one best-selling book.2 As typically described, there are three elements to the study:

  • The 1953 graduating class at Yale was interviewed.
  • 3 percent had written specific written goals for their futures.
  • 20 years later, that 3 percent was found to be worth more financially than the other 97 percent combined.

This study would indeed be a dramatic illustration of the power of goal setting, except for one minor point: it was never conducted. There are literally hundreds of published studies on goals. I have read virtually all of them, and although I have read about the Yale Study of Goals in several popular self-help books, I have never seen a single reference to it in the research literature.

The Consulting Debunking Unit of Fast Company magazine deserves credit for unmasking this study as an urban legend that was passed uncritically via word of mouth until it was accepted as truth.3 When they approached Tony Robbins for documentation, a spokesperson explained that the background material for Robbins' 1986 best-seller Unlimited Power (which cites the study) "met a disastrous end," and suggested that self-help author Brian Tracy might know more. Tracy, in turn, explained how he often describes the study in his books and speeches, and that he learned of the study from motivational speaker and sales guru Zig Ziglar. When reached for comment, Ziglar was unable to locate the original study, suggesting, "Try Tony Robbins." The circle was complete. Yale gets numerous requests for information about this study and, despite extensive research, has never found any evidence that it was ever conducted. As one Yale spokesperson put it, "We are quite confident that the 'study' did not take place. We suspect it is a myth."

Urban legends typically get repeated because they convey a moral or have some deeper meaning, and there is considerable truth to the notion that goals can enhance performance. Although this urban legend is certainly not as misleading as the Eat Popcorn/Drink Coke study, it remains an excellent example of how a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. For example, the research is clear that goals only enhance performance if they are set properly (in my work, I use the acronym SCAMPI to teach the elements of effective goals: Specific, Challenging, Approach, Measurable, Proximal, Inspirational). This urban legend fails to convey this important caveat, and doesn't teach these goal-setting principles. By coming across as "the whole story," this urban legend minimizes any motivation the reader might have to dig deeper and learn more about the true science of goal setting.

A Final Thought

A clinical psychologist's early sessions with a new client often focus largely on the history of the client's problems, including what has helped and what hasn't. An important component of such discussions are the client's history of less-than-successful attempts to solve their problems themselves. Therapists can better steer these conversations toward valuable insights and effective solutions if they are knowledgeable about the half-truths of self-improvement urban legends and the unkept promises of self-help snake oil.

Clearly, as psychologists, we have more than a therapeutic duty of helping clients solve problems—we have an educational duty as well. This obviously includes educating clients that "technique X doesn't work" or "study Y wasn't really conducted." But it should also include using this debunking as a springboard to educating clients about genuine processes for psychological change, which almost always involve thought, effort and action. The educational role that psychologists play will not only help clients solve problems in the short-term, it will help them evaluate "too good to be true" promises long after their psychotherapy sessions end. In short, it will give clients the skills to help them recognize and avoid self-help snake oil and focus on methods that work.

Notes

1Anthony Pratkanis, a professor at the University of California at Santa Cruz, summarized this study and others in his article The Cargo-Cult Science of Subliminal Persuasion. Published in the Spring 1992 issue of the Skeptical Inquirer, it can be found online at www.csicop.org/si/9204/subliminal-persuasion.html. Interested readers may also want to check out Subliminal Perception: Facts and Fallacies by Timothy Moore (http://www.csicop.org/si/9204/subliminal-perception.html).

2For example, it can be found on page 200 of Anthony Robbins' (1986) best-seller Unlimited Power, and on page 26 of Bill Phillips' (1999) Body for Life (which even gets the legend wrong, describing it as being conducted at Harvard).

3See page 38 of their December, 1996 issue, or read it on the Internet at www.fastcompany.com/online/06/cdu.html. The quote from the Yale spokesperson at the end of the paragraph comes from that article as well.

For more about Dr. Kraus's science-based systems for success, visit his web site on Positive Psychology: The REAL Science of Success, or his Positive Psychology & Success Blog.

Note: This article was first published in the June 2005 issue of The San Francisco Psychologist (www.SFPA.net).

A Psychotherapist’s Guide to Facebook and Twitter: Why Clinicians Should Give a Tweet!

It seems strange today, but when I was a graduate student, nobody brought a laptop to school. I was lucky if my practicum sites had a computer that the office administrative assistant might permit me to use. I was the intern in the group who would beg whoever was working at the front desk to let me sneak on during our lunch hour so that I could check my email, write a quick blog post, or see what was happening on BMUG (Berkeley Mac Users Group). This was in 1998, which seems not very long ago, but which was eons ago in cybertime.

I’d been on the Internet since 1993, and I’d been a computer consultant for almost as long. By the time I enrolled in my PsyD program in 1996, I’d Internet dated, I’d connected with friendly folks across the country, and, I’d been on Craigslist when it was just a small email list sent out by Craig himself. I accessed Usenet before the World Wide Web was browsable, and “I spent much of 1994 lurking on support boards for polyamory and multiple personality disorder just because these forums allowed me to be a virtual fly on the wall and learn about the experiences of people whose lives were very different from mine.” The Internet was still a place that offered anonymity at that time, a land of pseudonyms and no powerful search engines to track the gingerbread crumbs back to your door. I can still remember what it sounded like when my 2400 bps modem connected to AOL: the distinctive sound of rubber band meets static as the modems on each side negotiated their connection.

I also remember becoming a psychology trainee a few years later and listening awkwardly when supervisors and professors spoke with confidence about people who were addicted to the Internet. Many of them made assumptions about those “Internet people." They were lazy couch potatoes who never left the house, or worse: antisocial porn addicts. “I seemed to be entering a field in which maybe my own Internet habits were a bit suspect.”

It’s now 2010 and it’s rare to find someone who isn’t on the Internet in some fashion. While many therapists may not have a social networking presence, most have email addresses and have used the Internet to locate a business, view a family member’s photos, or to watch a funny video on Youtube.

When I started my private psychotherapy practice in 2008, I made the shift from using the Internet for my personal life to using it in my professional life. An integral part of that shift entailed creating a website and a blog. In 2009, I expanded my professional Internet presence to include a Twitter account and a Facebook page for my private practice. Some other mental health professionals have been doing the same. It’s certainly a new era.

What is Social Media?

What is Facebook?

The main page of your Facebook profile is called a Wall and depending upon the privacy settings you select (which might limit who can post on your Wall, or who can even view the Wall itself) people can view things you post to your Wall or post items of their own onto your Wall. The sorts of things that get posted include Status Updates, which are brief comments you add about what you’re doing or something you care about. These Status Updates show up on the News Feed which is a constantly refreshing stream of what only an extremely social person could consider news: John just Liked a photo, Penny wrote on David’s Wall, Molly posted four pictures to Flickr (a photo-sharing site), Evan just overheard something funny. People also share news articles and Youtube videos or longer Notes, which are essays they write (or essays someone else wrote that someone wants to Share).

“Some people post incredibly personal updates on their Walls. I have been surprised more than once to learn of engagements, deaths, and divorces via Facebook Walls.” I sometimes discover this information reported on Facebook before ever getting a note or phone call from the person who posted the update. People have also used the Wall to share information about missing persons in their friend networks. News can travel fast, especially when people click the Share button and immediately are able to take a post from one user’s Wall and transmit it to everyone who reads their own Wall. When you have friend networks of 100–1000 people, you can imagine how this has become quite a tool for disseminating information.

This quick circulation of information has inspired some therapists to consider using Facebook as a platform for advertising their practices. Some do this directly from their Facebook profiles and others have created a separate business listing, known as a Page. If you can get friends, families, and strangers to Like your page (prior to April, 2010, they became a Fan of your Page), then others in their network can see this action and click through to your business to learn more.

Other therapists first get onto Facebook because they want to view family photos or find friends from high school or college. It’s a social networking site allowing you to connect to your friends and interact with them and their online profiles in a variety of ways. Where Facebook gets tricky for mental health professionals is that it is a personal space that exists in public.

Personal vs. Professional Space

Managing Friend Requests

Some therapists using Facebook have received requests from their current or former clients to add them as Friends. It is wise to think through how you plan to manage Friend requests from clients. Be mindful that inviting clients to your personal profile can be perceived as inviting them into your personal life. This can send mixed messages to clients, especially if they are unclear about therapeutic boundaries to begin with. “If you would never think of inviting a client to a cocktail party at your home with your friends and family present, then you may want to think twice about inviting them to be your Friend on Facebook (or approving their Friend requests).” It can be the online equivalent of inviting them into your social circle. It may also make them wonder who else in this social circle is in treatment with you. If clients try to add us as Friends on Facebook, or we try to Friend them (yes, thanks to Facebook "Friend" has become a verb)—even by either of us accidentally clicking on a link to invite everyone in our address book—the boundaries can become even more complicated. This suddenly brings up issues of confidentiality, dual role conflicts, and feelings of trust, boundaries, safety, and rejection. It can also create questions about whether you are responsible for attending to the information a client shares on her own profile and utilizing it in treatment.

Friends You Share

Pages vs. Profiles

The biggest problem with having a Page is that you will still have to decide how you feel about who Likes your practice. Will you want your family members listed on that Page for others to see? Will you accept current or former clients as people who endorse your Page? Having or allowing your clients to be connected to your public professional profile brings up issues of confidentiality. There is also the question of whether someone Liking your Page could be perceived as a testimonial. All Ethics Codes for psychologists, marriage and family therapists, and social workers prohibit us from requesting testimonials from current clients due to their being vulnerable to our influence. Is a Facebook Page a passive request for an endorsement or testimonial? This is one of the gray area questions that social media is raising for clinicians.

So What is Twitter?

Why, you may ask, would someone want to share 140 characters of information? Well, it’s a great way to direct people to news stories or make short announcements. Most people use it to share tidbits from their day and there are a lot of mundane Tweets about people’s life activities. But Twitter can get a lot more interesting if you search for news items or want to follow a conversation. For example, “some people have noticed that Twitter is the first place that they can find out if there was an earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area and that those updates sometimes refresh more quickly than some of the well-known earthquake websites.”

If you’re presenting at a conference or offering a CE workshop or you have openings in a therapy group, Twitter can be one way to get that information out to your Followers. Yes, your Followers. That’s the cultish name Twitter gives to what others might refer to as subscribers of your content. When you sign up for a Twitter profile, you can start looking for others whom you might want to Follow, as well. You can search your address book to see if people you have exchanged email with are on there. This means that friends, family, and that random person you bought a futon from on Craigslist ten years ago will all show up if they have a Twitter account and if they’re in your contact list on your email account. But you can also browse Twitter’s suggested users to find people Tweeting on the topics you care about, and there are also Twitter directories if you want to search for more specialized information.

You can also have conversations with people on Twitter. You do this by @replying them. Your responses will show up on your Twitter profile page, and people can look at their @replies to see if others have responded to their messages. Twitter offers the ability to have either a public or private profile. Private profiles mean that only people you approve get to see your Tweets. If you have a public profile, anyone can read or reply to what you’re posting. Twitter also employs hashtags, which help people to find and follow conversations about a particular topic. Sometimes, people at a panel at a conference will assign the panel its own hashtag. For example a speaker may say: "This session has the hashtag #facebook_psych." When the hashtag is given, you can add the hashtag at the end of your Tweets so that others can click on it to find other public Tweets from people in the session. It also allows people outside the session to still participate in the conversation or ask questions of those who are there.

Why Would You Have a Professional Twitter Account?

My awkward moment occurred when I tried to use my friend network to publicize my practice on Twitter. I Tweeted on my locked, personal account that I was running a support group. A friend Retweeted it to his group of several hundred followers. While I appreciated his publicizing it to so many people, “I felt exposed and I realized that I didn't want my online pseudonym linked to my private practice.” I called him and explained and he deleted it immediately. This was how I recognized that maybe I couldn't have it both ways: using social networking to expand my reach but not allowing people to repost things. I wondered if it was time to create a Twitter account solely for my professional practice. But I wasn’t sure if anyone would be interested in what a psychologist had to say on Twitter.

Weeks later, in February 2009, I met with a friend for one of our co-working dates and I batted the idea of the professional Twitter account back and forth with him. Within the hour, I created my @drkkolmes Twitter profile, used it to link to a few of my blog posts, and then sent an email out to a bunch of friends. In the email, I let them all know that I would not be following friends back on the Twitter account, as it was my intent to only follow other mental health organizations. But I asked if they would be kind enough to follow or publicize the account to others. About 15 people did.

That’s how it began.

By the end of 2009, my Follower count was over 800 people, and more importantly, I’d forged a number of fruitful collaborative projects with other mental health Tweeps (people who Tweet) on Twitter.

Branding & Marketing

I make sure to only use my professional name to post psychology related news, news about my practice, or to respond to others who are talking about these matters. I want to be sure that people know what to expect when they see my name float across their screens, and what I’d like them to expect are thoughtful posts about professional topics of interest to me. I also want them to think of me when particular subjects come up that are related to my expressed interests, since then, they can also alert me to these items if they see them first. Occasionally on Twitter someone may Tweet: "@drkkolmes, you might want to see this post about therapists Googling their clients," and I am pleased that they are sharing something interesting with me. But I’m especially pleased that they know what my professional interests are and that they can quickly let me know where I can find out more.

Professional Collaborations

Transparency

I blog about psychology-related topics that interest me. Since I do not allow comments on my blog and I do not wish to spend my online time moderating comments or worrying about the identity of people posting on my site, I invite readers to comment via private email and on Twitter. Oftentimes, people will Retweet my blog posts on Twitter or briefly respond to them and we might have a brief chat about it.

Another example of utilizing social media transparency is my Facebook Private Practice Page which I experimented with last May and later disabled the following April. I never had clients become Fans of the Page and I was fairly clear in my policies and blog posts that I felt this would be a confidentiality concern. But I finally decided the Page provided more risks than benefits. I discussed my reasons to disable it (summarized below) on my blog and on Twitter. In this way, social media through blogging, Facebook posts, or even Tweets can provide a platform to convey your thinking on topics when it may not always make sense to bring these topics into each and every therapy session. But it makes your process of thinking about such things available if and when clients get curious to know more about how you came to particular decisions. I did a similar thing with the development of my Private Practice Social Media Policy, blogging about it as I wrote it, so that those who cared to could understand how I came to my conclusions.

Cautionary Tales

The biggest potential problem with Facebook tends to be around managing Friend requests and controlling who posts on your Wall. Clinicians vary on their attitudes about handling Friend requests. Some feel strongly that it’s important to welcome any clients who want to endorse their Pages. Others feel strongly that it’s a huge HIPAA, confidentiality, and dual-relationship can of worms, which isn’t worth the potential headaches.

When I experimented with my own Facebook Page for my private practice, I was very clear that I would not allow clients to become Fans or to Like the Page. This invited criticism from other professionals who felt I was conveying mixed messages by having a Page that clients could not Fan if they wished to do so. My office policies stated that I would remove clients if they became Fans and some professionals expressed concern that this could be experienced as hurtful and rejecting to my clients and that it was too harsh a response.

Ultimately, I chose to delete my Facebook Page because monitoring the Wall postings and scanning to see who had followed the Page felt like more time and energy than I wanted to spend. It was time spent on worry and risk management, rather than pleasure. Ironically, I never had a single negative experience with clients on my Facebook Page, but I did have a couple of situations in which supportive, well-meaning friends posted comments that were too personal for my own comfort. This is always a risk on any social media page that allows others to post or comment. You cannot control what others write. But you can hit Delete. And Deleting people’s comments may make them feel hurt or censored. It’s one thing when it’s your friends or family who are experiencing this. But when it’s your client, you have a clinical dilemma of your own making.

