Anna Lembke on the Opioid Epidemic

The Problem of Access

Deb Kory: Dr. Lembke, you’re the program director for the Stanford University Addiction Medicine Fellowship and chief of the Stanford Addiction Medicine Dual Diagnosis Clinic. You recently published a book, Drug Dealer, MD: How Doctors Were Duped, Patients Got Hooked and Why It’s So Hard to Stop, which focuses on people who have become addicted to opioids as a result of having them prescribed by doctors. It’s a shocking book, to say the least, but very informative and also deeply compassionate toward addicts of all kinds.

Let me begin with some startling statistics from the book: From 2000-2014, almost half a million people died from drug overdoses. And between 1999 and 2013, 175,000 people died specifically from prescription opioid overdoses. That’s an enormous number of people and my sense is that it’s rising very quickly every year, with prescription opioids being the lead killer, is that right?
Anna Lembke: Right. In 2016, somewhere between 50,000 and 60,000 people died of a drug overdose, and of those, 50-75% were attributable to opioids. And about half of those opioids were prescriptions. But I think it’s important to recognize that what began as a prescription opioid epidemic has greatly expanded the number of people using heroin as well.
DK: Heroin addiction has become more mainstream because of prescription opioids. Can you explain why?
AL:
In 2016, somewhere between 50,000 and 60,000 people died of a drug overdose, and of those, 50-75% were attributable to opioids. And about half of those opioids were prescriptions.
Well there are so many opioids out there in the community because of the over-prescribing problem and that access alone has meant that many more people have taken opioids. From teenagers taking it out of their parents’ or their grandparents’ medicine cabinets, to kids trading pills at school, to having it prescribed by your doctor for some minor procedure—this has normalized opioid use and made it relatively easy to obtain.

People are getting exposure through a prescription—either their own or somebody else’s—and, particularly for young people, transitioning to heroin isn’t that big a leap. They want more and it is easy and cheaper to go to heroin.

The big spikes in heroin use that we’ve seen in the last five years or so have mostly been among the 18 to 25-year-olds, and I think some of that is driven by a cultural phenomenon in which young people aren’t as afraid of heroin as the older generation. People in their 40s, 50s and 60s, for them to go to heroin would be crossing some kind of line that doesn’t fit with their identity.

On the other side, in the last five years or so there’s been a crackdown on opioid prescribing, and some people who had been receiving very high doses for a very long time all of a sudden have found themselves unable to get the opioids that their body and brain had gotten used to. Some of those people then turn to heroin.
DK: These are the older generation folks?
AL: Yes, they are.
DK: The depth of the agony kind of drives them there.
AL: Right.
DK: From reading your book I got the sense that doctors are finally beginning to understand the enormity of the epidemic and there has been a crackdown in the last few years which, as you said, can push people to seek opioids elsewhere. Were you at all afraid that there would be a crackdown in response to this book?
AL:
Young people aren’t as afraid of heroin as the older generation.
Unfortunately that has happened. In trying to highlight the dangers of over-prescribing, one of the unintended consequences is that the pendulum swings too far in the other direction. Doctors decide they’re not going to treat pain patients or prescribe opioids for anyone anymore. It’s unfortunate. A lot of my professional time right now is taken up with educating physicians about the “middle path”—prescribing judiciously while not enabling an addiction, and not reacting or retaliating in a way that means people aren’t getting the care that they need.
DK: Having gone through a PsyD program, I was shocked at how little training in addiction there was. I am someone who struggled with a prescription opioid addiction when I was younger and I found recovery in a twelve-step program, which was really transformative for me. I had been introduced to prescription opioids young because my mother had terrible rheumatoid arthritis and was herself hooked on pain killers, so in many ways I match the description of people in your book. Yet all through graduate school addicts were talked about as “others”—as if there couldn’t possibly be addicts “among us.” Thankfully there was a teacher who’d been in a twelve-step program for years and was very open about it, but that was really the exception. There was no specific class on addiction and it would just come up here and there in other classes or case conference.

One of the things I appreciate most about your book is how it destigmatizes addiction. It’s obviously an enormous problem and one that the medical establishment has played a big role in escalating. I think the book will make it easier for people struggling with addiction to ask for help and, hopefully, for clinicians like me with a history of addiction to be able to be more transparent about it with each other and with clients when they are struggling with addiction issues.
AL: Thank you so much for saying that. It means a lot to me. And thanks for your openness about your own struggles.
DK: I actually think there is a lot of addiction among mental health practitioners, but many feel too ashamed or embarrassed to get help because we are “professionals,” healers. We’re not supposed to have problems ourselves. I feel like this is a small way that I can help destigmatize it.

My understanding is that medical doctors get even less training in addiction than psychologists. Is that true?
AL: You can say that again. I went through medical school in the 1990s, and the extent of my addiction training was being instructed to attend one AA meeting. Honestly, it hasn’t gotten much better.
DK: It’s so surprising given how many people are struggling with addiction.
AL:
I’m so embarrassed when I look back at the kind of doctor I was.
I’m so embarrassed when I look back at the kind of doctor I was. I mean, I’m a psychiatrist. Here I was purportedly wanting to help people struggling with mental illness, yet I really did not consider addiction an illness of any kind, and I didn’t think it was in my purview to treat people with addiction. I thought that was somebody else’s problem.
DK: Whose problem did you think it was?
AL: I don’t even know. Just not me. What’s so fascinating is that my dad was probably, in retrospect, a functional alcoholic. He was a surgeon, and he was a very serious binge drinker. He was never professionally diagnosed or treated but he had a serious drinking problem, so part of my rejection of this patient population came out of a negative transference—“I’m not going to deal with those people.”

We all have a story like that. Whether it’s our own addiction or somebody in the family, we don’t want to look at that piece of ourselves or that part of our family history, and our patients suffer because of it. And we’re in a system that to a large extent still doesn’t view it as an illness but rather as a form of moral corruption or a weakness of will. It makes it hard for us to look at our own stuff.
DK: It strikes me that there is basically no way to have a therapy practice that totally excludes addiction. Even if you tried really hard, you often get clients who present a certain way when they come in, or might even really believe they don’t have a problem, but then over time as the relationship develops, you learn that they drink to blackout 4 nights a week or smoke pot first thing in the morning, all day and last thing at night every single day. These things aren’t often part of the initial intake.
AL:
We know at least 50% of people who show up in the emergency room with severe trauma have been using substances.
It’s such an exercise in denial for psychiatrists to think that they could make a complete diagnostic evaluation and not ask about substance use, but that happens more often than not. And it’s not just psychiatrists, but other types of physicians, too. We know at least 50% of people who show up in the emergency room with severe trauma have been using substances. Primary care doctors and oncologists see addiction problems. People with cancer get the big C-card pass, but I know a lot of people with cancer who have serious substance use problems. So we all need to be asking those questions of our patients right from the start.

We're Not Asking the Questions

DK: Since our readers are primarily mental health clinicians, I’m wondering how those of us who see patients in therapy and other non-medical settings can help with this and also interface with doctors who may be enabling our clients’ addictions?
AL: Psychotherapists and other non-prescribers in the mental health care field can play an absolutely vital role. In many instances, doctors today are so pressed for time and often don’t have the kind of trust that counselors have built up over time seeing patients regularly. You guys hear the real stuff that I, as an MD, often don’t. But I would also say that in my experience, even in the limited time I have with patients, on some level they’re dying to talk about it. All you have to do is just ask the question, and they will tell you, and they’ll be so relieved to be able to share it.

The bigger problem is that we’re not asking the questions. All of us, including psychologists and non-prescribers, need to ask about substance use, including prescription drug misuse. Then the vital role you can play is—with the patient’s permission—call the prescriber. In most cases, if it’s done with a reasonable amount of humility, the prescriber will be grateful and even thrilled.

Let me just give you an example from my clinic just today. I had a man come in, and he is in recovery from an alcohol and cannabis use disorder, has been in recovery for many years. He also has Attention Deficit Disorder. He went to see a psychiatrist at Kaiser who prescribed him 30 milligrams of Adderall. He stayed at 30 milligrams for about six months, and slowly the dose was creeping up. And now he’s at 90 milligrams a day, running out two weeks early, having to white-knuckle it until he goes back and sees the psychiatrist, who then fills his prescription for Adderall.

How about if I call your doctor right now while you're here?
I asked him, “Have you talked about this with your psychiatrist?” And he said, “No, I haven’t. I know I should. I just haven’t been able to get up the courage to tell her that I’ve essentially relapsed on the pills that she’s prescribing.” And then I said to him, “Well, now that you’ve told us about it, would you be willing to talk with her and let her know?” He said, “Yeah. I really need to. I really want to. I would be willing.” But there was some hesitation in his voice. And then I said to him, “Well, how about if I were to call her? Would you be comfortable with that?” And he said, “That would be so great. If you could just call her and tell her that—because I’m not sure if by the time I get to my appointment I’ll be able to do it.”

And then I said to him, “Well, how about if I called her right now while you’re here? Would you be okay with that?” He said, “That would be great. I would love it if you would do that.” So I called her up, and I said, “Hey, I want to let you know patient X is here and he’s really appreciated your care, and he feels so much shame and embarrassment, but this is what happened, and he wants you to know.” And then I said, “This is my name, this is my number. Please call me. We want to help.” It’s not, “You’re so dumb that you missed this. You’re a bad doctor and I’m good doctor.” I’ve been duped a million times. I’m not a mind reader.

Of course, it’s not that every patient every time will say, “Oh, yes. Please call.” Many times they’ll say, “Oh, no. That’s okay, don’t tell my doctor. I’ll take care of it.” But the truth is, sometimes they will say, “Yes, I’m ready. Please help me with that.” And if you don’t ask and you don’t offer to interface, then they won’t suggest it.
DK: So much of what keeps addicts in their addiction is a deep sense of shame, and what I like about your approach is that you’re cutting right through it. You’re giving them an opening and also modeling a total lack of judgment. You’re just very business-as-usual about it.
AL: Let me tell you something else that I’ve learned to do over the years regarding this whole issue of shame. I have a patient who had been in recovery from her alcohol addiction for six years, and just relapsed in the last six months, and she gets sober for a week and relapses, back and forth. She had been sober for about a month and then I just heard that she relapsed again. She left a message and just said, “I relapsed and I’m not going to come in today because I need to go to rehab.”

Somebody who has the disease of addiction and relapses is exactly the same as somebody who has cancer that was in remission and gets a recurrence of their tumor.
One of the things I’ve learned is when you get that kind of message, don’t just be okay with them saying, “I’m not coming in. I’m going to rehab.” What that actually means is, “I’m going to sit at home drinking until somehow, by some miracle, I get into rehab.” So I said to my residents, “Call her. Tell her we need to see her at her appointment, and tell her to bring her family.” So she showed up at her appointment and she brought her family and the first thing that I did when I walked in the door was to give her a big hug, and I said, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Because to me—and this is the key take-home message—somebody who has the disease of addiction and relapses is exactly the same as somebody who has cancer that was in remission and gets a recurrence of their tumor.

What would you do if you walked into the office and somebody had a recurrence of their cancer? You would say, “I am so sorry,” and you would give them a big hug. And that’s exactly what we need to do with addicted patients, because that’s exactly how it is for them. It’s exactly like that. And they’re so appreciative. “Oh, my God,” she said, “Thank you, thank you,” and she was crying. She was devastated, absolutely devastated that she’s relapsed. She’s not going, “Oh goody, I relapsed. I got to get high.” It’s not like that.

A "Cunning and Baffling" Disease

DK: That’s such a beautiful story. It can be really disheartening and challenging for clinicians to work with addicts because relapses can be so devastating and all the shame around it leads to lying and coming in and out of treatment. Do you have any advice for therapists around dealing with the pain and frustration that brings up?
AL: Conceptualizing it as a disease is a really helpful way to maintain a compassionate frame of reference. And then the other piece of it is just being really transparent with patients. “If you lie then I can’t really help you. At least tell me the truth about what you’re doing, and let’s talk about some strategies or what we might do.” In general I find that if patients show up, they’re happy to talk about it.

Compassion can also open up a sense of awe. It’s like, “Oh, my God. What a horrible disease. You really don’t want to be doing this, and yet here you are.” As they say in AA, the disease is “cunning and baffling.” And it is. Awe may not be the right word, but to really recognize the power of addiction, the grip it can have on people.
DK: I like the word awe. Addiction is kind of the grand leveler. It can destroy the hopes and dreams of people from every walk of life.
AL: Yes. And it’s important to be able to really witness the tragedy of that.
DK: Are you able to predict at all who will be able to recover and who won’t?
AL: You know, the more I’m in this strange profession that we’re in—it’s kind of a wonderful and weird job—the more convinced I am that I have no idea who’s going to get better. When I was younger I thought I could tell, but I’ve had too many experiences where someone comes in and I totally identify with them and think, “Oh, a slam dunk. I know exactly what to do. They’re going to be better in a month.” Those have been some of my worst outcomes.

And then I get people who walk in my door and I just think, “Train wreck.” And I literally pray for them. I don’t know what you do; I pray to God. I’m like, “Please, God, help me, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to help this person.” They’re telling me their story and wanting me to help them, and I’m thinking to myself, “I have no idea how I’m going to help this person.” Can you relate to that?
DK: Oh, of course.
AL: Sometimes those people are the ones who get better. It’s so unpredictable.
DK: As a recovering addict myself, I tend to pick up on addiction issues pretty quickly, but I’ve heard from so many people that they were addicted for years without their therapists picking up on it, or in some cases the therapist just didn’t think it was a big deal. Do you feel like it’s incumbent upon mental health professionals of all sorts to have more training and expertise in this area?
AL: Oh, absolutely. Addicts will often see psychiatrists and therapists and talk about everything under the sun—every last thing their mother or father ever did, every dream they’ve had—but they won’t talk about their substance use. People who are shooting up heroin. It happens so often. It’s not a minor issue.

Across the country, medical schools are working hard to try to revamp their curriculum to incorporate more addiction training. We’re certainly doing that here at Stanford, working very hard to at least get the basics to our medical students so they can go out and not harm patients because of ignorance.

That’s the state we’re in right now: Patients are actually being harmed.
But that’s the state we’re in right now: Patients are actually being harmed. Not because most doctors are bad people, but because most doctors are very ignorant about this disease and so, inadvertently, cause harm by ignoring it—or worse yet, aiding and abetting it by prescribing in a way that’s not safe for the patient.

The former director of the Office of National Drug Control Policy, Michael Botticelli, is in recovery. I went to a symposium at the White House where he was one of the main speakers, and he said something along the lines of, “I look forward to the day when I, as somebody in recovery, don’t have to explain to my doctor what recovery is and how he or she should treat me.” I thought that was eloquently said.

Evolving Conceptions of Pain

DK: It’s very common for people in recovery to go to the doctor and say, “I’m in recovery. Please do not prescribe me any narcotics.” And, literally against their wishes, they’ll come out of some procedure and they are prescribed Vicodin. Many hard drug users end up relapsing after having some kind of surgery where opioids are prescribed.