Pitfalls of Twitter

There are times when you may find yourself tempted to get caught up in passionate exchanges on Twitter on issues that are meaningful to you. The conversation can be experienced so quickly as Tweets refresh that it’s compelling to respond immediately. But it’s hard to make a strong argument and fine-tune one’s tone in 140 characters. I try to keep the focus on lively conversations but there have been times that I felt baited by provocative Tweeters. I have sat with my fingers hovering over my keyboard, trying to compose a Tweet that I’d feel comfortable with any and all of my clients finding at some point down the line. And I will admit to a handful of times that I’ve deleted Tweets when I wasn’t sure I wanted to live with them forever. This has happened when I wasn’t sure if I’d expressed myself well or when I felt a corny joke fell flat. (Note that these will still show up in RSS readers and be archived if you have posted them under a public account. There also used to be a website called Tweleted that allowed you to view Tweets that had been deleted by users with public accounts.)

As your number of Followers increases, you will have more random comments, questions, and spam directed your way. I've had to learn to resist the impulse to reply to every question or comment. It is wise to conserve your time and energy and focus on conversations that have high value to you, but being more selective may bump up against your own worries of being rude or ignoring folks.

There was a time when I felt that I should try to confine my Tweets to "normal" waking hours. I have a tendency to stay up late at night. I like the quiet hours when I do most of my inspired writing and when I’m least likely to be interrupted. Sometimes I wake up at night and I may wind up online where I’ll find an interesting psychology-related news item that I want to Tweet. For a while, I worried that clients might know too much about my habits if I posted late at night. At some point, I gave up on worrying about the timing of my Tweets and decided to allow myself to do what felt natural to my own rhythms. What a relief. Now I feel that so long as I'm fully showing up for client sessions, giving my patients my full attention, and keeping good boundaries about the content of my Tweets, when I Tweet is really my own business. But it is an interesting conflation of both personal and professional space. In a similar vein, clinicians with public Twitter accounts may want to be aware of the effect it may have on clients if you are busy updating your social media profiles before responding to a client’s phone message or email. We may be unwittingly conveying a hierarchy of priorities that can leave clients feeling less important.

Another challenge of Twitter in regard to clinical care is the need to be aware that it’s not just our own therapy clients who may follow our postings there. In some cases, others in our clients’ lives may also follow us and this may have an impact both on the client and on our clinical relationship. For example, a client may share with one of his friends, family members, or relationship partners that he sees a therapist and that his therapist is on Twitter. These people may wind up with strong opinions about our social media presence or react to things we post, and this may put our client in the position of either feeling protective of us or feeling uncomfortable. Even clients who don’t tell others who their therapist is may have such feelings if and when they see us engaging with others on social media. And what of clients who have friends who follow our updates but who don’t know their friend is in treatment with us? By making ourselves public figures in this way, we’re certainly introducing some non-traditional dynamics into the traditional therapy relationship. Of course, this potential tension has always existed with therapists who write books or are public speakers, but social media increases the ability to immediately access a therapist’s public presence.

Conclusion

I see one’s professional online identity—so long as the interactions are professional and not personal—as a form of community outreach. I have compared it to working in a college counseling center and then visiting a class that your client may be a student in, such as when a community event affects the campus and you provide information or do a presentation. Sometimes we are visible in the community as mental health professionals and clients may see us acting in this role outside of therapy sessions. An online professional presence can be similar. Some of us are teachers, writers, and lecturers, as well as clinicians. This is our professional life. Perhaps we do not have to exist in a vacuum, only functioning as clinicians in our therapy sessions. Existing online does not have to mean we cannot hold the frame with our clients, nor does it have to mean we are incapable of boundaries or talking about the effects of our online visibility on clients, when necessary. But we are going to have to develop tools and systems to learn to take care of boundaries in new ways and be present to talk with clients about the effect our online lives have on the clinical relationship.

Black and White Witchcraft: A Cultural Crossroads in Paris Inspires Therapeutic Innovation

Monsieur D. arrives at the Centre Georges Devereux

Now, a year and a half after his arrival in France, Monsieur D. sits in the Centre Georges Devereux, an ethnopsychiatry clinic in Paris. Congregating around him, a group of professionals and student interns face the task of sorting out his past in order to assure his future. Observing this calm, dignified man from across the room, I have no inkling that our interactions will have such a profound impact on my understanding of psychotherapeutic intervention. His face and ears are heavily scarred, one eye is a deformed mess and the other barely able to perceive moving shadows, but he has fully regained his intellectual faculties and participates readily in the discussion. Meanwhile, his baby daughter gurgles and bounces energetically in the arms of her mother, who followed Monsieur D. to France when she could get no news of him and feared the worst.

As long as Monsieur D. needs acute medical treatment, the safety net provided by French social services will care for him; but his wife and child have no official status, and only charitable organizations help them struggle on from one day to the next. So after surviving two apparent attempts on his life, Monsieur D. and his family will remain in legal and material limbo unless they can attain permanent refugee status. Otherwise, they must return to Africa.

Given Monsieur D.'s utterly fantastic history, any forced return to Africa would constitute a death sentence. Unless, that is, the clinicians at the Centre Georges Devereux can help unravel his mysterious past, identify his invisible enemies, and activate the necessary forces of protection.

Monsieur D. eventually agrees with Marie, the Antillean psychologist leading the session, that his fall from the hospital window represents a logical continuation of the gunshot fired in Africa, both events the result of very powerful witchcraft. A tentative idea emerges in the clear, dignified voice of Christophe, a Catholic priest and trained psychologist from a nearby African country and one of the cultural mediators at the Centre. “Christophe gently hints that during the course of his Western education and rise in status, Monsieur D. has perhaps neglected to sufficiently honor his ancestors, who in turn allowed his enemies to attack him with impunity.” If so, he would need to mend his relationship with his ancestors as a first step in protecting against future attacks. Monsieur D. nods thoughtfully and rubs the scar that bulges behind his huge, thick eyeglasses.

This is not a case of the experts announcing a diagnosis and course of treatment to the trusting patient. Monsieur D. knows that the professionals at the Centre Georges Devereux have entered his territory and will negotiate on familiar terms. None has more expertise in the intricacies of his culture and world than he does, and he is being enlisted as a partner in this brainstorming session. Though nearly blind, powerless to provide for his family, and wracked by nightly terrors, in this place Monsieur D.'s impediments melt away. So, when he responds to Christophe's suggestion, the patient presents an alternate interpretation in measured, professorial tones: "Yes, you could look at it as a failing on my part that allowed such catastrophes to befall me. “On the other hand, it is equally possible that I actually survived the pernicious attacks thanks only to my powerful ancestral protection.”" A crucial distinction that, if true, would point to an entirely different course of action. With ancestral protection already intact, Monsieur D. would need to look elsewhere to bolster his defenses, perhaps in his twin sons, since twins often have special status and powers in his culture.

Three hours later, the point remains unresolved, but clinicians and client agree on some provisionary steps and work out various practical details of the couple's life, such as how to keep the baby fed during the coming month. After shaking hands with Monsieur and Madame and watching them disappear out into the hall, I look vaguely around the room and then follow in their footsteps to exit the building. Welcome to the Centre Georges Devereux, I think to myself! Monsieur D. will return in a month for a second consultation. I'll be back tomorrow morning.

Ethnopsychiatry: Treating cultural phenomena at face value

Despite their home away from home within Paris, African immigrants face many obstacles in the highly traditional French society. And when they run up against cultural barriers, there is one place in particular within the official French social service network where immigrant families can hope to be understood and taken seriously: the Centre Georges Devereux, housed in the University of Paris VIII. “It is there that a French social worker can bring a Moroccan man who refuses to support his wife, claiming she is possessed by a jinn”; there that a French judge can refer a Malian family with two delinquent kids who, alienated from both their parents' culture and the French mainstream, have forged an identity in a gang. The epicenter of research in the emerging field of ethnopsychiatry, this clinic focuses on developing new methods for treating people in psychological distress.1

The innovative theories and methodology at the Centre Georges Devereux ensure that it is not only a cultural island compared to the rest of French society, but also an ideological island compared to mainstream clinical psychology in France, which is rooted in the Freudian tradition. Rather than weekly therapy that may go on for years, clients at the Centre go only once a month for two to six months for an intensive three-hour group problem-solving session. Each consultation brings the client (or family) together with several clinical psychologists who come from all over the world, as well as with other specialists—anthropologists, linguists, lawyers, social workers, physicians—and various interns. The sessions are often conducted in the patient's native tongue, with the help of an interpreter/cultural mediator who shares the client's native culture and has studied its traditional therapeutic methods.

Much of the work focuses on constructing an explanatory narrative, some coherent interpretation of (and then antidote to) the clients' experiences, which have often been invalidated or misunderstood by the various other professionals with whom they have had contact. As in the case of Monsieur D., many clients talk about ancestral spirits or witchcraft, phenomena that Western psychology generally finds itself unequipped to address (Are these people hallucinating? Are they psychotic?). At the Centre Georges Devereux such phenomena are accepted at face value, and the therapeutic methods of all practitioners—whether Western psychologists or folk healers and priests—are taken as clinical theories, all equally valid for study. Instead of diagnosing patients with a psychological or psychiatric disorder, the Centre tries to treat people using their own cultural references and, often, treatment methods. In this way, ethnopsychiatry has taken some bold steps to expand the field of psychology so that it might apply in a meaningful way to non-Western populations. What's more, marginalized by French society, the clients find that at the Centre Georges Devereux, their culture is taken seriously.

Founding of the Centre Georges Devereux in France

The university setting fosters this astonishing variety of research. At the same time, it provides an avenue for educating the community in ethnopsychiatry, alongside future clinicians and researchers. Many of the psychologists at the Centre Georges Devereux double as instructors at its host institution, the University of Paris VIII. They also give a year-long lecture series specially designed for professionals in various fields who work with immigrant populations. And the clinic itself is structured to host student interns, often Masters or doctoral candidates conducting research. Nearly as international a group as the staff, the interns during my time at the Centre included French, Italian, Argentinean, Rwandan, and Japanese students. “In researching the clinic itself rather than a specific thesis topic, I was a free-floating anomaly, and the staff often simply introduced me to clients as "our American."”

Thanks to the group structure and university setting, I enjoyed the opportunity of observing and even participating in intensive clinical consultations with patients. Of course, in reality the experienced clinicians and staff tended to direct the sessions, calling on the others' input under highly specific circumstances. I recall one session with a woman who complained of recurring nightmares in which her adolescent daughter was kidnapped and raped. Fatou, the Senegalese psychologist directing the session, aimed to discuss the client's onset of puberty in order to draw connections with her daughter; but the woman claimed to have forgotten the circumstances surrounding her first menstrual period. With her usual calm ingenuity, Fatou proceeded to ask each female in the room to recount the story of her first period. We had only gotten halfway around the circle when the patient broke in with her own story, and Fatou carried the discussion forward.

Then again, there were also times when the various experiences and perspectives in the room made truly independent contributions to the session, rather than merely serving as tools for the clinician directing the consultation. One memorable case involves a young girl who recently arrived all alone from the Ivory Coast and is inexplicably failing school. In a halting near-whisper, she insisted that French was her only mother tongue. The clinicians in the room seemed mystified, as they guessed that another language from her past has a hold on the child. Finally, a woman who had worked for years with the Parisian African population in another setting offered an explanation. According to her, the French spoken in the Ivory Coast differs greatly from the French spoken in France, more so than in many other areas of francophone Africa. Despite her reading and writing proficiency, the young girl was struggling to understand the classroom lessons and the teacher's instructions because of the unfamiliar dialect, but felt too ashamed to voice her difficulty. Without this crucial piece of information, the clinicians could not begin to work with the girl and the caseworker on ways to overcome this basic obstacle.

The group structure serves as more than a reflection of formal communal gatherings in Africa, then, and all the participants feel justified in their presence. When I happened to contribute a useful comment, I went home that day with the whole consultation thrilling through my chest, and the long subway ride home passed in just a short instant.

Between Two Worlds

In the evenings, I returned to the prestigious École Normale Supérieure (ENS) in the studenty, touristy Latin Quarter of Paris, where I immersed myself in an ancient but breathing symbol of French tradition. There I lived with the country's future academic and political leaders, a group with no more ethnic and socioeconomic diversity than Harvard had in the 19th century. I knew of one Arab student and no Africans, and even the considerable population of foreign exchange students come almost exclusively from the United States and Europe. Across disciplines, the array of seminars offered there covers the roots of Western civilization—from Greek to Roman to French—as it has for hundreds of years. Most people I told of my work at the Centre Georges Devereux responded with eyebrows raised in slightly bewildered surprise, as if I were working with exotic birds rather than a large population living in their own city. I learned quickly to keep the worlds separate and generally succeeded.

Occasionally, I experienced a glitch in the transition, when the disconnect between my day at the Centre and my evening at the ENS sent shock waves through me until my brain froze with exhaustion. One day I arrived at the ENS breathless from the metro and ran straight to a rehearsal of my baroque chamber music ensemble. “I floated unconscious through the leader's explanation of the subtleties of grace notes in Couperin, my heart pounding, my throat aching, my mind unable to expel the grisly, heart-rending image of the walking skeleton I'd met that day.” I had never seen anyone dying of AIDS before, let alone a young woman, unidentifiable as such, who looked as if she had already died. The skin stretched taut and shiny with sweat over her huge eye sockets, and the wide mouth quivered, a shiver that spread to her whole emaciated body and wildly darting eyes while she listened to her seven-year-old daughter's estranged father, seated several chairs away. He wanted custody of the child and spoke in oily tones, drawing upon his royal West African heritage, while the mother's long, bony hag's hands trembled against each other in her lap in time with her only words, in a firm, ghostly whisper, "That's false. That's false."

Several times Marie paused the consultation to calm the mother, as her shaking grew more wildly uncontrolled, and in fear that she would fall down in a trance (or seizure, depending on your point of view). The child watched her mother worriedly from the corner, magic marker poised over untouched paper, while her father continued to wheedle unabashedly and display legal papers with such blatant callousness towards the mother's terrifying condition that I again shuddered with nausea as I raised my flute to my lips. No sound came out. Bach and Couperin had no more substance than a dream, but the AIDS-ravaged woman and her orphan-to-be proved ever more real in my dreams that night.

Healing Spirits

One of the first consultations I attend involved a family with a young boy who kept on falling. His most recent accident, a fall from a ladder, had landed him in the hospital for a month. I understood very little of the ensuing discussion, but I gathered in the end that the family somehow neglected to perform certain rituals at the burial site of a maternal ancestor. The completion of these rites would close the circle of ancestral protection, which had clearly suffered some punctures, allowing such ill fortune to befall the boy. Perhaps his repeated falls were actually occurring in order to remind the family of its neglected duties to its ancestral protectors. The parents and children left the session with many smiles and warm handshakes, highly satisfied and full of plans for follow-up after performing the rituals. I was enthralled and enthusiastic. And then, inevitably, the thought: But what happens the next time he falls? How could I wrap my mind around what seemed so obvious to the others, patients and professionals alike—that if they have correctly diagnosed the situation and prescribed the appropriate remedy, then the boy would not fall again? I could not, and still I tried.

Having since worked as a research coordinator in psychiatric genetics at a major U.S. hospital, I sometimes have trouble believing that, not long ago, I pondered the desires of ancestral spirits on a daily basis. But I certainly did, and with increasing ease. The discussions moved seamlessly from school performance or legal residency papers to honoring ancestors while remaining faithful to the Christian God . . . and back again! “The invisible and the spiritual inhabited the same plane as the utterly mundane.”

Eventually I learned to enter into this mindset, a way of thinking about the world that grew more and more familiar—but always as an outsider, sheepishly wearing another's clothes. I wondered uneasily whether I needed to feel sure of the existence of the phenomena we discussed in consultations for the work to be legitimate, whether it mattered as long as it functioned therapeutically, one way or another. It seemed all right to me as long as my place was mostly that of an observer, but what if I occupied the role of the psychologist directing the consultation? Although they would likely refute the idea, the legitimacy of the whole system seemed to me to rest in large part on the clinicians having cultural backgrounds comparable to those of their clients. When the Senegalese psychologist, Fatou, described how a patient should buy a small live chicken, feed it to her family, and then bring the contents of its stomach into the next consultation, she was not "playing" at something; she wore nobody's clothes but her own.