You describe in your book how these prescriptions became heavily incentivized in healthcare. Or, rather, you would be penalized for not treating pain. The Joint Commission, which accredits healthcare organizations, announced that pain was “the fifth vital sign,” and made reimbursement funds contingent upon asking about and treating pain in every patient. Of course, the primary treatment of pain was opioid prescriptions so those skyrocketed. Given what we know now, is the conception of pain and how to treat it beginning to change?
AL: No.
DK: No?
AL:
This new ethos of people being fragile and pain being dangerous has really helped drive the over-prescribing of all kinds of potentially addictive drugs, from benzodiazepines to opioid analgesics.
I mean, pain has gone through a fascinating evolution in the history of medicine. Prior to 1850 or so—which is also prior to anesthesia and convenient forms of analgesia or pain relief outside of drinking some whiskey—doctors actually believed that pain was healthy for the body, that experiencing some degree of pain, let’s say during a surgical procedure, would boost the cardiovascular system, the immune response. And there was a very prevalent idea that, on a spiritual level, pain had benefits for people. This idea that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Over the course of the last century and a half or so, that has really changed, not just in medical culture but in society as well. We now consider pain to be a dangerous phenomenon in part because, well, it’s painful in the moment. But there’s also a widespread idea that we’re very fragile creatures, and that if we experience pain in the moment it will set us up for future pain.

The quintessential example of that is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It’s based around the idea that if we have some kind of emotional distress, it will leave a psychic wound that will cause emotional distress and suffering in the future. I think it’s important to recognize that that is a very modern idea. Prior to about a hundred years ago, people never thought about emotional distress and pain in this way. I’m not saying they didn’t have plenty of traumatic experiences but it wasn’t conceived of as “trauma.” They dealt with it in different ways and it may even have been kind of a badge of honor to be a wounded warrior.

But that is not at all how we think of it now, and I think that this new ethos of people being fragile and pain being dangerous has really helped drive the over-prescribing of all kinds of potentially addictive drugs, from benzodiazepines to opioid analgesics. This idea that we have to eliminate all pain and we have to do it immediately and, especially as healthcare providers, that we are remiss in our duties if we don’t. Not all healthcare providers agree with that mentality, but it is so dominant and pervasive in medicine, and especially in the mental healthcare field, where, if we’re causing them to feel distress or suffer in some way, then we’re not doing our job.
DK: I wonder how this relates to the rise of positive psychology and our cultural obsession with happiness. Pain seems like something that falls outside the realm of happiness.
AL: Absolutely. And yet, these paradigms are dialectics. The pendulums swings one way, and things don’t quite work, and then they swing back. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT)—speaking of dialectics—has been enormously helpful for certain types of patients, in part because what it teaches is distress tolerance.

It’s not just people with mental illness who need distress tolerance, though, it’s all of us.
We’re so insulated from any kind of painful or distressing experience that we’re deficient in distress tolerance.
We’re so insulated from any kind of painful or distressing experience that we’re deficient in distress tolerance. DBT puts it front and center and says: We’re going to teach you distress tolerance. When you’re suffering physically or emotionally we want you to sit there. Sit in that moment. Or we want to have you stick your hands or your face in an ice bucket to distract yourself. This is a fascinating movement and a potential antidote to this idea that all pain needs to be eliminated.

There's No Magic Pill

DK: What is a good comprehensive course of treatment for someone struggling with addiction? I know that there are a lot of different modalities that you use for various kinds of patients, but I’m assuming there’s an intake process and then you make decisions about treatment based on people’s financial resources, emotional resources, the severity of the addiction, whether to send them to a rehab or to 12 Step programs. How do you make decisions about where to send people, and is there some kind of standard treatment that you see as the most beneficial?
AL: Great question. Thanks for setting it up that way, too, because there’s no one-size-fits-all treatment. Having access to a bunch of different modalities is the ideal situation, because what works for one person is not going to work for someone else. AA may be the secret to recovery for one person and be an absolutely terrible fit for another.

A lot of patients will come in and want some kind of magic pill. We do use pharmacotherapy medications to treat addiction—although they’re generally underutilized by healthcare providers and should be utilized more—but there is no magic pill.
DK: When you say pharmacotherapy, do you mean drugs like methadone?
AL: Not just that. Also Antabuse, Vivitrol, Suboxone, Naltrexone, Campral for alcohol use disorders, nicotine replacement and other modalities for nicotine use disorders. These medications are underutilized, but they are not magic pills.

We have to talk a lot about how addiction is a biopsychosocial disease, and that the best treatment for the biological part is abstaining—not using the drug of choice for a period of time or maybe forever, depending upon the person, so that the brain can reset itself. And then the psychosocial piece, the long-term psychological and social interventions that are really the most important pieces.

We’re moving increasingly away from recommending that people go to 30-day rehabs.
We’re moving increasingly away from recommending that people go to 30-day rehabs. There’s definitely a time and a place for that, but we’re emphasizing, “Can we find a way to help you not use addictively in your regular life?” If we remove you and put you in a residential facility, you might do great during that time, but when you get out you have to return to the real world and your life. So initially, and also for the long term, we're looking for how to help people change their lives while they’re still in their lives.

That requires a lot of creativity from patients, too. So much of their substance use is ingrained in their daily living and so the key is to figure out, “How can I change my routine, my environment, the people I connect with? How can I change my internal life, my external life, on a very deep level?”
DK: So let’s say I’m a middle-aged patient who got hooked on Oxycontin for a pain disorder. I come in, and I tell you, “No way will I ever come off pain medication. It’s too painful, and I’m not going to a stupid 12-Step program.” Where would you go with me?
AL: For someone like that who doesn’t necessarily self-identify as having an addiction but who strongly self-identifies as having a pain disorder, and who has been on opioids for a long time, prescribed by a physician, I probably would go to buprenorphine, which is a special opioid that we can use for pain. It’s FDA-approved for the treatment of pain, and also FDA-approved for the treatment of an opioid use disorder.
DK: Are there people for whom long-term opioid use is an appropriate treatment?
AL:
For some people, the risk of relapse is just too high when they try to go off of opioids.
Yes. Absolutely. Because, number one, the data are convincing that, for some people, the risk of relapse is just too high when they try to go off of opioids. And from a biochemical or neurological point of view, it just makes sense that after years of exposure to opioids, that the brain, no matter how much time off of drugs you give it, is not going to reset itself. And those are people for whom opioids is the only way that they can feel normal in the world.
DK: What about for pain?
AL: Well, for pain theoretically, too, if you have the right kind of opioid. Both buprenorphine and methadone have unique properties, but the problem with methadone prescribed in pill form is that it has a really high overdose risk, so it’s not safe. It’s only safe when prescribed from a methadone maintenance clinic. But buprenorphine is a really unique drug, which makes it pretty good for pain, though many people develop a tolerance and end up needing more and more. And there may be—God forbid I say this—some people for whom chronic opioids for pain work. I don’t see those people, but I believe they’re out there.
DK: What do you think about the “stages of change” model for addiction?
AL:
If we waited until every pain patient on opioids was ready to change, we’d have even more people dying.
I don’t want to throw the baby out with the bath water. I think the "stages of change” idea can be very helpful for clinicians as well as patients, but I think it can also inadvertently provide an excuse not to get in there and move toward treatment. There’s no actual evidence that the stage of change that somebody is in predicts their engagement in treatment or their outcome. When people are mandated or forced for one reason or another to engage in treatment, even if they’re in a pre-contemplation stage, they don’t necessarily do any worse than people who are in an action stage.
DK: Oh, that’s interesting.
AL: Isn’t it? it’s a fallacy that people have to be “ready for change.” I mean, if we waited until every pain patient on opioids was ready to change, we’d have even more people dying.