In this light, I came to understand ethnopsychiatry's disdain for the widely held idea that its therapeutic interventions work merely through "suggestion," influencing patients' psychologies for the better rather than actually affecting the supernatural forces under discussion. Although I myself have not resolved this issue in my mind, the idea of suggestion does seem patronizing. Setting it apart from much other cultural psychological theory and practice, which sometimes uses cultural sensitivity to facilitate essentially Western treatments, ethnopsychiatry takes the logic of intercultural respect quite seriously, audaciously, all the way to its conclusion. And I came to see why anything less—no matter how much more comfortable for the Western-trained intellect—falls short.

On the other hand, transferring this logic from social/psychological to more biological/medical areas seemed to me problematic, from both a scientific and a humanitarian perspective. For example, in many parts of Africa, HIV/AIDS is generally viewed as the result of a witchcraft attack. And much as it makes me squirm, I can understand why one Western-trained African doctor I met (outside of the Centre Georges Devereux) regularly tells his African patients that the antiretroviral drugs serve as antidotes to witchcraft. The clinicians at the Centre Georges Devereux would certainly never use such methods. But who am I to decry this patronizing "ghost story" if it increases compliance with the treatment regimen and thereby prolongs lives? Interestingly, many HIV-positive Africans in France understand perfectly the way they physically contracted the virus as well as the biological course of their illness. And yet, simultaneously, they see a witchcraft attack as the underlying explanation for why they contracted the virus when and how they did. From this perspective, then, the antiretroviral drugs really do fight witchcraft, or at least the illness it causes (though strictly speaking they do not defend against further attacks). So while I never fully understood how ethnopsychiatry manages to integrate Western medical science with traditional etiologies and treatments, perhaps, there is ultimately no real conflict.

Bridging Troubled Waters

“The clinicians prove a wonderful resource for parsing out normal cultural practices from aberrant behaviors”, a particularly important distinction when making decisions about a child's future. One social worker's report of a mother's rough handling of her infant in the bathtub resulted in the baby's placement in foster care. The mother regained her child months later after a mediator at the Centre Georges Devereux explained to the social worker the cultural practice of firmly molding a baby's body to ensure its proper growth and development. Thus, as a constant undertone to whatever other therapeutic intervention they attempt, the clinicians work to improve communication and clear up misunderstandings between the social workers, judges, and educators on the one hand and their immigrant clients on the other. They succeed by using their mastery of both languages, literal and figurative, to bridge the two worlds.

Yet their work does not always consist of pure translation from one world to another. Sometimes it seemed to me that the Centre Georges Devereux created and worked with one multi-faceted language. True, the interpretation of a symptom sometimes varied depending on one's cultural viewpoint, determining whether someone was in a trance or having a seizure. But that was not always the case. For example, Dominique, a French psychologist and trauma specialist, runs special consultations for survivors of intentionally induced trauma.

Back to Monsieur D.

Importantly, the clinicians at the Centre also recognize when some symptoms are most easily classified in agreement with Western categories. A Haitian student intern reported to the group on her first attempt at a private mediation between a Haitian woman and the social services. The intern described to us how she explained the client's references to the Voodoo religion to the doctor and social worker present, so they might get a sense of the cultural framework behind her seemingly incomprehensible utterances. Then Marie, the psychologist who supervised the mediation, spoke to the intern: "You did a fine job explaining the various Voodoo figures and rituals the patient mentioned. “You neglected, however, to point out that the way the patient was talking about Voodoo actually made very little sense, and that the woman was on the verge of becoming totally delusional.”"

Whether or not in sync with Western categories, the professionals at the Centre are certainly well equipped to identify behaviors that are pathological within their cultural context. I recall too vividly the case of an eight-year-old boy accused of witchcraft by his aunt and uncle, his guardians in France. They had plenty of evidence according to traditional standards to convict the boy of trying to kill them slowly by witchcraft, probably by order of his grandmother. Among this Congolese people, I learned, a convicted witch is branded according to a traditional ritual in order to identify him/her, so that the witch can no longer go out at night to work destruction on innocent people. This small boy's uncle woke him up in the middle of the night and dangled him outside the open window for several minutes before bringing him back inside. He proceeded to bind the boy's hands and feet with rope before branding his shoulder with a hot iron. The child has an iron-shaped scar on his shoulder to this day.

I was horrified—not only that such horrendous abuse has occurred, but also by my frightening question, "Could this possibly be culturally normal? What then?" Apparently, the judge in charge of the uncle's hearing wondered the same thing, sending the boy to the Centre Georges Devereux to help herself as much as the traumatized child to make sense of the situation. There, the clinicians understood immediately that, whether or not the child was practicing witchcraft, the uncle certainly reacted abnormally. “He acted alone, outside of the codified, traditional system of communal witchcraft hearings, thereby transforming a ceremony with a preventive purpose into a form of private, vindictive torture.” What relief to discover that his act was pathological from any point of view! I can only guess at what precipitated the horrific branding: whether the craziness or evil of this individual or his displacement from a certain cultural/social context, or some combination of both. I know only that the judge could send the uncle to jail with a perfectly clear conscience.

A Delicate Balancing Act

One Algerian client we saw exemplified this challenge. She had turned her husband out of the house, but still felt conflicted and allowed him to return to see the children. She reported that he destroyed things in the house and even hit her when she intervened as he disciplined the kids. As I listened to their story, I held my breath as the tone of the consultation became almost accusatory, with comments on how the woman had reduced her husband to less than a man. Finally, she rose abruptly and crossed the room with tears in her eyes. The clinicians were trying to jolt the patient into recognition that she still wanted and needed her husband, if only because she had fallen very ill since his departure and could not care for the children alone. They wanted her to agree to bring her husband to the next consultation, because their family would only continue to fall apart until she reconnected with her place as wife and mother. Practically speaking, they were probably right. Her brazenness had left her in an untenable situation, utterly isolated from both family and the larger community. In another culture, she might have had an opportunity to end an unhappy marriage and rebuild her life. But the world she was born into holds no place for a divorced woman. Still, I sat there sweating uncomfortably at the scene, acutely aware that this woman's brave resistance went unvalidated in this setting. The individualistic voice in my head cried out, Does she not have the right to disagree with the logic of her own culture?

And what about the clinicians? Did they have the right to disagree with the logic of their client's culture? This seemed even thornier a problem. I wonder how far to go in accepting the patients' culture at face value when some normal practices might run contrary to certain moral principles. If I believe that women are oppressed in certain parts of Africa, by tacitly accepting such cultural elements when working with the people, was I promoting intercultural understanding or perpetuating the oppression? Does the very presence of this question in my discomfited mind merely reflect my own ignorance and cultural biases? I cannot say for certain either way.

To add to my confusion, the power structure at the Centre Georges Devereux appeared extremely egalitarian—a far cry from my later experience (ironically, in the land that championed feminism) working at a U.S. hospital among many female research coordinators quietly waiting on almost exclusively male doctors. In contrast, female professionals at the Centre had equal voices, which they did not hesitate to use, and an equal share of power at all levels of the loose hierarchy. These independent, empowered women must have somehow reconciled their multiple university degrees and packed professional lives with their daily defense of the traditional values and practices of their cultures of origin. I never understood exactly how they did it, unless I vastly misunderstood those traditional values and practices. How could a female clinician legitimately press a client from a similar cultural background to stop resisting a traditional role, when the clinician had refused that role herself?

Perhaps, unable to sidestep my feminist perspective, I was failing to grasp the actual nature of the therapeutic interventions. I sensed, but could never articulate, the nuances in ethnopsychiatry's delicate balancing act. “Like a spider suspended in a doorway, thanks to the tension in its fine-spun web, the Centre Georges Devereux fosters the creation of a space between the extremes of cultural isolationism and total assimilation; a space where Africans can stay African while sustaining life in France.”

An Inconclusive End

My arrival at the Centre Georges Devereux felt like a leap into freezing water: I grew accustomed to it quickly, but I never forgot that I would feel cold again the moment I set foot on dry land. My discovery of ethnopsychiatry has certainly modified my educational and professional future; in fact, it has transformed me, or perhaps it has rather transformed the world for me. And now I must return to my previous world, alone, carrying the weight of an experience that is incomprehensible or merely of exotic interest to the inhabitants of that world. To my knowledge, ethnopsychiatry as defined at the Centre Georges Devereux does not exist in the United States. And yet, I would like to find a way to integrate what I have learned over the course of this year into my future studies and work. But attempting to "do" ethnopsychiatry on my own would not only be crazy and pretentious, it would also run counter to the fundamental principles of its practice. I would of course need a group. But how can I explain to others ideas and practices that I have not myself mastered, especially with the theoretical literature almost entirely inaccessible to non-French speakers? How can I avoid one of the risks of transplantation, in which the techniques and terminology become inactive, empty husks, having lost along with their roots the underlying depth of thought and their therapeutic powers? I do not know how to resolve these problems, among so many others. But I will search for a way.

And I am searching. I came to the Centre Georges Devereux to try to understand ethnopsychiatry: whether it works, how it works, why it works. After a year of attending consultations, I still have no clear idea how to answer those three questions. There was no introduction to the start of my time there and certainly no conclusion at the end; yet I have gleaned bits and pieces that will stay with me, even if I have not figured out how they all fit together. Most of all, I have gained another pair of eyes. Because ultimately, the Centre Georges Devereux works at the cusp of vastly different cultures in order to shake up the kaleidoscope through which we view the world, to offer the field of psychology a different, perhaps broader and more inclusive, and certainly a more varied and colorful perspective. In my desire to help foster that vision, I know only one way to begin. And so I offer my own story.

Notes

My, How Couples Therapy has Changed! Attachment, Love and Science

The revolution

Just a few short years ago couples therapy was cynically labeled as a set of techniques in search of a theory! Now researchers such as John Gottman and Kim Halford have suggested that even the accepted techniques of this field, such as teaching problem-solving and conflict-management skills, while beneficial, do not seem to get to the heart of the matter in terms of offering a pathway to lasting change in relationships and do not reflect how happy couples relate to each other outside of therapy.

If all this weren’t rough enough, everyone agrees that couples therapy can be very difficult to do. “Dealing with two people, two sets of hot emotions, escalating fights, and clients who hurt but don’t want to slow down, be more reasonable and negotiate is not for the faint of heart.”

Given all this, it seems almost reasonable that couples therapy is often ridiculed or maligned as ineffective in the media. But in spite of this, millions of couples persist in seeking out therapists, perhaps because, as recent surveys tell us, most people in North America rate finding a loving relationship as their main life goal, placing it ahead of career or financial success. It is fortunate, then, that the image of couples therapy painted above is not the whole story. In fact, this image is simply out of date.

Couples therapy is in the midst of a revolution. The key element in this revolution is the development of a new science of love and love relationships. As Yogi Berra told us, “If you don’t know where you are going, you wind up somewhere else.” Without a clear model of love and the process of connection and disconnection, it is difficult to know how to focus interventions on the defining issues and moments in a relationship. It is hard to know what changes will really make a difference and what the overall goal should be in couples therapy. If love is, as Marilyn Yalom in her book The History of the Wife suggests, “an intoxicating mixture of sex and sentiment that no one can understand,” then couples therapy is just appropriate sitcom material. As she suggests, sex and emotion do seem to be intrinsic to love, but it does not have to be a complete mystery.

There are many strands in this new science of love relationships, but they all come together in the growing literature on adult attachment, a relatively recent extension of the English psychiatrist John Bowlby’s work on the emotional bonds between mothers and children. The attachment perspective gives the couples therapist a meaningful and effective map to the drama of distress between partners. It guides the therapist in the pivotal moments in couples interactions and why they matter so much; it offers the therapist a guide to each partner’s deepest needs and strongest emotions. Even so, most therapists will ask, “But does it tell me what to do from moment to moment in a couple session?”

Many streams of research and theory have addressed these questions of late. My colleagues and I have explored these questions in what we call Emotionally Focused Couple Therapy (EFT), a systematic, rigorous, tested set of interventions based on the attachment view of love and bonding. I recently summarized attachment-based approaches in a manner that can be offered to clients and the public in Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love . The great strength of this new scientific perspective is exactly that it offers a rigorous body of observation and research into what love is all about and how it changes shape and color. Moreover, it is a tested approach to intervention with excellent outcome data and clinical relevance. Clients also tell us that this way of seeing and working does indeed go to the heart of the matter. In this article I will summarize the attachment perspective and how it is supported by different strands of relationship science (these science strands will be in italics to find or avoid, as you wish!) and how it translates into practice in EFT.

A new scientific and practical theory of love

The multitude of studies on adult attachment that have emerged over the last decade tell us that the essence of love is not a negotiated exchange of resources (so why teach negotiation skills?), a friendship, Nature’s trick to get you to mate and pass on your genes, or a time-limited episode of delusional addiction.

“Love is a very special kind of emotional bond, the need for which is wired into our brain by millions of years of evolution.” It is a survival imperative. The human brain codes isolation and abandonment as danger and the touch and emotional responsiveness of loved ones as safety, a safety that promotes optimal flexibility and continual learning. Jaak Panksepp1, in his neurobiological studies, finds that loss of connection from attachment figures triggers “primal panic,” a special set of fear responses. As Bowlby notes, the words “anxiety” and “anger” come from the same etymological root and both arise at moments of disconnection, when attachment figures are non-responsive. This need for emotional connection is not a sentimental notion. The basic image of who we are and what our most basic needs are, namely that we are social animals who seek such connection, is reflected in health studies. For example, it is now clear that emotional isolation is more dangerous for your health than smoking, and that it doubles the likelihood of heart attack and stroke.

Attachment theory states that we need a safe haven relationship to turn to when life is too much for us and that offers us a secure base from which to go confidently out into the world. This is effective dependency. Many psychotherapy clients learn that their problem is that they are too close or undifferentiated from loved ones. The approach discussed here offers a larger picture. The evidence is that secure, close connection is a source of strength and personality integration rather than weakness. Studies show that the securely connected have a more articulated and positive sense of self. Eighteen months after 9/11, researcher Chris Fraley2 found that securely connected survivors, who could turn to others for emotional support, were able to deal with this trauma and grow from it, whereas insecurely attached survivors were experiencing significant mental health problems. Secure connection is shaped by mutual emotional accessibility and responsiveness. This is the heart of the drama that plays out in the couple therapist’s office. The fights that matter in a relationship are only superficially about the kids or money. Partners and therapists can spend many hours talking about these content issues instead of focusing on how the couple talk and more specifically, on the key attachment questions that drive a couple’s negative dance. “The key questions are: “Are you there for me?” “Do I matter to you?” “Will you turn towards me and respond to me?”” Partners often do not know how to ask these questions, and therapists often miss them or even see them as a sign of immature dependency.

Attachment theory tells us that emotion and emotional signals are the music of the dance between intimates. Many therapies encourage clients to go round strong emotion or replace it with rational thoughts or decisions. Emotion researchers such as James Gross now tell us that this not only increases arousal in the person who is inhibiting emotion but also creates tension in the other partner. An approach that focuses on attachment suggests that emotion is best acknowledged and listened to, so that emotional signals can be shaped in ways that make for safe connection. New emotional responses are also essential if therapy is to address each partner’s deeper longings, help partners formulate their needs and offer a path to the kind of compassionate loving connection that couples are seeking. “Secure attachment, not just conflict containment, is the goal of couples therapy here.” By the end of therapy, an EFT therapist, for example, wants to see his or her clients listen to their emotions, speak their needs clearly and reach for their partner in a way that helps that partner tune in and respond. Research into EFT outcomes tells us that when partners can do this in key sessions, they move into recovery from distress, and this recovery tends to be stable over time. Studies show that over 7 out of 10 couples reach this in EFT. Safe emotional connection then helps each partner deal positively with stress and distress, whether this stress arises from within or outside the relationship. Negative events then only make a relationship stronger. Jim Coan found that when women in an MRI machine were shown a sign that meant they might be shocked on their feet, their brains registered a high stress response, especially if they were alone and even if a stranger held their hand. But if they felt loved in their marriage and their husband held their hand, then these women’s brains were much calmer and the shock seemed to hurt less; holding hands with a loved one “calms jittery neurons” in the brain. As Bowlby predicted, there is more and more evidence that lovers are connected by a neural net. They regulate each other’s physiology and emotional lives. When they are tuned in emotionally, they help each other reach a physical and emotional balance that promotes optimal functioning.

If you look through the attachment lens, the negative spirals that distressed couples create and are victimized by are all about separation distress—the deprivation and emotional starvation that comes from emotional disconnection. “When we cannot get an attachment figure to respond to us, we step into a wired in sequence of protest, first hopeful and then angry, desperate and coercive.” We seek contact any way we can. My client tells me, “I poke him and poke him—anything to get a response from him, to know I matter to him.” If we cannot get a response, despair and depression come to claim us. This way of understanding the usual demand-withdraw cycle in a distressed relationship allows the therapist to help partners to see the game instead of the ball, and to come together against the common enemy of the isolation and the negative dance that is consuming their relationship. It also implies that unless the underlying attachment issues and primal panic is addressed, other approaches, such as insight or learning skill sequences, are unlikely to be effective.

Shaping a sense of safe connection

If we cannot find a way to turn towards our partner and shape a sense of safe connection, there are really only two other secondary strategies open to us and they map onto two emotional realities with exquisite logic. Strategy one is to become caught in fear of abandonment and demand responsiveness by blaming; unfortunately, this often threatens the other and pushes this person further away, especially if this strategy becomes habitual and automatic. Strategy two is to numb out attachment needs and feelings and avoid engagement (and conflict), that is, to shut down and withdraw. Unfortunately, this then shuts the other person out. Both these secondary strategies are ways of trying to hang onto an attachment relationship and deal with difficult feelings, but they often backfire. Over the course of EFT studies and practice, we have been able to chart the emotional realities of partners as they use these strategies. Once they can order and name their feelings, blamers speak of being alone, left, unimportant, abandoned, and feeling insignificant to their partner. Underneath their anger they are extremely vulnerable. Withdrawers speak of feeling ashamed and afraid of hearing that they are failures. They believe that they can never please their partner and so feel helpless and paralyzed.

Attachment-oriented couples therapy

Attachment theory offers a map to the dance of love and the powerful emotions that move partners in this dance. In moment-to-moment interactions, cognitive models of personal identity are also shaped. Each person is defined and defines themselves as lovable or unworthy and the other as trustworthy or dangerous. The map offered here allows the therapist to go within each partner and between the partners into the dance and its patterns. The therapist then, with EFT attachment-based interventions, shapes new interactions and new emotions, helping partners move from desperate anger, for example, to a clear expression of fear and longing that evokes caring and compassion in the other partner and creates the contact they long for.

EFT as an attachment-oriented therapy assumes that reshaped emotions and emotional signals and new sequences of responsive interaction are necessary to transform an attachment relationship. Couples therapy has rightly, from this view, been accused of ignoring nurturance and connection for a focus on conflict management, power and boundaries. This approach addresses this issue as core to forging satisfying and meaningful relationships. Attachment longings are wired into our brains and the tendency to reach and to trust and to comfort and care are always there, even if unrecognized or denied. The tendency to respond to hurtful disconnection by shutting down or attacking is also always there, and can become habitual for all of us.

Bowlby, like Carl Rogers, saw how we can all get stuck in dead-end ways of dealing with our emotional needs and with loved ones, but also believed that we can have a corrective emotional experience of safe connection that opens new doors for us and changes these ways. “What has to happen—or what is necessary and sufficient for a lasting transformational shift to occur in a distressed relationship?” My experience leads me to believe that a corrective emotional experience of safe connection that is then integrated into the self and the relationship is necessary. What does this look like?

We know from thousands or studies on attachments between mother and child and from studies of adult love that in secure relationships that people can become aware of and regulate their attachment emotions, accept their needs and express these needs coherently and openly to the other. They can accept comfort when offered and, in an adult relationship, offer comfort to the other. They can then use this sense of felt security to move out into the world, to explore and learn. In key change events that predict positive outcome in the second stage of EFT, when the therapist is guiding the couple into positive cycles of engagement and trust, this is also what we see. With both withdrawers and blaming anxious partners, the therapist helps them move into a deeper connection with their own fears and longings, and then express these fears and longings to their partner in a way that pulls the other close.

Withdrawers assert their needs for safety and can tell their lover what they require to stay emotionally engaged. David says, “I have to feel that I can win here. I can’t be walking on eggshells and get doubted and slammed every day. I want to be close. I need your help and a little trust from you.” More blaming partners can express their fears and also risk reaching for their partner. David’s wife, Sue, can say, “I am so scared of being let down, of going into freefall, but I need your reassurance. I have to know that I matter to you—that you will not let us lose each other.”

When couples can reconnect (or even connect for the first time!) in this way, immensely positive bonding events take place. Partners begin to see each other more fully and are more authentic and compassionate with each other. Their connection empowers each of them and opens the door to all the benefits that research tells us comes with secure attachment. Their way of engaging with their own emotions, their loved one and the world, which now contains a safe haven, shifts. The research on bonding suggests that as they make this kind of connection, lovers are likely flooded with the cuddle hormone, oxytocin. This is released during orgasm, breast-feeding or simply when attachment figures come close to us. Oxytocin is also linked to the release of dopamine, a natural opiate linked to pleasure, and down-regulates cortisol, the stress hormone. The neurochemical basis of bondingthe physical source of the calm euphoric feeling associated with loveis no longer a mystery. Once a couple can create these kinds of interactions, they can move into the final consolidation phase of EFT.

The practical application of attachment and associated research findings also leads into exciting new areas. It leads to a new understanding of how to create forgiveness for injuries in attachment relationships. A seven-step process has been outlined and tested (Johnson, 2004). New research also gives the therapist a guide to the integration of sex and attachment, helping us to understand Laumann’s recent survey results that the most satisfying sex occurs in long-term loving relationships. The passion of infatuation is perhaps just the hors d’oeuvre rather than the main meal. “Emotional presence and engagement are the keys to sex that remains thrilling, rather than seeking novelty or needing distance to spark desire” (see the chapter on this in Hold Me Tight). A new understanding of love also extends the reach of the couples therapist. EFT is used to create safe-haven relationships for those who are traumatized. If we can heal relationships, we can also create relationships that heal. A safe, loving relationship is the natural antidote to the emotional tsunami of trauma.

Sam and Kate: An EFT couples session

Let’s now look at some interventions in a small piece of couples therapy and see how all of this impacts the choices the therapist makes in a session. Kate and Sam are an older couple who have been very wounded in past relationships. Kate was wounded early by Sam’s reluctance, for the first few years of their relationship, to commit to her. He needed an “escape route,” to the point where she would feel humiliated and excluded by him, especially in social situations. They have come a long way. Sam is now expressing commitment and caring, but Kate just cannot bring herself to trust him and move in with him again. This session focused on addressing that impasse. Below is a list of a number of the interventions used and some examples of therapeutic interactions with Sam and Kate.

  • Validation is used to create a safe haven in the session for both partners.
  • Emotions are tracked, unpacked, and tied into key steps in the couple’s drama.
  • Responses are framed and clarified within the new understanding of attachment.
  • Profound core emotions are heightened and evoked to move partners into new, more responsive interactions.
  • New enactments are shaped to help partners move into interactions where each one of them can reach for the other and respond caringly to the other.

Sam: We are fine and then we are not. She just gets so upset. It’s like, “Go to jail, do not pass Go” for me. It’s disheartening. Then I get scolded about all the past injuries and crimes. (He shrugs and throws up his hands.)

Therapist: (Chooses to focus on process—Sam’s emotions and how they move him in the attachment dance.) You feel disheartened, and like you are being scolded. Kind of hopeless, then? So then, what do you do here? Is this one of these times when you, as you have said, try to “explain,” give reasons for past actions, and end up “stepping back” a little? (Sam nods and so does Kate.) That must be so hard for you, Kate. (Therapist actively reflects this couple’s attachment pattern, validates and empathizes to create a safe haven in the session.)

Kate: I still don’t feel heard. I was expendable to him—I am hurt. (“New research on hurt finds that is it a mixture of anger, sadness and fearthe fear of being excluded, abandoned and rejected.”) We have talked lots but it doesn’t change. And then we went to that party on Saturday and then we fought. The hurt goes on forever. So I just say, “Just leave.” (She weeps bitterly.) Some days I see that he is struggling to be there, but . . . then we just withdraw from each other. I can’t trust and he just gives up on us.

Therapist: Some part of you sees that he is fighting for you, (she nods). But these moments–this hurt is still triggered and hits like a tsunami (heightening primary attachment emotions). The hurt is sadness? (She nods). There is some anger, and a terrible sense that this is unbearable. The only answer is for him to leave and you to protect yourself, not let him in? The hurt will go on and on–that is the scary part.

Kate: Yes. It’s sad and it’s terrifying. I will never feel safe here. I can’t risk with him.

Therapist: (Using the map of attachment emotions.) There is a panic. Can you feel that fear right now? (Kate murmurs that she does.)

Kate: It’s like I am in freefall.

Sam: I try. I try to tell you that I am here, that I want you to come to the party with me. I know that in the past parties were like a minefield. I know I kept you at arm’s length. Now I try to reach out to you, but you don’t trust it. So what can I do? (He again throws his arms up in the air and turns away.) You are so attractive, so competent. You are dangerous for me too.

Therapist: Sam, I want you to stay here right now—not turn away and get discouraged. I know it’s hard to be holding out your hand to Kate and have her not able to really reach out and take it. That takes courage. But can you see that she is scared? Lots of past hurts and fears are right there for her in these moments. (His fears are validated and Kate’s responses are clarified in the light of attachment vulnerabilities.) Can you tell her, “I want you to be with me at the parties; I want to reassure you and have you take in my caring, feel safe”? (Highlighting the attachment message, the invitation, coming from Sam.)

Sam: (Turns to Kate) Yes. Yes, I am reaching from my heart. (He puts his hand on her arm.)

Therapist: Kate, can you feel Sam’s hand on your arm? (She shakes her head.) You can’t feel the warmth in his hand? (She shakes her head again.) You are so scared that you go numb, is that it?

Kate: I go numb. At the party the other night, I was numb. So scared that the old scenario would play out. He would move away; act like I wasn’t his lady. My facade works but underneath . . .

Therapist: You are just so very scared of being hurt again, of feeling unimportant, expendable. (Kate nods.) So you numb out. You can’t feel his warmth then. You can’t take in his reassurance. Then he gets discouraged and begins to express hopelessness and that confirms your fear. Can you tell him, “I am so very scared of letting myself hope, of beginning to feel and need you again”?

Kate: (To Sam) I am just so scared. I want to believe that you are with me now, but when we do stuff like go to a party, all that old hurt comes up and I just numb out. Then when you do touch me, it’s like you are a million miles away.

Therapist: How can Sam help you, Kate? How can he help you with your fear, your doubt? (“Don’t know,” Kate murmurs.) Can you look at him? Do you see that he cares, that he doesn’t want you to be hurt or afraid?

Kate: (Looks at Sam intently.) Yes, I see that. I need him to listen to that old hurt I have and help me with it. I need him to help me heal it and to reassure me that it is okay to begin to put my trust in him again. (Suddenly she smiles and he moves closer and smiles back at her.)

Sam: Well, then that is what we will do. I am not sure quite how to do it, but here I am. (She leans forward and folds herself into his shoulder.)

In this moment, Sam offers Kate a felt sense of connection, and I see the neural duet that researchers describe when they speak of mirror neurons firing in the brain so that we feel within our bodies the moves and emotions of another. This sense of felt connection seems to create a state of resonance that physicists speak of. “In this connected state, two particles vibrate together and move into exquisite coordination, a natural synchrony of matching rhythms and responses, where intentions and moves are transparent and perfectly anticipated.” This kind of engagement can be seen in joyous moments between mother and child, father and child. It is also part of these moments between adult lovers such as Sam and Kate. This is perhaps the essence of love.

So, yes! couples therapy has changed. It is changing into a rich scientific discipline that has a central place for love and attachment. We have reached into outer space, to Mars and beyond. This science of human connection changes everything, allowing us to reach into the space within and between us… for the better.

Seminal References

Mikulincer, Marion and Shaver, Phil (2007). Attachment in adulthood. Guilford Press.

Johnson, Sue (2008). Hold me tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love. Little Brown. (Or visit the Hold Me Tight website for more info.)

Johnson, Sue (2004. 2nd Ed). The Practice of Emotionally Focused Therapy. Brunner/Routledge.

Notes

1Panksepp,Jaak. (1998) Affective Neuroscience:The foundations of human and animal emotions. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

2Fraley, C., Fazzari, D., Bonanno, G., & Dekel, S. ( 2006) Attachment and psychological adaptation in high exposure survivors of the September 11th attack on the world Trade Center. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 32, 538-551

Weekends At Bellevue: A Memoir

Introductory Note

Mother Nature's Son

"What'd you bring me?" I ask eagerly. I can see he's a live one. I love the live ones.

Over the shrieking, one of the EMS guys gives me "the bullet," the few pieces of relevant information when introducing a patient to a doctor: age, chief complaint, pertinent history. "This is Joshua Silver. Twenty-three. No significant medical history, no allergies, no meds. Also, he denies a psych history," he says archly, shooting me a look.

"And how'd he get to you guys? Who called 911?"

"NYPD called in an EDP." This is cop-talk for a psychiatric patient: emotionally disturbed person. "”He'd taken off his clothes in Times Square and was parading around, barking like a dog. And growling”," he adds.

This gets the patient's attention, and he interrupts the driver to clarify, "It was my way of showing them that I was not an animal. I am not a dog!"

Barking and growling to prove he is not a dog? His logic is lost on me, but at least he's stopped yelling and started communicating.

"You can talk to me," I say, turning my full attention toward him.

"See, there were some guys from Nation of Islam preaching on the corner, and they told a woman who was arguing with them that she was just a dog—God spelled backwards—to which I took offense." He then explains to me, as he did to them, that all people are art. "'Thou art art,' I told them. 'Once you accept that all people, all objects, are art, you will live in heaven as I do.'"

"You know what, Joshua?" I ask, having decided it is time to move out of the triage area and into the locked area. "I think you and I should go talk about this inside." I want us to sit in an interview room so I can try to get some more history, and I don't feel like standing over him while he lies on a stretcher. I can already tell he's an admission and will need to be in the detainable area for patients awaiting beds upstairs.

I let EMS and NYPD know that they are free to leave, and I grab my new patient some hospital pajamas. I help him off the stretcher, wrapping his sheet around him, and walk him into the larger, locked part of the ER. As I escort him through the entrance, the door clicks definitively behind us, and I hope he doesn't notice that he is now locked in. Because he is naked, we can dispense with the contraband search, which is good. The search is often the point where people become uncooperative and agitated, ending up restrained and medicated.

Prior to entering the detainable area, a patient must remove his belt, shoelaces, rosary beads—anything that can be used to hang himself or choke a fellow patient. Inevitably, the patient will insist that he is not suicidal or dangerous, but it doesn't matter; these items are not allowed in the detainable area. Neither are cell phones, crack pipes, backpacks, knives, pens, wallets, and the list goes on. The patient has to give up just about everything along with his freedom.