One of my great mentors in the addiction field felt that one of the most important things that he could do when he walked into the room with a patient was to shake them up. Get them off balance instead of agreeing with them and throwing soft balls. He’d be like, “You know what? That’s just ridiculous.” Often he would just leave, and they would be angry at him. But that’s the kind of unsettling experience that sometimes—if it’s done empathically, obviously—can make a big difference.

Big Pharma and Institutional Denial

DK: Since we’re focusing on the opioid epidemic, how does treatment for prescription pain pill addiction differ from alcoholism?
AL:
About a quarter of patients who are prescribed an opioid for more than three months, even for a bona fide medical condition, will develop some type of prescription opioid misuse problem.
One of the big differences is that in many instances, patients have been getting their heroin equivalent from a doctor, so it’s very hard for them to shift from self-identifying as a pain patient who is getting treatment to somebody who’s become addicted. The way that I work with that is to really normalize the process and just say, “Hey, I totally get that you have pain, and this was started by a doctor for a real medical condition, but it happens that this is also a very addictive medication. And what we’re seeing now is that many people—even when receiving this from a doctor—have gotten addicted.” And then I always emphasize that it’s nothing to be ashamed of, that it’s not their fault and that they’re not alone.

Big Pharma did a good job teaching doctors something that wasn’t true, which is that the risk of getting addicted was less than one percent, as long as it was prescribed by a doctor. Now we know that’s not true. Probably about a quarter of patients who are prescribed an opioid for more than three months, even for a bona fide medical condition, will develop some type of prescription opioid misuse problem.
DK: Wow.
AL: Yeah. Twenty to thirty percent of people prescribed opioids daily for more than three months will develop some kind of opioid misuse problem. The longer it’s prescribed and the higher the dose, the more likely they are to develop a problem.
DK: So you’re saying that the primary difference in treatment between prescription opioid addicts and alcoholics is of self-awareness around having an addiction. You think alcoholics are more likely to identify as such?
AL: Well, not always. That element of denial is part and parcel of addiction. I think the difference is that the opioid epidemic has involved institutional denial. Now things are shifting as we realize that people can get addicted to opioids even if the doctor prescribed it. On the other hand, alcohol really has not ever been considered medicinal, except in rare instances.

We have the same problem now with cannabis.
Because we have medical marijuana, someone will come in, a young person with no identifiable, objectively verifiable disease process, telling you that their 12-times-a-day cannabis use is “medicinal.”
Because we have medical marijuana, someone will come in, a young person with no identifiable, objectively verifiable disease process, telling you that their 12-times-a-day cannabis use is “medicinal.” It’s very hard to combat that narrative because it’s a prevalent narrative in our culture. This is where this biopsychosocial model of addiction is so interesting and important. None of us lives in a vacuum. We live in the world, and our autobiographical narratives about our lives and why we do things are informed by the culture and the economics and the time in which we live. And we live in a time in which we believe in better living through chemistry. Whether it’s a medicine that a doctor prescribes or a medicine that I get from my friend in my study group at college, we have this idea that using chemicals to change the way you feel is perfectly okay.
DK: That’s an interesting point. Most people don’t believe that it’s possible to become addicted to pot or that it much matters if you do.
AL: Very true. But every day in my clinic, I see many examples of people who do get addicted to pot and who realize it and are coming in for help.

Twelve-Step Programs

DK: I noticed on your website you talked about bringing a spiritual approach to your work, and I wanted to ask you your thoughts on twelve-step programs. There’s a lot of division in the mental health field about their effectiveness and I’ve encountered a fair amount of contempt among clinicians for twelve-step programs, usually among people who have never really interfaced with them. There’s a common critique that they require you to believe in God, that it’s a cult, that the steps are irrelevant, etc.

I appreciate your emphasis on spirituality because many clinicians are afraid to use that word. The drive in the last couple of decades has been toward “evidence-based approaches,” and these are often touted as the counterpoint to twelve-step programs. There have been lots of articles lately about how twelve-step programs don’t really work but such and such evidence-based therapy does. What are your thoughts about this?
AL: I think it’s important to recognize that we’re in an era of twelve-step bashing. It’s very clear that twelve steps is down and getting kicked. The program came into being in part because the medical profession wasn’t doing anything to help people with addiction. People had to figure it out for themselves and it turns out that the AA movement is one of the most remarkable social movements in modern history. It’s really an incredible, incredible movement. You can go to an AA meeting pretty much in any country in the world. How many things can you say that about? It’s absolutely amazing.

But I think this sort of one-size-fits-all dogmatic approach to problems of addiction is what caused this quite vituperative backlash toward AA, and as a result, people are throwing the baby out with the bath water. The truth is that for people who actively participate in AA—AA in particular, but other twelve-step programs probably as well—they have very good outcomes. Their outcomes are better long-term than engaging in individual psychotherapy or group psychotherapy or really any professionally mediated treatment you can identify. So it’s a very robust phenomenon for those who actively participate—and that’s a key feature because not everybody does.

If someone goes to three AA meetings and then doesn’t go anymore and says, “AA doesn’t work,” that’s a misrepresentation because that person hasn’t actually engaged in the program. Those who engage have better outcomes. I’m always thrilled if I have a patient who’s actively engaged in AA because I know already the culture that they’ve been immersed in, the learning that they’ve done. It’s so helpful for me as an addiction specialist to be able to tag onto that and dovetail with that and reinforce that.
I’m not in recovery myself, but I’ve personally worked the twelve steps in part to understand what they’re all about, and in part because I think they’re really useful for a lot of different problems.
I’m not in recovery myself, but I’ve personally worked the twelve steps in part to understand what they’re all about, and in part because I think they’re really useful for a lot of different problems.

So I can converse with my patients on a pretty good level for somebody who’s not in recovery about what step they’re on, if they’re working with their sponsor, how that relationship is going, how meetings are going. I think it’s really important to be able to do that. It creates continuity between their twelve-step life and their professionally mediated addiction treatment.

Do I think twelve step works for everybody? Absolutely not. But another great advantage of twelve steps, which I think is underappreciated, is that it has incredible access. It’s everywhere and it’s free. And you can go when you’re intoxicated. There aren’t many clinicians who can say that. I also say to patients, “If you get yourself a good sponsor, that’s somebody you can call at midnight. Can you call me at midnight? No. I’m not going to pick up, and I’m probably not going to respond until later the next day. You call your sponsor at midnight, and they will be there for you.” That’s pretty amazing. There’s so much wisdom in the twelve steps—the cumulative wisdom of people in recovery, it’s awe-inspiring, really.
DK: I agree and I really appreciate your take on it. Also that you’re not forcing it down anyone’s throat.
AL: Right. I can’t. If I could, I probably would. But I can’t.
DK: That doesn’t work. Anyone who has ever encountered serious addiction knows that. It seems to me like the big lesson here is that there are many effective roads to treating addiction.
AL: Many roads to the top of the mountain. And we should really appreciate what each one has to offer.
DK: Well, you are a gift to the world and I have no doubt that you are helping save so many lives. Aside from reading your book, are there any other tips for people to get educated and get training?
AL: I put together a free online CME course through Stanford, which talks about the neurobiology of addiction and the prescription drug epidemic. That might be helpful. And then we’re making a course now that should be coming out soon about how to taper patients off of opioids, benzos and really anything that’s habit forming. It’s focused on the psychological aspects of preparing patients for it and I think even non-prescribers might find that helpful.