Luckily, Joshua is oblivious. I show him to the bathroom where he puts on the pajamas quickly. I alternate between keeping an eye on him and setting up the interview room. There are several windowed rooms within the detainable area, each with a desk and two chairs. I put my chair closer to the door. As we settle into our talk, the first thing I notice is that although he is disheveled, he seems well educated with an impressive vocabulary.

“He tells me he has written a twenty-eight-page manuscript, which he calls a prose-poem, based on his newly embraced credo that everything is art.” He is hoping to reach millions of people by delivering his manifesto on the Howard Stern show on K-ROCK, a radio station in the city.

"I am a holy man," he tells me, explaining how his writing has elevated him to this level. "I feel like King Arthur in a tower of Babel." He is hyper-verbal, spewing non sequiturs. I try to keep up with him, playing follow the leader, as if we are hopping from rock to rock in a rushing stream, but he is pulling far ahead of me. Eventually, I have to tell him he's not making a lot of sense.

"Joshua, you need to slow down. I want to understand what you're saying, but it's difficult for me. I'm focusing on the illogical connections that you're making . . . "

It sounds like "theological connections" to him, and his smile beams; he's pleased that I've grasped his religious message. I don't bother to correct him.

Being preoccupied with religion is a classic manic symptom, and mania is the better-known half of manic depression, now called bipolar disorder. In a manic state, people have less desire for sleep; they will talk more, create more, do more. Commonly, bipolar patients get hyper-religious in their newfound frenzy and sometimes end up on a street corner and then a psych ER explaining that they are Jesus or the Messiah, or that they've discovered a new religion. They've been touched by the Lord who spoke to them. They've had a vision, an epiphany, and they want to share it with the world. Their grandiosity can be charismatic and alluring. Religions and cults are formed around this kind of energy, and I'm happy to warm myself by Joshua's fire during the interview.

In March and April, our ER becomes crowded with manic patients. For many bipolars, there is a seasonality to their symptoms. Just as more people get depressed in the winter months, increased exposure to bright sunlight can elevate moods. Also, the air is heady with religious themes during spring, when Easter and Passover coincide. The resurrection is reenacted in the budding trees and sprouting flowers, miraculously coming to life where once lay a blanket of snow. We get multiple Jesuses in the ER this time of year.

Joshua's pressured speech is another sign of his mania. It rambles hither and yon, like a butterfly dancing merrily among the flowers, setting down briefly on the themes of religion and art as if they were particularly colorful blossoms. I try to join him in his wordplay, to engage him gently in the hopes of learning more about him: where he's from, where his parents are, and whether he's stopped his medication, which is a good bet. Most of the manic patients who come through our doors have gone off their meds. The mood stabilizers have significant side effects, and people are often resentful about having to use them. Also, “mania usually feels better than being medicated, at least for a while. It's a bit like surfing, knowing it has to end with the inevitable wipeout, but loving the balancing act required to keep it going.”

Most of our patients battle with their need for medications. When they start to feel better, they abandon their treatment plan, thinking they're cured. Even if they know they'll get sick again, they hate taking the pills so much that they stop anyway. Coming through our doors is a painful and humbling lesson in how to manage their illness.

"Joshua," I begin yet again.

"I fought the battle of Jericho."

"I've heard that about you, yes." I smile. "Are you from Jericho?" I ask earnestly.

"No, I don't think so."

"Or maybe a town near there? You took a bus to New York City from where?" I ask. "Can you tell me where your parents live? Is there anyone who might be worried about you, who doesn't know where you are?"

A town near Jericho? What the hell am I thinking? I'll tell you: I am trying to meet him where he is, to work within his delusions and focus on what's important to him, and then gently lead him out to where I am, in reality. This is one definition of psychotic—broken with reality. He lives in a dream, but his hallucinations and delusions are as real to him as the movies we star in while we sleep.

Despite my coaxing, I can't get anything useful out of him. I want to find his parents because I need to talk to someone who knows him to learn whether he's been sick like this before. And I want to let them know that he's been found. I've made dozens of phone calls to parents of the bipolar kids who end up on our doorstep. We get plenty of "first breaks" at Bellevue, the first episodes of psychosis that often herald the arrival of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. They tend to occur in the late teens or early twenties. This is when the brain is pruning back and reorganizing connections made throughout adolescence, and also when everything is getting more challenging: starting college, joining the army, traveling. Sometimes, during these phone calls, I hear about how bright and promising their children were before they got sick. Other times, when it's not the first break, but the latest in a long series of them, the parent on the phone is terse and angry, burned out, tired of being woken up in the middle of the night to answer the same questions from yet another psychiatrist. In many ways, that's easier for me to deal with than the heartbreak of talking to the "new" parents, giving the first diagnosis, gingerly explaining the illness and its treatment, knowing as I do that they may be in for decades of calls from ER docs.

But tonight there is no phone conversation with the Silvers. Joshua won't even acknowledge that they exist, and I have nothing to go on but his manic ramblings. He tells me he's come to New York City with three dollars in his pocket and nowhere to stay. Knowing no one in the city, he made his way from the Port Authority bus terminal to the K-ROCK radio station at five a.m. in order to spread his message. When I first started my job at Bellevue, I heard the Port Authority referred to as The Port of Atrocities, because EMS brought us such sick people from there. That name stuck with me throughout my tenure at the hospital.

Joshua continues, chronicling the events of his day. After K-ROCK turned him away, he spent the rest of the morning sleeping in Central Park. Later in the afternoon, the police in the park told him to move on, and gave him a tip: Try hanging out around Forty-Second and Broadway. Wandering around Times Square, he happened upon some teens entertaining the tourists by playing drums on overturned white plastic buckets. He danced for them, and the tourists threw him money and took his picture.

"You know how there's cops there on horses? They let me pet the horses; they seemed cool about me touching the animals, and the tourists took my picture again!" He seems impressed that he'd become a tourist attraction himself.

"Well, weren't you naked by then?" I remind him.

He admits that he must have been by this point, but then begins to digress into a tirade against photographers, who, instead of living life and immersing themselves in their surroundings, only interact superficially by documenting the scene.

"You may have a point there," I offer. I think of my boyfriend the photographer whom I confronted with exactly this accusation not so long ago.

My patient perceives me as a friend and ally because I am aligning with him, chatting agreeably rather than asking the standard annoying psychiatrist questions. There's no need for those as far as I'm concerned—he's a definite admission. The only is whether I can get him to sign in voluntarily or will have to fill out the 9.39 paperwork for commitment.

The criterion for a 9.39 is danger to self or others, or an inability to care for self. If a patient doesn't fit this narrow definition, he needs to sign in voluntarily. A frustrating situation often develops in a family when a patient clearly needs psychiatric help but is unwilling to agree to a hospitalization. In Joshua's case, I can probably justify the danger-to-self scenario. He can't fend for himself while he's psychotic like this: He's on the street with three dollars in his pocket—that is, when he's got his pants on—eating and drinking nearly nothing.

Could severe dehydration and low blood sugar be affecting his behavior? Is he high from LSD or PCP? My money is on mania, the "working diagnosis," but it's my job to second-guess myself. If it's drug-induced, he'll come down in a day or so, but the mania won't de-escalate that rapidly. I can ask the nurses to obtain a urine sample to be tested for PCP—phencyclidine—a tranquilizer called Sernyl, once FDA-approved but now illegal. When people are high on PCP, they frequently disrobe and run amok. “There is a saying among toxicologists that "naked running is PCP until proven otherwise." Since Joshua presented to the ER naked and disorganized, I figure I should at least send for the test.”

If I could just talk to his parents, I'd get a sense of his history—whether he's been depressed or manic before, and what meds work best for him. Of course, he won't offer me any telephone numbers for his family, only for K-ROCK, a number he knows by heart. He still wants Howard Stern to broadcast his manifesto.

I push forward on my chosen tack: schmooze-fest. I tell him I admire his theory that people are art. I share his appreciation for the perfection of all he surveys, of the complexities and magic in the world around us. Like being high on hallucinogens, mania can provide a sense of wonder and awe at the realization of how the universe works. It's easier to access the macro, to pull back and see the big picture. Often there is a feeling that "everything is connected," a realization in common with experiences on psychedelics and with mystical religious epiphanies. There are likely neurochemical similarities between the mystical, psychedelic, and manic states.

At Bellevue, I am repeatedly shown the big picture, taught that there is more than one way to look at just about everything. When I open my ears and mind to the "ravings of a madman," I'm reminded to pay more attention, to Be Here Now. Everywhere we choose to see it, the world is full of splendor and wonderment. I'll never forget the manic teenage boy who tapped my shoulder in the detainable area, excited to explain to me that, "We're part of this huge experiment. All of us are under one microscope, being observed and studied. You know where the eyepiece of the microscope is?" he asked me, his pupils dilated with enlightenment. He pointed to the ceiling, "It's what you call the sun."

Leaving the Note

But there are plenty of notes full of anger, not apologies. “One note, addressed to an ex- boyfriend, says succinctly, "This is all your fault."”

At least the notes make it easy for me to make a decision about how to handle the case. They are tangible proof that a patient wants to die, which allows me to fill out the paperwork for the admission. The problem is, not everyone leaves a note, and even if they've written one, it doesn't always signify seriousness or intention. Plenty of completed suicides leave no note. And plenty of staged suicidal gestures are accompanied by long letters.

Sometimes a patient will make a veiled or outright threat of suicide on the phone. The person on the other end of the call, not knowing what else to do, dials 911. Then I get a new angry patient showing up in CPEP, dragged out of his home by EMS, forced against his will to undergo a psychiatric evaluation.

One of the rules of thumb that I've developed over the years is to base my treatment plan not on what someone says, but on what he does. People threaten suicide for all sorts of dramatic reasons. I try not to take away their civil liberties and force them into a Bellevue stay unless I have proof of actual harmful intent. Dramatic phone calls don't count.

“I've had countless situations where the ex- boyfriend calls 911 after the girl he dumped threatens to kill herself. She was hoping he'd come rescue her, but what she gets instead are a couple of ambulance drivers escorting her to a night with me.” Now she has to convince me that she has things to live for. Lucky for her, I'm not hard to convince. I let most people leave the CPEP as soon as we've had a quick chat, once I get the feeling that they have "future thinking." I write up a T & R, documenting that a patient has no suicidal intent, is not hopeless, and has future plans and future thinking. These are key components in the decision to release a patient.

It's tough to decide who's really serious about suicide, whom to detain. Anyone who's recently made an attempt is an automatic keeper; that's easy. Talking about it is one thing—threatening, writing notes, those are things that will make me consider an admission—but if they went through with any sort of dangerous activity, they're in, end of story. It is standard practice when evaluating a recent suicide attempt to do a "walk- through." I ask the patient to take me through that whole day, step by step, to get a sense of how much thought and planning went into the attempt, if any. What were the thoughts and hopes while carrying it out? Many attempts are impulsive and barely thought out. Other times, people will admit that they were hoping to be thwarted, that a loved one would finally understand just how desperate things had become.

Another situation that comes up every once in a while is "suicide by cop." Patients, usually psychotic or high on cocaine or both, will try to get the police to kill them with their guns. Sometimes they will do this by trying to provoke aggression. Other times, they'll reach for the cop's gun, trying to get it out of the holster, which is trickier than it looks—I've tried it (with permission, of course).

Obviously, patients who successfully commit suicide don't cross my path. They go to the medical ER to be resuscitated, or they go to the morgue. The patients that I do see are the failed suicide attempts. The note has been found in time, or the patient is discovered in the bathroom with a noose around his neck, or in the tub with his wrists cut and bleeding. These are the most pathetic things that I deal with, bar none—the botched suicides. It's not that easy to successfully kill yourself. Sometimes the plan is too elaborate, and then there is bound to be a gaffe. When I was a medical student, I had a patient who ate ground glass. He ended up with a lot of severe problems with his stomach and esophagus, but he survived. Then there was the patient who set up an intricate pulley system, hauling a heavy metal engineer's desk up onto the ceiling and sitting underneath it. It didn't kill him, but it did leave him with a lifetime of chronic pain due to the crush injuries. Then there are those brain-injured patients who survive shooting themselves in the head.

“It's tougher than you think to end it all, take my word. And after a failed attempt? You thought your life sucked before, just wait.” What is always infinitely hard to predict is the future, when there hasn't yet been an attempt, but there are hints. I can't always tell just how desperate a person is, or how far he'll go to escape his painful life. Most of us have had friends, family members, or colleagues die at their own hands. How many of us knew it was going to happen? How many of us missed the warning signs, so easy to see in hindsight? It's easy to blame yourself endlessly when someone you know ends his life. I should've known he was in pain. I should've offered more of my time and my heart. And when it's someone who is assigned to be under your care, it's even easier to beat yourself up.

My first suicide happened when I was a fourth-year resident at the Bronx VA—my last year of training. I was thirty. A thirty-four-year old guy with a heart of gold—nice guy, but a very sick man with intense mood swings and intermittent psychosis—was assigned to me. This illness is called schizoaffective disorder, and it carries a prognosis more dire than bipolar disorder due to its deteriorating course. When I inherited this patient from the outgoing resident in July, she let me know he was in trouble. I had a talk with him, man to man, my desk in between us. He never took off his dark sunglasses during our discussion. (One of the things I fixated on later, in my own interminable postmortem.)

"You're my most dangerous patient," I began. I assumed he'd like to think of himself in those terms. I could tell by the sunglasses, or so I thought. "You just got out of the hospital after attempting suicide. Statistically, you're at risk to try it again." He nodded wordlessly. I was hoping he'd start to open up and tell me why, so we could begin to make a connection, but no, just the nodding.

"What can you and I do to keep you alive, I wonder?" I asked. Let him know he's part of the treatment team. We're in this together. "Search me," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Can you please promise me you'll contact me to talk about it if you're feeling suicidal? Can we at least agree on that much?" "Sure thing, Doc," he promised. He sounded genuine. Patient contracts for safety, I wrote in his chart.

He seemed to do okay for most of my outpatient year, which goes from July to June, but at some point in the winter, he missed two appointments with me, one for a group session and another for an individual session. After the second missed appointment, I called his wife to see what was up. She told me bluntly that he had checked himself into a hotel, drunk a bottle of vodka, and taken a few months' worth of hoarded prescriptions that I had written for him.

At first I blamed myself, and was nervous that others would blame me as well. If he had hoarded my prescriptions, this meant he was off his meds while I was still seeing him. I was specifically worried about the peer-review process, the morbidity and mortality conference where I would have to present his case to the other doctors and defend my choice of his medications. But then I felt guilty that I was focusing on me, how this reflected badly on my skills as a psychiatrist. I needed to do something to shoulder more of the responsibility, even if the other doctors didn't bear down on me.

I called his widow again, to commiserate. It was a very emotional phone call; I allowed myself to really open up to her loss and grief, and also, most important, to her anger. I needed to feel guilty because I had let both of us down, and she helped me with that, as she had a right to. She told me how she had known him for eighteen years, and how they'd finally gotten married six months ago. She described how their eight-year-old son kept leaving his seat and going up to the coffin to kiss him good-bye during the open- casket funeral. She shared with me how she felt like his soul had entered her body, and how she spent all day with his ashes, feeling like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and torn apart.

She was full of questions. Why did he leave her so soon after they were finally married? How could he abandon his son? And how could I, his doctor, let this happen? It was tempting for both of us to blame each other. She asked why I had prescribed certain medications instead of others, and why I couldn't see him more frequently. Wasn't there more I could have done? I wanted to know why no one thought to call me for help when he stopped talking for a week at home. He began sitting alone in dark rooms, sleeping more and more. Why didn't she let me know what was going on with him? Why didn't he call me?