Also, the California Society of Addiction Medicine (CSAM) is a great resource for learning more about addiction. We have an annual conference every fall. This year it’s in San Francisco in August. For any practitioner, PhD, MD, MFT, etc., who wants to learn, it’s a three-and-a-half-day blitz course on addiction. It’s a great resource and taught me a lot about addiction treatment.

DK: Well thank you so much for taking the time to tell us about your important work.







* Read an excerpt from Drug Dealer, MD: How Doctors Were Duped, Patients Got Hooked, and Why It’s So Hard to Stop here.
AL: It was a pleasure.

Bruce Wampold on What Actually Makes Us Good Therapists

The Zero Percent Difference

Greg Arnold: Bruce, you’ve been in the field of psychotherapy for over 30 years and have made a tremendous contribution to our understanding of psychotherapy from empirical, historical, and anthropological perspectives through what you call the “contextual model of psychotherapy.” Your fantastic book, The Great Psychotherapy Debate: The Evidence for What Makes Psychotherapy Work is in its second edition, and I highly recommend it to our readers.

I want to start right out with what I see as the most significant thing to share with our readers. In your research, you’ve found that the difference in effectiveness of various types of psychotherapy is zero percent. Is that right?
Bruce Wampold: With some qualifications. I would put the differences between various types of psychotherapy at very close to zero percent. That statistic comes from clinical trials comparing treatment A to treatment B—often CBT to another form of CBT or to a dynamic therapy, a humanistic therapy, an interpersonal therapy—and there we don’t find any differences that are consistent or very large. Sometimes they’re small differences. The other area of research, “dismantling studies,” takes out the ingredient that is supposed to be the most important element of the treatment. It turns out that treatment is just as effective without the particular ingredient.

But here’s the qualification. There are a number of trials that compare a coherent, cogent, structured treatment to what’s often called “supportive therapy,” where the patient just sits with an empathic therapist, but there’s no treatment plan, there’s no explanation to the patient about what they’re going to do in therapy to help them get better. And we know, all the way back to Jerome Frank, that we need a coherent explanation for what’s bothering the patient and a believable treatment for them—something for the patient to do so that they work hard to overcome their difficulties. Supportive therapies are a lot more effective than doing nothing, but they’re not as effective for targeted outcomes as those that have a coherent explanation and treatment plan.

As long as what they’re doing is believable, accepted, is given by a therapist who’s skilled and believes in the treatment as well, the treatment tends to go well.
So if a patient comes in with problems in interpersonal relationships, depression, anxiety, we have to come up with a cogent explanation and a believable treatment to overcome their difficulties. As long as what they’re doing is believable, accepted, is given by a therapist who’s skilled and believes in the treatment as well, the treatment tends to go well.
GA: Regardless of the treatment?
BW: That’s right. So that’s the long answer to your question about all treatments being equal. Of course, not all treatments are equal—there are harmful treatments. In my workshops, I show Bob Newhart doing “stop it” therapy.
GA: Yes, I’ve seen it. It’s hilarious.
BW: You can Google it on YouTube. He just keeps saying to the patient, “Stop it!” When we say all therapies are equally effective, we need to be clear that we are not talking about harmful or sarcastic therapy.
GA: Of course. So let’s take a case example, say someone with severe OCD. Most people think exposure with response prevention is far and away superior, its treatment rationale is better than anyone else’s treatment rationale, and that it’s the only therapy that will cure it.
BW: OCD is an interesting one to bring up.
Exposure and response prevention is pretty good, with some provisos, but it’s never been compared to another bona fide, legitimate treatment for OCD.
Exposure and response prevention is pretty good, with some provisos, but it’s never been compared to another bona fide, legitimate treatment for OCD. I would like to see a focused dynamic treatment for OCD, and I would predict it doing just as well.

The other thing about OCD is if you read the literature, outcomes are almost exclusively measured in terms of symptom reduction. There’s a failure to measure quality of life or interpersonal functioning. OCD is a terribly disturbing disorder, and the people who suffer from OCD often have a terrible quality of life—they’re isolated, they’re alienated from people, they’re not integrated into social networks because their disorder interferes, or they have other issues as well. So it’s very misleading to just measure targeted symptoms.
GA: It’s stacking the deck a little bit.
BW: I had a debate with a psychologist here in Wisconsin who has an OCD clinic, and he said the same thing: We know how to reduce symptoms. But the people are not back to work, they don’t have romantic or intimate relationships. So now we’re starting to augment the exposure and response prevention with vocational therapy and counseling for other issues. OCD is an area where we need to do more research.

The claims about CBT being superior to other treatments are not founded.
Another area where we thought CBT was the most effective treatment is panic disorder. But now Barbara Milrod and others have dynamic therapy for panic, and it’s just as effective. Social anxiety is another area. If you read the clinical trials carefully, there isn’t convincing evidence that one particular treatment is more effective. CBT folks have done some amazingly good research and have helped the field immeasurably. I don’t want to discount that, but the claims about CBT being superior to other treatments are not founded.
GA: Those claims are far and wide, deeply rooted. Given that, among the bona fide treatments, they’re all equally effective, then the medical model is not superior either, correct?
BW: Yes. In Western culture, we’re so indoctrinated by the medical model that we ignore the social factors that make psychotherapy particularly effective. Humans are evolved as social animals, and we’re influenced through verbal means. How many of us learn not to stick our fingers in electric sockets because of classical conditioning? Our parents didn’t put our fingers into the socket to learn by experience, or put their fingers in there and have us watch them writhe on the floor in pain. All the parent had to do is say, “that’s dangerous.” We have evolved in such a way that significant others have tremendous influence on us through social means. Psychotherapy very effectively does just that.

A skilled therapist makes a big difference no matter the orientation.
The medical model can have some unfortunate consequences. It leads us to think that a “cure” can come through specific “interventions,” that if a therapist follows some kind of protocol, they will have good outcomes. That’s a myth. A skilled therapist makes a big difference no matter the orientation.
GA: Which is good news, right? People are going to be happy to hear we make a difference.
BW:

Therapists Deteriorate Over Time

Yes, but it comes with responsibility. Let’s ensure that our outcomes are commendable, that they meet benchmarks, and that they improve. We just did a study where we looked at therapists over almost 20 years of practice, and the therapists did not improve. In fact, they deteriorated a bit.
GA: Sobering.
BW: It is. But it’s not surprising when you think about it. What other profession do you go into a room, do your work in privacy, aren’t really allowed to talk about it because it’s confidential, and don’t get any feedback about how you’re doing. How can we expect to get better? Would we go to hear a musician who only performed and never practiced? Do you think world class tennis players just play Wimbledon and the U.S. Open and Australian Open? No, they practice hours a day on particular skills. So becoming a better therapist takes a lot of deliberate practice.
GA: Can you talk a little bit about the therapist factors that make us better or worse that we could be working on—be it in consultation groups or in feedback informed therapy.
BW: For many years I said the fundamental unanswered question in psychotherapy was, “What characterizes an effective therapist? What do they do?” And we didn’t know. But we’re starting to get good scientific evidence about what effective therapists do, so I’ll run through it.
GA: Please do!
BW: Effective therapists are able to form a working alliance—a collaborative working relationship—with a range of patients. The motivated patients with solid attachment histories who easily form an alliance with you—those aren’t the ones that challenge us. The ones that challenge us have poor attachment styles, do not have social networks, they alienate people in their lives, they have borderline features, they’re interpersonally aggressive, they tell us we’re no good. A really effective therapist is able to form a relatively good collaborative working relationship with those types of patients. The therapist effect is larger for more severely disturbed patients, which makes sense.