I didn't realize anything different was happening with him. I fixated on the signs I should've picked up on. He wore his dark sunglasses one day in group therapy. Maybe that meant something. He seemed irritable with the other patients, which was unusual for him. Maybe that should've tipped me off. And why the hell didn't I call him immediately when he missed his first appointment for group therapy? My patient did not want to be found. He didn't try to hang himself down the hallway while his family ate dinner. He didn't call an ambulance five minutes after he swallowed some pills because he changed his mind. (These are common occurrences in a staged suicidal gesture.) This man checked himself into a hotel room, telling no one where he was going. He left no note, and he took multiple full bottles of multiple medications, chasing the pills down with nearly a quart of vodka. Clearly, he wanted to die and took precautions so that he would not be stopped.

But couldn't I have stopped him anyway? Mostly, what I heard from other doctors at the VA was how some patients are absolutely intent upon ending their life and we can't always prevent them. That this is a rite of passage. It's a fundamental part of residency training in psychiatry; every doctor loses patients. You learn and grow from it, and you go on to the next patient, trying not to let it happen again.

When I'm at the CPEP deciding whether someone should be kept in the hospital or released, I need to choose the path of least mortality: Will this person go out and kill himself or someone else? Dance in the middle of the FDR and cause an accident? Jump from the Brooklyn Bridge?

My answer, more often than not, is, Who the hell knows? Does anyone see a freakin' crystal ball on my desk? I don't have all the answers. I'm doing the best I can with what I have, which sometimes is not much information at all. I'm always pressured to send the patients out, because we only have so much room at the hospital. The busier we are, the higher my threshold for what gets caught in the safety net, and thus pulled into the safe harbor of the psych ward, such as it is. There is an element of uncertainty with every T & R. I have to be okay with that ambiguity if I'm going to work weekend after weekend. “I trust my gut and try not to gamble too much on any given case, and usually the house wins.”

Before I became a psychiatrist, I rationalized that people had a right to commit suicide. If you're at a lousy party, you should be allowed to leave if you 're not having a good time. But after talking to that man's widow, I got to experience a fraction of the pain that a suicide causes, and my first time sharing that grief made me see things differently, made me understand more fully my own obligation as a physician. Suicide is not just about wanting to leave the party. Depression changes the experience, coloring the perception, which makes it impossible to enjoy the party. As a physician, I must combat the illnesses that cause suicidal thoughts and behaviors. I have an obligation to eradicate the depression that poisons the mind, just as surgeons need to defend their patients from the cancers that hijack the body.

Doctors are supposed to alleviate pain. Psychiatrists are meant not only to soothe the despair and hopelessness that a depressed person experiences, but also, I have come to realize, to prevent the pain of the ones who would be left behind. This means I must do all I can to prevent the leaving.

To read more of Weekends at Bellevue, you can purchase it at Amazon.com.

In Search of Self: My Therapy with Rogers, Satir, Bugental, Polster, Yalom, & Maslow

Have you ever wondered what would it be like to work with psychotherapists who most of us have only read about, heard speak at a conference, or watched on video? Like many psychology students, I have often pondered the question of what it would be like to meet with the masters in our field. At critical crossroads of my life, I have wished for the guidance of these sages. In my mind, over the years, I have assembled my own personal therapist dream team: Carl Rogers, Virginia Satir, James Bugental, Erving Polster, Irvin Yalom, and Abraham Maslow. (I suspect each of us could construct our own cadre of master therapists.) What these therapists have in common is that they all value the importance of self-determination, autonomy, and the intrinsic potential for growth. They all seek to provide the optimal conditions for individuals to heal and grow, despite the pressures and circumstances of life. By helping to remove any obstacles towards growth, these therapists empower individuals as they let go of their symptoms and engage more fully in their lives.

I have imagined what it would be like if each of these renowned professionals could share with me their unique approaches and help me understand myself, confront my struggles, and achieve my potential. I invite you to join me now, in eternal time and space, as I begin my psychotherapy encounters with my dream team. But first, here's a little background.

In Search of Acceptance

For as long as I can remember, I have always been a high achiever. My relentless drive for perfection earned me countless academic awards and recognitions. I knew that as long as I succeeded academically, I would be accepted in the eyes of others. Continuing to persevere, I earned a master's degree in chemistry from Stanford University. I was proud of my academic achievements, but I had always sensed that my heart wasn't  there.

For the next several years, I was on a mission to find my passion in life. Although I had not been successful in finding a fulfilling career, I was determined to find a relationship that would make me feel whole. Depressed and frustrated, I entered therapy when I could not convince my ex-boyfriend Brian to give me just one more chance. I was determined to be the person I needed to be so that he would accept me and come back into my life. I was convinced that if he could accept me, then I could finally be happy.

Carl Rogers: Conveying the Core Conditions

Rogers Intro: During Deb's first therapy session with me, she tearfully commented, "I have lost my direction in life, and I do not know where I am going." She explained that her job as a researcher was "just not me" but she did not know what else to do. She described how the security of having an income helped her overlook the reality that she did not enjoy the work. After the first half of the session, Deb started to describe her "on-and-off" relationship with her ex-boyfriend Brian.

Deb: From the moment I met him, I knew he was the person I had been searching for. We had so much in common and we seemed to understand each other pretty well. I remember him telling me how I was one of the few people who could really understand him and be on his wavelength. I still remember how nice it felt on our first date when I made him laugh. After that first date, I knew I was hooked.

Rogers: It sounds like that first date with Brian was a really special time for you. He recognized you as someone who could understand him, and when he laughed you felt as if he could really appreciate you.

Deb: Yes, that's exactly how I felt. And I felt so safe with him. I know this may sound kind of silly, but I took so much comfort in the fact that he was so tall and strong. When I was in his arms, it felt like nothing else mattered. Being with him provided me an escape from the rest of my life…and from myself.

Rogers: That does not sound silly at all. By escaping to Brian, you felt as if you could escape from your problems. But, in doing so, it sounds like you also lost parts of yourself.

Deb (crying): You're right. I used to feel so strong and have such a clear idea of who I was. But since I started depending on him to be the source of strength in my life, I've had no clue as to who I am. All I can think about now is doing what I need to do to get him back into my life again.

Rogers: Your tears show what a compassionate and sensitive person you are. I see how much pain you are in now, but I also hear how determined you are to discover your true self. Just the fact that you are here shows that you are ready to find your "direction in life."

Rogers Wrap-up: My main goal with Deb was to create a growth-promoting environment by helping her identify and remove the internal and external obstacles blocking her inherent growth. Conveying the core therapeutic conditions of accurate empathy, unconditional positive regard, and genuineness, I helped Deb realize and accept her congruent self and begin her growth process toward self-actualization. As Deb started to move in the direction of growth, I noticed she was developing openness to experience, gaining a trust in herself, developing an internal locus of evaluation, and demonstrating a willingness to continue to grow. She was beginning to discover her own strength—instead of escaping to that of her ex-boyfriend. During our final session, Deb mentioned that she was even considering her long-term goal of enrolling in a psychology graduate program.

Virginia Satir: Engineering the Self

Satir Intro: After attending one of my personal growth workshops, Deb approached me about helping her in the process of rediscovering and rebuilding her self. Always enthusiastic to help an individual in the area of personal growth, I agreed to see Deb right away. When I met with her during our first session, I had the sense that she had the motivation to grow, but she just needed a little direction to help her stay on her path.

Deb: I know that I should be ready to move on, but I still find myself feeling so sad over the end of my relationship with Brian. I wish I could just ignore my feelings, but it seems there's no escape.

Satir: I think that it is great you are so in touch with your feelings now. Maybe it would help if you could think of these feelings as the "juice" that keeps you in a whole piece and gives you the abilities to see better, to think better, to feel better. By owning these emotions, you can actually feel more alive.

Deb: That sounds much better than trying to fight these feelings. But as I am dealing with all of these feelings, how do I get unstuck? I just don't understand why I can't move on with my life!

Satir: Anytime we try to change something that has been a part of our life for so long, it's so tempting to stay with what's familiar. Often when we try to take one step forward, the familiar brings us right back. This struggle you are having is certainly a common one. Just ask anyone who has ever tried to quit smoking, or change any kind of habit.

Deb: That definitely helps me put things in perspective. But, how do you suggest I break my "habit"?

Satir: Changing oneself is one of the most difficult things in the world to do. I think the most important tools you need to have now are faith in and forgiveness for yourself. Your faith will help you move forward in your commitment to grow, and your forgiveness will save you during the backslides. I see just how committed you are, and I know that you're going to keep on moving ahead, and eventually you're going to be able to make it.

Deb: Thanks for the encouragement. But, I have to admit it's those backslides you just mentioned that scare me the most. I am just not sure how to find the strength and courage to move on when I feel like I've taken a step backwards.

Satir: The pulls back into the familiar are indeed powerful. If you find yourself doing the familiar, my advice would be to give yourself an "A" for being so aware. Then, you can give yourself the choice about what you want to do next. After all, you own yourself, and therefore you are the engineer of yourself.

Deb: Oh, I really like that idea. So if I don't like the way I am doing something, I have the choice to do it differently.

Satir: Exactly. I think the key to life is to change when the situation calls for it, and to find ways to accommodate to what is new and different. It's important to keep the part of the old that is still useful, and discard what is not.

Deb: So your advice is to change what no longer works, but to hold on to what still does. That means I don't have to completely start over.

Satir: That's right. You already have a great start on your journey. Let me read you something that I wrote a few years ago that may encourage you as you continue in your process of change: "I am Me. I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears. I own my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes. I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive. I am me, and I am okay."

Satir Wrap-up: During our next sessions, I helped Deb to develop ways to cope with the ending of her relationship. I helped her understand that in our lives, problems are not the problems—coping is the problem. I pointed out to Deb that life is not what it's supposed to be. It's what it is. The way one copes with it is what makes the difference. She eventually saw the ending of her relationship as an opportunity for positive change, which would ultimately make her stronger for the upcoming "bumps in the road." Over the next few months, Deb developed the strength and self-esteem to directly confront many of the everyday challenges she faced in life. I enthusiastically watched her become stronger and stronger with each of these encounters. During our last session she admitted, "It's much easier to face a problem directly than to try to find the energy to avoid it."

James Bugental: Experiencing the Moment

Bugental Intro: Before she left for the Esalen Institute in Big Sur to develop their Human Potential Development Program, Virginia Satir referred her client Deb to me. She felt that Deb was beginning to trust herself and her feelings, and she thought that I might be able to help her tune into her "Wisdom Box" to access her inner truth. During our first few sessions, I realized that Deb was more in tune with the needs of others than with those of herself. Then, during our fourth session, we had a major experiential breakthrough.

Bugental: When you were in the waiting room, I noticed that something seemed different with you today.

Deb: Oh, really? That's interesting you sensed that. I think I'm okay…

Bugental: Right when I saw you, I had this feeling that you had contact with Brian this week.

Deb: Wow, you're right. I did. That's kind of freaky you could pick up on that!

Bugental: I notice you are shaking right now.

Deb: I am? Oh, you're right, I am. Maybe it is because my blood sugar is low or something…

Bugental: And?

Deb: So, you're right. I did see Brian this weekend. But, everything is fine. I feel totally in control, and I am not afraid of spiraling backwards again. I think I'm ready to have him in my life again.

Bugental: Did you realize that as you said that your leg started shaking even more?

Deb: Uh, yeah. I can't quite stop that.

Bugental: What do you think your shaking is trying to say to you?

Deb: I don't know.

Bugental: Can you ask it?

Deb: Well…maybe it's trying to tell me that I'm not ready to have him in my life again. Perhaps it's a reminder of all the pain I have been through before, and a warning not to go there again.

Bugental: It's almost as if his being in your life threatens your stability and "shakes" your foundation of strength, and even chips away at your bedrock of self-esteem. Does that sound right to you?

Deb: Wow, you know I didn't think of it that way. But, yes, there is definitely some truth in that.

Bugental: Now I see you're shaking even more. What are you feeling now?

Deb: Oh, so many feelings are going through me now, I don't even know where to start.

Bugental: What if you just close your eyes now and breathe in and out. Now imagine what your shaking leg is trying to tell you. With all of that energy, it must have an important message for you. Just concentrate on what it is saying.

Deb (tearfully): It is saying that it is time for me to be seen, heard, and respected. It is realizing that I've been so busy taking care of other people's needs that I have not been in tune with my own. Brian really has no respect for me, and I'm so sick of being a doormat!

Bugental Wrap-up: During my next several sessions with Deb, I assisted her in tuning into what she was experiencing in the moment. In essence, by helping Deb to focus on the present and become mindful of what was happening in the here-and-now, I helped her become more self-aware. Then, by reflecting her newfound awareness back to her, I assisted her in better comprehending her situation, and ultimately increasing her choices so she could begin to make a change. It was also essential for me to enter into Deb's world without disrupting it and changing her personal experience. I wanted to help Deb discover her own images, without intrusively bringing in my ideas. I also wanted to challenge her to look at her own attitude towards herself. This process was aimed at facilitating Deb in taking charge of her life, and ultimately claiming her power to engage in her journey toward self-actualization.

Erving Polster: Gaining Awareness through Gestalt

Polster Intro: I received a call from Deb, a graduate student in psychology, who was interested in learning about how my Gestalt approach might help her achieve a new level of awareness. She explained that she would like to get in touch with and unleash the anger that she had been internalizing all her life. I agreed to help in her process. Right when I met Deb, I sensed she was ready to get to work.

Polster: I'm wondering how you have been able to get in touch with your anger in the past.

Deb: To be honest, I've always been afraid of getting angry at people. It just seems more natural to keep it locked inside.

Polster: What if we could try something that might help you unlock this anger before it breaks down the door on its own?

Deb: I'd be up for that. But how would I do that?

Polster: How about you just imagine that Brian is sitting there in that empty chair right now. Get in touch with how you feel that he just entered and left your life again. What do you want to say to him?

Deb: Um, that I'm mad.

Polster: Tell it to the chair. And say it like you really mean it.

Deb (angry): You just don't have a heart. I was trying to understand how your coming into my life again could make sense to you. And then I realized you didn't just think—you knew, you totally knew, that you were going to come into my life for a limited amount of time, and then just leave. There was no thought in there of me at all except what I could do for you. It's all about you!!

Polster: That's it. Now go even deeper into that anger.

Deb: I just don't get it. And I'm just really mad that you could just come into my life again, and show me the side of you that I missed. Then, when you were no longer lonely, you just left my life again. I'm so sick of this!

Polster: Go to the core of your anger. What do you really want to tell him?

Deb: I've always been there to support you. I've never ever, ever let you down. I've always been there for you and there have never been any consequences for you. But you're never here for me, Brian! It's such a one-way thing. I can't count on you for anything except to be a fleeting part of my life. That's all that I can expect from you, and I'm done with you! I deserve better!!

Polster: Where is your anger now? Where do you feel it most? Let it out.

Deb (raising her voice): Stay out of my life! Stay out of my life, Brian!!!

Polster Wrap-up: Gestalt therapy served as an effective means for Deb to become more fully present with her unexpressed emotions. When she could be more in the "now," she developed a clearer sense about the growthful direction in which she needed to move—i.e., away from her ex-boyfriend—and her change naturally unfolded. Her previously alien anger was transformed into an acceptable expression, which ultimately led to new possibilities in her life. During the next few months, Deb's increased self-awareness enabled her to take back her power and restore her self-support. Her new awareness also allowed her to experiment with new behaviors, which, in turn, facilitated further growth. Deb realized that finally giving a voice to her anger allowed her to focus her energies on her interests and passions, instead of on her regrets and fears.

Irvin Yalom: Confronting the Existential Givens in the Here and Now

Yalom Intro: I received an enthusiastic email from Deb who explained to me how my book, Existential Psychotherapy, had made quite an impact in her life. Since she was living nearby, she expressed her desire to consult with me on her existential quest, and I agreed to meet with her. When we met in my office, I could not help but notice that Deb seemed a bit star-struck. (And, of course, I have to admit that this is indeed a nice reaction for a man in his 70s to encounter.) But these stars soon faded, and we got down to the business of her life.

Yalom: Hi Deb—it's really nice to meet you in person.