Effective therapists are also verbally fluent, they can describe the disorder as well as their treatment rationale.
GA: They get the buy-in from the client.
BW: Yes, they’re persuasive as well as verbally fluent, so when they explain things, they do it in two or three sentences and it’s coherent. I have my students practice explaining what they’re going to do in therapy. It’s difficult to do and you have to practice until you can do it in three or four sentence.

An effective therapist can read the emotional state of clients even when they’re trying to hide it. And we know the patients hide what they’re feeling. It isn’t intentional; it’s part of their struggle in life. They suppress anger or they’re not allowed to express sadness. A good therapist can understand and respond to the patient affect. Good therapists also can modulate their own affect.
Can you be expressive and activated when you have a really depressed patient who just kind of sits there?
Can you be expressive and activated when you have a really depressed patient who just kind of sits there? Affect is really contagious. We know that from basic science.

On the other hand, if we have an extremely anxious patient, can we be relaxed and calm? Modulating our own affect takes some practice as well. Are we warm, understanding, and caring? You may think all therapists are warm, understanding, and caring, but it takes work. I had a student whose patient didn’t bathe, so it reeked when the patient came in. What would your facial expression be?
GA: It would be hard not to feel some disgust.
BW: Exactly. We had to practice not displaying disgust. Being warm and empathic is easy with some patients, but really hard with others.
GA: Do people lose faith when they realize that the medical model, that any model really, isn’t the X factor in therapy? Do they just throw in the towel?
BW: I wouldn’t say that. When therapists say, “My treatment is the best there is for X, Y and Z,” in a way I’m glad. I want people to believe in their treatment, as that is an element of effective therapy. But instead of thinking that treatment X is the most effective treatment, we should believe that treatment X as I deliver it to this particular patient is effective.

This is where the focus on outcomes is so helpful. Is this patient getting better? Are they reaching their goals? If so, you can have faith not in the treatment itself but in your use of the treatment with the patient who is getting better. If we’re rigidly attached to a treatment, that’s problematic. I dislike it when therapists say in the first session, “Here’s how I work. This is what we’re going to do here.” You haven’t even listened to the patient yet and understood how the patient wants to work.

You need to modify treatment for some patients, or you might have to abandon it and do something very different for particular patients. Flexibility is another characteristic of effective therapists. That doesn’t mean doing something different every week with them, which is confusing; we need to be consistent, but also flexible.
GA: Dogma gets in the way here, and you’ve shown that more fidelity to a treatment actually gives less positive outcomes.
BW:

The Sweet Spot

There’s a sweet spot. You don’t want to be so flexible that you lack coherence, as that is not effective either. We need to be kind of in that sweet spot where there’s consistency in what we’re doing so the patient feels like we’re working towards their goals with a logical treatment plan.

But there may be a crisis in a patient’s life or a dramatic event or they’re just resistant. One of the things I teach my trainees is to see the nonverbal signs of resistance—they’re not following through on activities or when we explain what we’re doing they look away. They don’t want to say, “No, that doesn’t make sense, you’ve got it wrong.” So we have to be really attuned to those signs and willing to explore them.
GA: Still, it seems like this contextual model kind of suggests that we don’t really need particular treatment models. That if we are naturally good at making alliances with all kinds of clients and verbally skilled, we don’t need to be steeped in a particular treatment model.
BW: Well that’s where coherence and clear articulation of a treatment plan come into play. You don’t have that without having some kind of approach. When we go to a doctor, we want to know what’s wrong with us and how we’re going to get better. CBT therapists are great at this. They incorporate psychoeducation into the treatment structure, so a coherent treatment plan is central to the work they do with clients.

Where CBT therapists can fall short if they don’t attend to it is the warm, empathic, understanding treatment expectation part of the contextual model.
If you administer CBT without warmth and understanding, it’s not going to be nearly as effective.
If you administer CBT without warmth and understanding, it’s not going to be nearly as effective. On the other side are the humanistic therapists who are often great at the warm, empathic part of therapy but don’t always have a coherent treatment structure. I think we all have to look at our practice and assess what we are really good at, what are the elements that seem to work well with our clients and then have a good hard look at the areas where we are falling short.
GA: Yes, for me it’s figuring out the fine line between non-directive and directionless.
BW: That a good way to put it.
GA: It sounds like we should all be multi-modal, integrative, competent in several modalities because different things are going to work with different clients. None of us should be one-trick ponies.

To what extent does this call upon us to be more educated and trained in multiple modalities? Training culture these days seems to be trending towards manualized therapies, those that have been shown to be effective with particular disorders, etc. How do you think students should be getting trained these days?
BW: That’s an interesting question. I’m a counseling psychologist, and in counseling psychology we usually start by teaching the basic interpersonal skills first. In clinical programs, they are more often these days teaching manualized treatment—CBT for panic disorder or exposure therapy for OCD. We need to integrate the basic humanistic skills that are necessary for effective treatments as well as learning treatment protocols.

I have no problem with treatment protocols. I think people should be relatively fluent in several. And we should recognize our limitations. If we’re psychodynamic and have a client who is more interested in doing CBT, or we think would be better served by a CBT therapist, we should refer them out.
We often have this belief that we can help everybody, but it’s really not true.
We often have this belief that we can help everybody, but it’s really not true.

Look at how many treatment failures there are for widely accepted medical practices. We’re not going to help every psychotherapy patient, and maybe some other therapists could do a better job with particular patients. Flexibility is called for not just within a particular therapist, but within the community of therapists.
GA: One of the elements of effective therapy you cited was being able to create a positive working alliance with a variety of patients, and difficult patients, so how do you balance that with knowing when to refer out?
BW: Well, the really effective therapists probably don’t refer out much because they’re pretty good at accommodating their treatment style to the particular patient. And we have to be careful about referrals because if it appears to the patient that they’re just being referred out because they’re difficult, that can be very wounding. I’ve heard of difficult patients saying, “I didn’t really get better, but this therapist stuck with me, and that was really helpful to me.”

Some disorders are going to take maintenance therapy to keep people out of the hospital and functioning. So even though they’re not going to approach what we would call “normal” functioning, it’s still an appropriate use of therapy. The medical model doesn’t really support this kind of treatment though. It’s looking for a specific outcome in a limited amount of time.

In the United States we’re paid by the health delivery system, which is advantageous for therapists because they’re getting paid, and advantageous for patients because there was a time when only the rich could pay out-of-pocket for therapy. Those without resources simply couldn’t afford psychotherapy and now it is available to many more people, which is a great thing. But there are some unfortunate consequences of being forced into this medical model. Limitations on sessions is probably the one that impacts therapists and clients the most.
GA: This isn’t going to change overnight. It’s deeply embedded in our culture. But in order to change the culture, we need a positive vision for the alternative. What would that look like? I think the contextual model has the potential to really change the system because not only is it scientific, it’s more scientific than the medical model.
BW: That’s a fundamental question we have to address.
We know psychotherapy is remarkably effective. It helps many people. It’s as effective as medication, and longer lasting. But we have to influence policy makers.
Many of us are working hard to influence policy, and the way to do that in my view is to present the evidence. I’ve dedicated my career to providing the evidence for the humane delivery of mental health services. We know psychotherapy is effective. It’s remarkably effective. It helps many people. It’s as effective as medication, and longer lasting. But we have to influence policy makers. There are places where we’re making progress, and there are places where it’s frustrating as hell.
GA: I bet.
BW: But we also have to be making progress as therapists. We have a responsibility to provide effective services.
GA: It’s disheartening to hear that we aren’t getting better over the course of our own professional lives.
BW:

Coming Out of Isolation

We don’t, but as we learn more through research about what makes therapists effective, we can begin to incorporate what we learn into our training and professional development. I’m involved in a start-up company, TheraVue that’s dedicated to online skill building for psychotherapists. I think technology can play an important role in making not just therapy, but consultation and training more accessible to people.
GA: That’s hopeful to hear. So many people want to be in consultation groups, but it’s much harder to make happen than you would think.
BW: This is an isolating profession. We’re sitting one-on-one or sometimes with couples or families, but essentially we’re doing our work in isolation. We have to have that peer support to help us both fight the isolation and to get better, but it’s difficult. We work six, eight hours a day with patients and at the end of the day, we don’t want to drive somewhere for a peer consultation. We want to get home to our families and friends.
GA: So given that there are these challenges, how do we get more therapists to make consultation a regular part of the practice?
BW: Psychotherapy is not the road to riches. I think most of us are in this field because we’re dedicated to helping people, so I think there’s an intrinsic motivation to get better. I don’t think there’s going to be resistance when people really understand what it takes to be a better therapist. In fact, there’s going to be eagerness to improve if it’s built-in in a way that makes it accommodating. I think it’s absurd that we don’t give CE units for actual efforts to improve other than going to workshops and doing online courses. I’m a licensed psychologist, so I do them, and some of them are really good, but is this helping me become a more effective therapist? Tomorrow are my patients going to be getting better therapy than they got before I went to this workshop? So the training and accreditation processes need to support the activities that actually help therapists get better.
GA: So we know that workshops and online courses and reading books isn’t enough. We recently did an interview with Tony Rousmaniere on deliberate practice, although we haven’t published this yet. It’s a concept he learned from Scott Miller that involves literally practicing—like tennis players do between games—the skills of therapy outside of the therapy office. Videotaping ourselves, practicing how we talk, having mentors watch our work, trying to eliminate things that aren’t helping clients—weird idiosyncrasies we wouldn’t necessarily pick up without an outside observer. Are these the kinds of practices you are talking about?
BW:

Good Therapists Are Humble

Yes, exactly. You can’t just reflect and think about your practice, just do process notes or whatever. It’s important to do those things, and certainly one of the characteristics of effective therapists is professional humility. Good therapists, the ones that get better outcomes, are the ones who say, “I’m not sure I’m helping patients. I need to get better.” But Daryl Chow and Scott Miller did a study that revealed that people who work outside of their practice to get better actually have better outcomes.

Good therapists, the ones that get better outcomes, are the ones who say, “I’m not sure I’m helping patients. I need to get better.”
The skills I’ve talked about, you have to do them over and over again with feedback from somebody. This is what we’re doing with practicum students now. Often students will go, “I’m an advanced student now; these are basic skills you’re teaching.” No, we all need to practice these things. By the end, they often say, “this was the best practice class I’ve ever had because we actually practiced the skills we use in therapy.”
GA: So we can improve our skills through practice, get unambiguous feedback from someone we respect and hopefully challenge our own confirmation bias that we’re the best therapist ever, by cultivating some humility.

Still, if the motivation to get better was intrinsic, don’t you think more therapists would be doing these things? Sell us a little more on it if you don’t mind. Like, how much am I going to improve if I implement these new strategies?
BW: That’s a great question. In my presentations I use the example of baseball. The difference between a 300 hitter and a 275 hitter is not very much. In fact, if you watch the poor hitter for two weeks, they may have more hits than the 300 hitter. But if you look over the career, the 300 hitter helps his team immensely more.

A small improvement by each therapist would have a tremendous impact and benefit to patients.
An incremental improvement doesn’t have to be dramatic, but it has a tremendous impact on the number of patients who benefit from psychotherapy. I can give you the facts and figures because I love math and statistics, but a small improvement by each therapist would have a tremendous impact and benefit to patients. It’s quite remarkable.
GA: So that’s our call to action as a profession.
BW: Yes.
GA: We know what we need to do, the gains are there for the taking, and we need to keep pushing on policy to support those efforts. None of us are going to get rich doing it, but it’s hopeful that we can really make a difference as we improve and grow.
BW: I think it is hopeful. We have the strategies and the technology for continual improvement as therapists. Let’s get better. Let’s work at it. Let’s support each other. And let’s measure outcomes so that we know how we’re doing.
GA: That’s a whole other piece we hadn’t talked about: measuring outcomes.
BW: Yes, it’s very important. What the research seems to show is that at least for cases at risk for deterioration, feedback may improve outcomes. But it’s pretty clear that just getting feedback—this patient is improving; this patient is not—doesn’t help the therapist become more skilled.

But it is important to know if you’re actually helping patients, if you’re gradually improving over time. Look and see what types of patients you’re having difficulty with.
GA: Routinely.
BW: Yes, and I would add that, in my experience, and I think the research supports this, discussing the feedback with patients is helpful. What it communicates to the patient is that you are improving and that their feedback actually matters to you. But it also makes it clear that the focus is on, “Are you getting better?” I want to know that continually. We should all be discussing with our patients how therapy is going and how we can change to more readily support their goals. That’s a tremendously powerful message when we discuss that with patients. If we’re not meeting the goals, what can we do differently? Some would call that client-informed, but all therapists are client-informed. To a large degree, we should all be discussing with our patients how therapy is going and how we can change to more readily support their goals.
GA: There’s also an indirect benefit in that it communicates care in a new way to the client, bringing them in on monitoring outcome.
BW: It’s not indirect. It’s direct. In the contextual model, we don’t minimize these things as indirect. This is deliberate.
GA: The meat and potatoes.
BW: Absolutely. The focus on patient progress is central to what we do.
GA: So we have a call to action for clinicians, one for policy makers, what about for psychotherapy researchers?
BW:
My plea to all researchers would be, if you’re going to do a clinical trial, please include a quality of life measure because I want to see that your treatment actually has a significant benefit to patients in the quality of their life.
My plea to all researchers would be, if you’re going to do a clinical trial, please include a quality of life measure because I want to see that your treatment actually has a significant benefit to patients in the quality of their life. That’s why they come to treatment. I don’t want to just see targeted symptoms are reduced and therefore your model is best for a particular disorder.
GA: Any final words of wisdom you’d like to leave our readers from your years in the industry?
BW: I would say to therapists—to all of us—let’s work to get better, to continually improve over the course of our careers. It will benefit patients. It will benefit us. Our satisfaction with our work will improve as well. At this point in my career, I want to do whatever I can to help therapists do that.
GA: I am so grateful for the work you do, and I want everyone to go out and read your work so that we can all become better therapists.
BW: Thank you, Greg, it’s been such a pleasure talking to you.