Deb: Wow, thanks. Uh, I'm feeling a bit nervous right now. I've been admiring your work for so long, and I just can't believe that you are right here in front of me now!

Yalom: It's nice to know that you've been able to appreciate my work.

Deb: Not to sound like a groupie or anything, but in many ways that book changed my life. Especially my ability to really begin to let go of a painful relationship I was having with my ex-boyfriend Brian.

Yalom: Now you've got me curious. What in the book helped you the most in being able to move on with your life?

Deb: Where do I begin? Let's see…well, your whole premise that underneath all of our motivations and experiences lies this "existential bedrock" which forces us to be aware, on some level at least, of life's existential givens of death, isolation, freedom, and meaninglessness, really hit home with me. At first this concept was just an intellectual one to me, but as I drank in each word of your book, I realized that these concerns lie at the origins of my major life challenges.

Yalom: Yes, I have observed time and time again how both on a conscious and unconscious level, these "givens of existence" constitute the core struggles of humankind. It is these ultimate concerns that provide both the process and content for therapy.

Deb: Your book convinced me of that! While I was in the midst of reading through the chapters on death, I did a lot of thinking—and dreaming—about death. In fact, one night I had the most terrifying nightmare that death was literally at my door, and I had to use all of my energies to protect myself from it. Until that dream, I did not realize how fearful I actually was of my own death. And, that's when I realized that my "death grip" on Brian represented my attempts to assuage my death fears by believing that he was my "ultimate rescuer" who would protect me from death.

Yalom: Wow, what an insight.

Deb: Interestingly enough, when I was able to confront the inevitability of my own death on such a deep level, I became more engaged in my life.

Yalom: That's the paradox of accepting death—although the physicality of death destroys us, the idea of death saves us.

Deb: I also discovered a similar paradox regarding existential isolation. I realized that my irrational quest for unconditional (and unrealistic) acceptance from Brian was actually a form of denying my existential isolation. But once I was able to confront the reality that I was ultimately alone, I have felt so much less lonely!

Yalom: As you've discovered, the fear of existential isolation is the driving force behind many interpersonal relationships. But true relationships do not use the "other" as the functional "it" to guard against existential isolation. Once a person can accept that they are ultimately alone and can not have all of their needs met by others, then they can develop richer, more tolerant, and more loving relationships based on a deeper sense of communion. When we are able to stand alone and dip within ourselves for our own strength, our relationships with others are based more on fulfillment, not on deprivation.

Deb: Wow, what a comforting thought!

Yalom: Indeed it is. It is only by facing aloneness that we can meaningfully and authentically engage with another. Love—although it doesn't take us away from our existential isolation—is our best mode for coping with the pain of separateness.

Deb: So in a sense, we are all together in our separateness.

Yalom: Yes, that's very true. We are separate but can still connect to each other.

Deb: In addition to helping me gain personal insight into the existential concepts of death and isolation, your book also gave me the opportunity to process my thoughts about freedom. Your concept of freedom—that everyone is ultimately responsible for their (and only their) life and has the choice to make (or not) decisions and change their life as needed—is pretty much the very core of my whole outlook in life.

Yalom: Good for you. I've found that many people are actually frightened by the concept of freedom which implies that beneath them exists a "groundlessness" lacking any form of structure. But you seem to have to come to a place in your life where you are accepting this freedom and realize that you can create your life by the process of feeling, wishing, willing, choosing, acting, and changing.

Deb: My recent realization based on this concept—that I am the one who is responsible for both my needless suffering over Brian as well my solution to search for alternatives that really honor who I am and what I want—has brought me an incredible sense of empowerment! Your idea that we are responsible for our own lives and well-being has become my new mantra!

Yalom: As I've always said, until one realizes one's own role in contributing to one's problems, there can be no motivation to change.

Deb: I'm a true believer in that idea! And the final section of your book on meaninglessness really gave me plenty of food for thought too.

Yalom: Oh yes, the riddle of the meaning of life…Since the beginning of time, people have struggled with the classic existential dilemma of seeking meaning and certainty in a world that can offer them neither.

Deb: I loved your idea of engagement in life as the antidote to meaninglessness.

Yalom: Yes—it's better to embrace the solution of engagement rather than become preoccupied with the problem of meaninglessness. I have discovered that one must immerse oneself in the river of life and let the question drift to the background, attending to it when necessary.

Deb: I completely agree. And, I've found that approaching life's inherent meaninglessness with the realization that it's up to each of us to create and aspire to fulfill our own meaning is quite a satisfying way to live.

Yalom: Wow, so I see that you have really explored these existential concepts in a way that makes sense for you. Sounds like you've been able to put theory into practice.

Deb: I think so. If the whole point of theory really is to serve as a foundation and help one achieve a sense of order and control in an otherwise chaotic world, then I think I'm finding mine!

Yalom: It is so nice to know that my books have been able to offer you so much insight into your life. Now, I'm wondering how that felt for you to share with me how much you've enjoyed my work and put it into practice in your own life.

Deb: Hey, that sounds like an attempt to bring our session back to the "here-and-now"!

Yalom (laughing): Okay, now I'm convinced that you may have read a few too many of my books. But it was a serious question. You must have had some image of what this would be like. So, how has it been for you to meet with me in person? Any surprises so far? Any disappointments?

Deb: I admit I was nervous prior to our meeting. I guess I was intimidated by all the books you have written, and by the fact that you're, uh, Yalom! I was hoping that I would not embarrass myself. But, much to my surprise, soon after we met, it was easy to open up and talk to you about myself and existential issues.

Yalom: So it sounds like you are pleasantly surprised that you feel comfortable talking with me. Anything else that you wanted to share today, but have not?

Deb: Well, let me think about that for a moment. I guess we have been talking a lot about existential issues and struggles I have dealt with in the past. Maybe I was trying to impress you with my knowledge (smiles sheepishly). But I have not revealed much about what I want to work on in my life now.

Yalom: I appreciate you telling me that you wanted to impress me. You have succeeded on that count! But it sounds like your desire to impress me might have gotten in the way of you sharing more pressing needs. Maybe I played some part in that as well, but we don't have much time left today, so maybe we should use that time to begin talking about what you would like to work on now in your life.

Deb: Yes, I would. This is little harder for me, but here goes…

Yalom Wrap-up: Deb continued to meet with me on a weekly basis until the end of the summer. As our sessions progressed, she focused less on intellectual topics and more on the here-and-now space between us. During our last session, Deb explained to me why our therapeutic relationship had been so valuable to her. With tears in her eyes, she told me that she could now truly understand my maxim of psychotherapy that "It is the relationship that heals."

She explained how she particularly enjoyed my approach where I saw us as "fellow travelers" in a world full of inherent tragedies of existence, and she appreciated how I could be both an observer and a participant in her life. She mentioned that although she had previously read how I entered each therapeutic relationship with openness, engagement, and egalitarianism, she was amazed to personally experience the true power of these therapeutic ingredients. Deb realized that what had been most helpful about our sessions was how my authenticity, genuineness, and transparency eventually allowed her to discover these same qualities in her self. I explained to her that this is precisely why I have always believed that therapist authenticity is ultimately redemptive. She also realized that my being able to enter into her world and see her as she truly was enabled her to do so herself. As she hugged me at the end of our last session she said "Thank you for giving me the gift of therapy."

Abraham Maslow: Journeying toward Self-actualization

Maslow Intro: When I ran into Irv Yalom at the Evolution of Psychotherapy conference, I mentioned to him that I was in the process of revising my book Motivation and Personality. After he got over the shock of seeing me (he really did look like he had seen a ghost!), I expressed to him that I have always enjoyed how his textbooks read more like novels with their captivating vignettes, and that I was currently using this technique to revise my text. When I mentioned that I wanted to work with people who were on their journey toward self-actualization, he told me he knew of a person who might be interested in meeting with me.

A few days later Deb called me, and her pursuit of self-actualization was evident right away. I decided that it would be helpful to meet with her a few times to discuss what was on her mind. I met with Deb for the first time after she just finished a day full of play therapy sessions with young children. I could not help but notice that she was sparkling—both literally due to all the glitter she had on her from doing art therapy with the children, and also figuratively from finding work that allowed her to shine from the inside out.

Maslow (jokingly): Wow, it looks like you're really getting into your work with the children!

Deb: Oh yes—and on so many levels too! I've always been drawn to children. When I'm with them, I just feel myself light up.

Maslow: And I'd guess that illumination lights the path for both you and them.

Deb: It certainly feels that way to me. I noticed that being able to see them has also given me the ability to see myself. When I was working with children at my school's expressive arts camp this summer, I discovered that what the kids needed most was to be seen, heard, and understood. Soon after, I realized that that's exactly what I need to give myself as well.

Maslow: So the work you are doing with children reflects and invigorates the work you have been doing with yourself.

Deb: Yes, I feel that what I have been able to provide the kids is also what I am learning to give myself. In the therapy room, I give each child the freedom to be themselves while I honor, reflect, and validate their individuality. In life, I try to give myself these same opportunities.

Maslow: It sounds like being in tune with the children has helped you to become in tune with you own inner voice.

Deb: Exactly. And, paradoxically enough, I'm discovering that listening to the child inside of me has been the best way for me to navigate through my life as an adult. Now I trust my feelings. If something doesn't feel right with me, I know that it's not. It is also increasingly clear to me when I am doing something that is congruent with who I truly am inside.

Maslow: That reminds me of the quote "To thine own self be true."

Deb: That quote really resonates with me. Before I started therapy, I measured my successes in education, career, relationships, and life choices through the eyes of others. I was motivated by external rewards. But now, I just follow my heart.

Maslow: It sounds like you have discovered that the only way for you to lead an honest life is by following your own inner truth.

Deb: Yes, that has been my most powerful discovery.

Maslow: How would you describe your life now?

Deb: Well, I feel like all of my life I've been carrying around these unopened gifts. And, now, I've reached a place where I can finally unwrap them. Being able to enjoy these gifts with myself and share them with others has given me such a sense of inner peace.

Maslow: Wow. You seem to have discovered your true self.

Deb: And, I'm happy to say that I really like my discovery.

Maslow Wrap-up: When Deb started on her therapeutic journey several years ago, she was motivated by what I have termed the "deficit needs," or "D-needs." Although her physiological and security needs had been met, she was struggling to fulfill her higher needs of love/belonging and esteem. Lacking a satisfying relationship as well as a sense of community, Deb was increasingly susceptible to loneliness and relationship difficulties. Furthermore, not feeling respected by others (or even herself at times) Deb experienced an all-time low in her self-esteem. Fortunately, through her hard work in therapy, Deb has been able to make changes in her life—including pursuing her graduate studies in psychology and moving away from her relationship with her ex-boyfriend—which allowed her to satisfy her love/belonging and self-esteem needs.

Since I started my work with Deb a few months ago, I have noticed that she has devoted herself to fulfilling her potentials. Instead of being motivated by deficits, she is now motivated by growth. Striving to satisfy her "being needs," or "B-needs," she has reached the self-actualization level of the hierarchy of needs. As she feeds these higher needs, they are becoming increasingly stronger, as is her desire to realize her potentials. Whereas Deb once relentlessly strove to gain the acceptance of others, she now enthusiastically thrives in being true to her own nature. Deb has recently discovered that what she can be is also what she must be.

Discovery of Self

My therapeutic encounters have inspired me in my search to discover more about myself. When I started my therapeutic journey, Carl Rogers' use of accurate empathy, unconditional positive regard, and genuineness facilitated my ability to begin to see my true self. Next, my sessions with Virginia Satir helped me to understand and embark upon the process of change. My sessions with James Bugental allowed me to recognize my unvoiced anger, while my Gestalt work with Erving Polster encouraged me to express this anger. After Irvin Yalom's book, Existential Psychotherapy, provided me a valuable framework for understanding my life, my here-and-now encounters with him allowed me to experience the healing power of the therapeutic relationship. Finally, my work with Abraham Maslow offered me an opportunity to reflect on and appreciate my journey toward self-actualization.

While it was my search for external truth that brought me to therapy, it was the discovery of my internal truth that brought me back to life. My therapeutic journey has allowed me to identify and overcome obstacles to my growth, while recognizing my inherent potential. By pursuing a path of self-reflection, self-examination, and openness to new experiences, I have been able to engage more fully in meaningful goals and fulfilling experiences in my life. As I continue on the path of my life, I take with me a greater sense of my authentic self that my therapist dream team helped me discover.

Resources on Deb's Psychotherapists

Branfman, F. (1996). "A matter of life and death." (Interview with Irvin Yalom.) Salon.
Retrieved November 20, 2006, from: http://www.salon.com/weekly/yalom960805.html.

Bugental, J. F. T. (1992). The art of the psychotherapist (1992). W.W. Norton, NY.
Zeig, Tucker & Theisen.

Bugental, J.F.T (2006). Existential-Humanistic Psychotherapy in Action. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.

Bugental, J.F.T (1997). Existential-Humanistic Psychotherapy, in Psychotherapy with the Experts Video Series. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.

Bugental, J.F.T (2008). James Bugental: Live Case Consultation. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.

Bugental, J. F. T. (1999). Psychotherapy isn't what you think: Bringing the psychotherapeutic engagement into the living moment. Phoenix, AZ: Zeig, Tucker & Theisen.

Bugental, J.F.T (1988). The search for authenticity: An existential-analytic approach to psychotherapy. NY: Irvington Publishers.

Maslow, A.H. (1968). Toward a psychology of being. NY: Van Nostrand Reinhold Company.

Maslow, A.H. (1987). Motivation and personality. NY: HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

Polster, E. A. & Polster, M. (1974) Gestalt therapy integrated: Contours of theory & practice. NY: Vintage.

Polster, E. A. (1990). Humanization of technique. Phoenix, AZ: Milton Erickson Foundation.

Polster, Erving (2006). Psychotherapy with the Unmotivated Patient. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.

Rogers, C. R. (1961). To be that self which one truly is: A therapist's view of personal goals.
In Rogers, C. R. (Ed.), Becoming a person (pp.163-182). Boston: Houghton Mifflin.

Rogers, C.R. (1977). Carl Rogers on personal power. NY: Delacorte Press.

Satir, V. M. (2001). Self esteem. Berkeley, CA: Celestial Arts.

Satir, V. M. (1988). The new people making. Palo Alto, CA: Science and Behavior Books.

Satir, V. M., and Baldwin, M. (1983). Satir step by step: A guide to creating change in families. Palo Alto, CA: Science and Behavior Books.

Yalom, I. D. (1980). Existential psychotherapy. NY: Basic Books.

Yalom, I.D. (2008). Irvin Yalom: Live Case Consultation. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net

Yalom, I. D. (2000). Love's executioner. NY: First Perennial Classics.

Yalom, I.D. (2003). The gift of therapy. NY: HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

Yalom, I.D. (2006). The Gift of Therapy: A Conversation with Irvin Yalom, MD. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.

Yalom, I.D. (2006). Understanding Group Psychotherapy, Volumes I – III. San Francisco: Psychotherapy.net.
 

Therapeutic Alliance, Focus, and Formulation: Thinking Beyond the Traditional Therapy Orientations

I recently attended the 40th annual retreat conference sponsored by the Association of Family Therapists of Northern California (AFTNC), and this year's renowned speaker, Monica McGoldrick, showed many videotapes of her own work. Throughout the two-day conference, I was continually impressed by her ability to relate so very closely and easily with such a racially and culturally diverse group of clients. I also kept noticing how much of the connecting seemed to take place through nonverbal behaviors and tone of voice (conveying warmth, comfort, directness, engagement, confidence, being collaborative, and indicating genuine interest in the details of people's life histories). As president of AFTNC, I also received lots of spontaneous comments afterwards about Monica McGoldrick being such a "lovely person," a "great human being," so "down-to-earth," "easy to relate to," "willing to show her mistakes," and so on. At the same time, I heard many therapists in the audience make comments about how they work so very differently from McGoldrick in terms of not using extended family genograms as a main vehicle for connecting nor using traditional Bowen coaching methods with one family member. I also heard a few complaints that McGoldrick's presentation did not allow for easy note-taking in that it was not structured with specific teaching points or generalizable techniques one could use with almost every case.

The Therapeutic Alliance

The combination of these comments and my own reactions reminded me of that old Marshall McLuhan phrase, "the medium is the message." That is, the main message for me in McGoldrick's way of working was not about genograms, or Bowen theory, or coaching methods, or concepts and techniques that could be written down. The meta-message was that she modeled a way of relating to people of diverse backgrounds that is very rare among therapists of any theoretical orientation but lies at the heart of therapy. This way of close (but still professional) relating is extremely difficult to describe and teach in a didactic format. Partly, this is because the emotional aspects of the therapist/client relationship, which are so much anchored in nonverbal behavior, are hard to communicate in words. There are no simple directives one can give therapists for generating warmth toward or comfort with clients in general. Simply telling therapists to reflect feelings or give compliments can backfire if the nonverbal aspects of these communications are not congruent with the content of what is being said. “Telling therapists to "be warm" or "be genuine" simply puts them in a "be spontaneous" paradox because true warmth and genuineness must, by definition, be guileless and uncontrived.”

In fact, few contemporary publications in the field of couple and family therapy have focused in any depth on the process of alliance building, the most notable exceptions being Bill Pinsof (see Integrative Problem-Centered Therapy, 1995) and Sue Johnson (see The Practice of Emotionally-Focused Couple Therapy, 2nd Edition, 2004). Ironically, however, most clinical supervisors believe that therapist relationship skills, rather than techniques or theoretical orientations, are the more important aspects of effective treatment (Blow & Sprenkle, 2001). After 30-plus years in the field, I also have come to believe that each of the most popular family therapy orientations is too limited and too focused on specific change-oriented interventions, rather than on the vicissitudes of the therapeutic alliance. I don't think treatments succeed or fail based primarily on the particular theoretical orientation of the therapist. Rather, I believe that treatments succeed mainly on the therapist's ability to develop and maintain an emotionally positive therapeutic alliance with all members of the system in treatment.

A positive therapeutic alliance requires:

  1. giving sufficient emotional validation and support to the individual or members of the couple/family,
  2. successfully managing negative emotions within the couple/family so that members are not hurting each other in sessions, and
  3. regulating the therapist's negative emotional reactions to couple/family members (i.e., managing "negative countertransference").

Too many of the current approaches to family therapy either take for granted or neglect to adequately address the importance of the emotional bond between therapist and clients. “No array of clever, change-oriented techniques is effective in the absence of a positive emotional connection between therapist and client.” First and foremost, clients need to feel that the therapist is caring, collaborative, trustworthy, fair, reliable, knowledgeable, and that she/he understands and appreciates their feelings. This is true regardless of the therapist's theoretical orientation. Within each theoretical orientation, there are therapists who are very skilled at forming close and collaborative relationships with clients and those whose relationship skills need improvement. Yet the majority of current family therapy theories and training programs deal with these common therapeutic factors in a cursory fashion if at all, preferring instead to focus on abstract theories and very specific change-oriented techniques.

When therapy breaks down, it almost always is because of some emotional rupture and failure to repair (or failure to establish in the first place) a positive therapeutic bond with family members. In fact, therapists' and clients' negative emotional reactions to each other, even when not directly expressed, are among the major factors predicting early termination or poor outcomes. These negative emotions tend to be expressed indirectly in terms of behaviors like the therapist not returning phone calls promptly; not inquiring how the client is reacting to interventions even when the therapist observes the client's disapproval; the absence of spontaneous mutual warmth, humor, and responsiveness between therapist and clients; therapist passivity in sessions; or the therapist's unequal responsiveness to family members in sessions.

Although it would be comforting to assume that all therapists are inherently capable of forming positively toned therapeutic relationships with all clients, there is an enormous range of skill among therapists in this respect. Also, certain kinds of clients (e.g., those traditionally and pejoratively labeled "borderline" or "narcissistic") can challenge any therapist's relationship skills. The very best therapists tend to be those who can easily establish and maintain positive therapeutic alliances with the widest range of clients, both in terms of clients' cultural diversity and in terms of managing negative emotionality.

Training to Become a Therapist

Given the above, “a major focus of training should be on how a particular trainee can use her/his emotions in forming therapeutic alliances and in preventing those alliances from breaking down.” This training focus should include the special issues in intercultural therapist/client matches (race, gender, social class, sexual orientation, age, religion, etc.), which are more likely to dissolve for lack of a strong positive emotional connection, or to be negatively tinged and lead to experiences of oppression for the client. In my view, a major focus of all training programs should be the development of therapist alliance-building skills, especially emphasizing cases in which the client displays a lot of negative emotionality and cases where the therapist and client are from different sociocultural groups.

Therapeutic relationship skills are best acquired through close observation of the therapist's behavior in role plays and in sessions (i.e., via live, videotape-, or audiotape-based case supervision). Such skills are not as easily learned—or maybe impossible to learn—through "delayed verbal report" supervision because the latter's effectiveness is constrained by what the therapist was aware of during the session, remembers after the fact, and can report in words to the supervisor. Verbal report supervision always loses emotionally relevant information because a lot of what transpires between therapist and clients is automatic and not necessarily within the therapist's awareness, especially when the therapeutic alliance is not functioning well. Paradoxically, the very areas where supervisees may need the most help are areas about which they are unaware and cannot articulate the relevant emotional information to their supervisors.

The analogy I like to use here is that learning to do therapy is like learning to swim. You could describe to your swimming coach, after the fact and in words, how you moved your arms and legs while in the pool. You could even demonstrate your movements while sitting in your chair or lying on a table. But to actually learn how to swim, it is far better to have your coach by your side, preferably in the water with you, watching you perform the new strokes, and giving you immediate feedback on your movements based on the coach's immediate observations rather than on a delayed report. The same is true of therapy. Describing a difficult session in words for one's supervisor will not convey the same information as having one's supervisor directly observe the "drowning" noises one makes in an actual failed session! Supervision based on delayed verbal reports limits the supervisor's ability to accurately visualize and give input about the therapist/client alliance.

There simply is no substitute for live supervision (or video- or audiotape-based supervision) in learning to become a therapist. In my opinion, the fact that many mental health professionals still become therapists never having had their work observed is a major shortcoming in our training programs. Just as one would not want to be under the care of a neurosurgeon whose work had never been observed by other neurosurgeons, we should require extensive observation-based supervision for all therapists in training. Only then can we be more certain that our trainees have learned to build and maintain effective therapeutic alliances with a wide array of clients.

Maintaining a Focus

Although I am emphasizing its centrality here, I think of a positive working alliance as a necessary but not sufficient condition for therapy to be effective. That is, I think of the relationship as a partial intervention in itself (a "corrective emotional experience") as well as being the necessary groundwork for other, more specifically change-oriented interventions to have an impact. The other main ingredient in effective therapy I would call "focus": successful therapy requires establishing relatively clear collaborative goals with clients and using interventions that are relevant to those therapeutic goals throughout. For example, in consultations for "stuck" cases, I frequently have found that a clear sense of direction was never established at the outset of a treatment; or, once having been established, the therapy conversations meandered or avoided dealing with the main presenting problems.

By using the word "goals" I don't mean to imply some superficial, limited purpose, but rather that the client and therapist should share the same vision of what a desirable outcome might be in terms of changed behaviors, affects, or cognitions, as well as the path for getting there. As the old aphorism holds: "If you don't know where you are going, you are not likely to get there." This also reminds me of something that a hapless character in a Lily Tomlin play once said: "I always wanted to be someone, but now I realize I should have been more specific."

In therapy, you can't get there with the client if you don't have a strong positive emotional relationship and if you haven't established together where you are going. I think that effective therapist/client systems have reasonably explicit and clear (albeit evolving) goals, and the conversations in the sessions are always brought back to those main foci. This point may seem obvious, but a lot of ineffective therapy sessions end up veering off into conversations relevant to the therapist's theoretical orientation or to the client's momentary preoccupations rather than to the clients' main presenting problems. Therapists need to keep their eye on the ball—the shared goals—and help their clients do likewise. This requires a client-specific formulation of the problem and goals, but it does not require that the therapist use only one particular theory.

I often feel that the specific interventions chosen by therapists (e.g., unique outcome questions, sandtrays, enactments, genograms, dream interpretations) are much less important than whether the interventions are explicitly related to the client's presenting problems and the established goals. That is, the client and therapist should readily understand what the connection is between the agreed-upon goals and what is happening in the sessions. Too often, clients seem not to understand that connection, and they are reluctant to ask for explanations, even when they think the therapy is not really addressing their main concerns and is going nowhere.

To summarize this viewpoint: therapy is effective to the extent that it is characterized by a strong positive emotional alliance, relatively clear goals, and conversations and tasks whose relevance to the goals is obvious to all parties. By contrast, therapy that does not consistently maintain a positive emotional alliance, has extremely vague goals, and consistently includes conversations and tasks that are tangential to the client's experience of the problem(s) is unlikely to be effective. I believe these statements hold true regardless of the therapist's preferred theoretical orientation.

Problem Formulations Rather than Theoretical Orientations

I question whether it is even necessary to have a specific theoretical orientation. Obviously, one cannot not have an idea about what is causing the client's problem, and one cannot not use techniques. Virtually anything a therapist says or does can be considered an aspect of technique that is based on some theoretical concept. But how much does a therapist need to adhere to a specific theoretical orientation in order for therapy to be successful? Or to put it differently, how eclectic can one be and still be effective?

I believe that successful therapy requires that the therapist have a workable problem formulation—a hypothesis about what is causing the problem in a given case—and a general treatment plan—an evolving path toward the goals in that case—in order for the therapist to select meaningful things to say and do in the sessions. The problem formulation and treatment plan should be explicit (able to be articulated verbally or in writing) and tailored to the client's and problem's uniqueness. However, I don't think a therapist's formulations and plans have to derive from a single theoretical orientation in order for that therapist to be effective. The formulation for a given problem will typically involve the relationships between two or more levels of functioning—biological, psychological, interpersonal, and/or sociocultural factors.

Without digressing too far, I'd like to suggest that given the enormous variety of client belief systems and presenting problems in the world, “each theoretical orientation may be best suited for certain kinds of clients and presenting problems and not as applicable to others.” It also seems that less experienced therapists may have a greater need to adhere to a single orientation in order not to lose their focus over the course of treatment, but I think they do so at the risk of reducing their flexibility to respond in the most helpful way.

The Integrative Therapist and Emergent Design

The task of the "eclectic" or "integrative" therapist is to co-develop with the client a set of achievable goals, a coherent problem formulation (an explanation for why the problem exists or what is causing it), and a treatment plan tailored to the client's specific problems and situation, all the while maintaining a positive therapist/client alliance. The process of therapist and client co-creating these therapeutic elements is what I once called an "emergent design" (Green & Herget, 1989b). No two therapists would be able to develop the same design with a client. The emergent design process can best be conceived as a mutually catalytic reaction between a particular therapist and a particular client evolving together at a particular point in time. In Darwinian fashion, if all goes well, the ideas and behavior patterns that "survive" over the course of therapy will have therapeutic utility whereas other ideas and behavior patterns will become "extinct." It is for this reason that some cases that start out, for example, in a seemingly psychodynamic mode may become increasingly behavioral over time, or some individual therapy cases may surprisingly turn into couple therapy cases by the end. If therapist and client are sufficiently flexible, this evolution happens more quickly and progress is likely to be quicker. If therapists adhere too closely to traditional theoretical orientations after the beginning phase of therapy, the essential evolutionary nature of the treatment relationship is more likely to be impeded and progress stalled.

For the therapist's part, after establishing a mutually acceptable formulation of the problem, the remaining therapeutic task involves improvising a treatment plan and techniques based on that formulation. The therapist as participant-observer in this process must be both emotionally engaged and purposeful in ensuring that a consistent focus is maintained during the sessions. Effective therapy, in this view, does not require that the therapist adhere to a single theoretical orientation with all cases or even across all problem areas within a given case. It does, however, require reasonable consistency and narrative coherence regarding each specific problem focus and formulation established with a given client.

This kind of meta-theoretical approach to therapy is not entirely new and is partially an outgrowth of comparative psychotherapy research and the movement toward psychotherapy integration. It constitutes a new kind of "theory of therapy," emphasizing the "common factors" that make the implementation of any therapy either effective or ineffective regardless of the "brand" of therapy practiced by a therapist (e.g., psychodynamic, cognitive-behavioral, or systems-interpersonal). Versions of this meta-theoretical approach were proposed in the 1970s by individual psychotherapy researchers such as Jerome Frank (1973), Edward Bordin (1979), and Hans Strupp (Strupp & Hadley, 1979); and by family therapy researchers in the 1980s such as Leslie Greenberg and William Pinsof (Greenberg & Pinsof, 1986). Mary Herget and I also used it to some extent at the Redwood Center in our small-sample research on Milan teams in the mid-1980s (Green, & Herget, 1989a, 1989b, 1991). Most recently, the meta-theoretical approach is best represented in books such as Psychotherapy Relationships That Work: Therapist contributions and responsiveness to patients (Norcross, 2002) and The Heart and Soul of Change: What works in therapy (Hubble, Duncan, & Miller, 1999).

Having participated in many of our field's fads and fancies since 1970, this meta-theoretical framework represents my current personal list of the "eternal verities of therapy"—the essential components of effective treatment. Although I will never use Bowenian techniques to the extent that Monica McGoldrick does, the AFTNC annual conference reminded me once again of the centrality of therapist relationship skills, which cannot be acquired through books and lectures. The indelible images of McGoldrick relating so closely, comfortably, and confidently in sessions—even with computer in hand and genograms as the focus—was the take-home message for me, and I hope for students learning the practice of therapy, as well.

References

Blow, A.J., & Sprenkle, D. (2001) Common factors across theories of marriage and family therapy: A modified Delphi study. Journal of Marital & Family Therapy, 27, 385-

Bordin, E.S. (1979). The generalizability of the psychoanalytic concept of the working alliance. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research, & Practice, 16, 252-260.

Frank, J.S. (1973). Persuasion and healing (2nd ed.). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Greenberg, L.S., & Pinsof, W.M. (Eds.). (1986). The psychotherapeutic process: A research handbook. New York: Guilford Press.

Green, R.-J., & Herget, M. (1989a). Outcomes of systemic/strategic team consultation: I. Overview and one-month results. Family Process, 28, 37-58.

Green, R.-J., & Herget, M. (1989b). Outcomes of systemic/strategic team consultation: II. Three-year followup and a theory of "emergent design." Family Process, 28, 419-437.

Green, R.-J., & Herget, M. (1991). Outcomes of systemic/strategic team consultation: III. The importance of therapist warmth and active structuring. Family Process, 30, 321-336.

Hubble, M., Duncan, B. & Miller, S. (Eds.) (1999). The heart and soul of change: What works in therapy. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.

Johnson, S. (2004). The practice of emotionally focused couple therapy: Creating connection (2nd ed). New York: Brunner-Routledge (a division of Taylor & Francis Publishers).

Norcross, J. C. (Ed). (2002). Psychotherapy relationships that work: Therapist contributions and responsiveness to patients.

Pinsof, W.M. (1995). Integrative problem-centered therapy. New York: Basic Books.

Strupp, H.H., & Hadley, S.W. (1979). Specific vs. non-specific factors in psychotherapy: A controlled study of outcome. Archives of General Psychiatry, 36, 1125-1136.

Note: An earlier version of this article appeared in the January 2004 issue of the Association of Family Therapists of Northern California Newsletter. For further information about AFTNC, you may visit its website at http://www.aftnc.com.

Published on Psychotherapy.net with written permission from the author.