Tony Rousmaniere on Deliberate Practice for Psychotherapists

The Other 50%

Victor Yalom: Tony, congratulations on your new book, Deliberate Practice for Psychotherapists: A Guide to Improving Clinical Effectiveness. We’ll get to the deliberate practice part later, and find out what that means, but let’s start with clinical effectiveness, which we as therapists all certainly strive for. You’re very candid and self-revealing in this book, which I think is admirable. And it seems the thing that got you started on your quest towards improving your own clinical effectiveness was the realization early on in your training that you were only helping 50% of your clients. Can you tell us about that?
Tony Rousmaniere: When I initially started training at my first practicum, I was working with high school students and I had a number of the clients respond very quickly. They had a range of different goals and whether it was anxiety, or feeling depressed, or wanting to do better at school, and they showed what is called in the research literature, “rapid gains.”
VY: That’s always nice when that happens. It makes you feel like you know what you’re doing, or you’re doing something helpful.
TR: I went into the field feeling like I could be good at this. I’m good with people, so I was optimistic, and the initial response from clients gave me a lot of optimism. But as time went on,
I gradually realized to my disappointment that a fair amount of my clients were not improving.
I gradually realized to my disappointment that a fair amount of my clients were not improving. And when I started to try to assess overall how many that was, it was about 50%. I call that “my other 50%.” There’s some of them who responded a little, and then just plateaued. There’s some of them who deteriorated—they actually got worse during treatment—and then there are also a fair amount, at least a quarter of them, who just dropped out.
VY: Dropouts are certainly a big problem for almost all therapists. I certainly recall, especially early in my career, I had a file of dropouts that came once or twice, and it was a pretty thick file.
TR: Yeah. It’s something we don’t always like to talk about but it is pretty universal across therapists.
VY: So you took the initiative to take a frank look at this, and what did you find?
TR: Well, I spent a number of years throughout my training trying to figure out what was going wrong and then how could I improve. Specifically, how could I reach the 50% of clients that I wasn’t helping effectively? And I started going back to the traditional method of clinical supervision. I was doing the same clinical supervision that pretty much every graduate student does, where they’re meeting weekly with their supervisor for an hour or two individually, and then also with a group.


I’d often feel like I was getting better, and I was learning the theory better, so I could write better papers about psychotherapy, or I could talk in more sophisticated ways about psychotherapy, but the percentage of my clients actually improving stayed the same.
I was very fortunate that throughout my training I had really good supervisors. I know that’s not always the case, but every year of my graduate training I had supervisors who were very open, very collaborative, very encouraging. They had really good advice and understood psychotherapy theory and technique well, but I found that though I was getting all of this great advice from them and my peers in group supervision, my effectiveness was not actually improving.

I’d often feel like I was getting better, and I was learning the theory better, so I could write better papers about psychotherapy, or I could talk in more sophisticated ways about psychotherapy, but the percentage of my clients actually improving stayed the same.
VY: It sounds like one thing you did was actually track your data, which is something most of us don’t do. We rely more on the second form of feedback you described: Do we feel good about what we’re doing? Can we talk about it intelligently? Do our peers seem to respect us? But that’s not really what we’re in the field for.
TR: Our whole field suffers from a lack of outcome data at the individual therapist level. We have lots of data from randomized clinical trials which show you how therapists do in these tightly controlled circumstances. And we have some data from research collaboratives where they’ll track a large group of therapists over time. But pretty much no therapist individually tracks their own outcome data, or reports it to the public. So nobody really knows how effective they or other therapists are. We know how well we can talk about therapy, or how well we can write about therapy, or how well we can theorize about therapy, but imagine if you could never see a basketball player play, you could only hear them talk about how well they played. Or you could never hear a violinist perform, you could only hear them talk about it.

Imagine if you could never see a basketball player play, you could only hear them talk about how well they played.
This is a real problem in our field. Imagine learning to paint, but you’re never able to show your paintings to anyone. You would just describe them to someone and say, “In this painting I used a lot of green. It might have been too much. Do you think I should have used less?”
VY: When I produced my first video, and then got in the business of producing training videos, what I used to say is, imagine a dental student going to a lecture about dentistry, or about a certain technique like doing fillings, and then going off to perform the filling in a private room, and then meeting with a supervisor a week later to discuss what they did. Would you risk getting a filling from such a person? That’s the problem we’re dealing with. And that was one of the things that motivated me to start producing videos of expert therapists doing therapy.

So you were aware of this problem and used the traditional tools available for developing skills as a therapist: clinical supervision, reading, talking with colleagues.
TR: Going to workshops.
VY: But you still found that your client outcome data wasn’t getting better. How did you track your client outcome data?
TR: I was using one of the simpler outcome measures called the “Outcome Ratings Scale” that as well developed by Scott Miller and Barry Duncan and others, and is part of what’s called “Feedback Informed Treatment.” It’s very accessible—it’s free and can be downloaded from their websites. It lets therapists over time track how well each client is doing, and then if they get enough data, let’s say 30 to 50 clients, they can look at how well are they doing as a therapist overall.
VY: Once you got your data, what did you do then?
TR:

Deliberate Practice

Honestly, I just started casting about, trying everything I could get my hands on. I went to lots of different workshops, read lots of different books and got supervision from different people. I was in a supervision group with you, as you well know, where we actually used some of the methods of deliberate practice, though we didn’t call them that. In retrospect, I can see that they were, and we can talk about that later on.

But there’s one supervisor in particular I found, Jonathan Frederickson, who was trained as a classical musician, and as a musician he used the method of deliberate practice. He integrated deliberate practice into his supervision and I found that working with him, using those methods, that it really improved my effectiveness more directly.
VY: Can you define what deliberate practice is and where it came from?
TR: Sure. Did you ever learn a musical instrument?
VY: Depends what you mean by learn, but I tried. And achieved a very low level of mastery with a few instruments.
TR: What instruments?
VY: Piano. Clarinet. Banjo. Harmonica.
TR: So imagine you went to your piano teacher and you said, “I want to be really good at piano. In fact, I want to be a professional pianist. But I just don’t have time to practice. I’m hoping you can assign me some books so I can get better. We’ll meet once a week, and then in a few years I’d like to have some performances.” What do you think your piano instructor would say?
VY: If I could say that with a straight face, I’m sure I’d be laughed out of the room.
TR: Exactly. As part of learning piano you did deliberate practice. Did you ever learn a sport in school or college?
VY: Sure. I played tennis and I’m engaged in some deliberate practice of tennis these days. I have a weekly lesson and am playing during the week and trying to get better, but it’s very difficult.
TR: Well, imagine you went to your tennis coach and said, “I want to play tennis at a professional level, but I just don’t have time to practice. I mean, who has time for that? So let’s meet once a week. Give me some books I can read and I’ll make it work.” They would, again, laugh you out of the room, right?

Most people have experience with deliberate practice, they just do it in other fields. Many fields use deliberate practice as a core part of training—not just to be a professional, but to achieve basic competence, to achieve moderate expertise, and then to achieve full expertise.
VY: So what does that mean in a psychotherapy practice?
TR: Deliberate practice is a term invented by K. Anders Ericsson and colleagues in the early ‘90s. They were trying to figure out how experts achieved their expertise across a broad range of fields—musicians, athletes, chess masters, pilots, you name it—and they isolated only one variable that predicted expertise: solitary deliberate practice.

Deliberate practice is based on five principles. The first is observing your own work. So in psychotherapy that would be watching videotapes of your own work, or having an expert observe your work.

Second is getting expert feedback on the work. So that’s supervision or consultation.

The third is setting small incremental learning goals just beyond our ability. In tennis, that is turning your wrist a little to the left, or in piano it would be just working on this one note.
In psychotherapy, we talk about broad things like trying to improve the working alliance, but there are a hundred skills that fall under that broad umbrella.
In psychotherapy, we talk about broad things like trying to improve the working alliance, but there are a hundred skills that fall under that broad umbrella.

The fourth component is repetitive behavioral rehearsal of those specific skills. So when you’re playing tennis you’ve got the ball machine shooting balls at you and you’re just hitting the balls again and again and again. That’s your repetitive behavioral rehearsal. It lets you move the skills that you’re learning into behavioral memory, procedural memory, so that they can begin to happen automatically, which frees up your mind to think about more complicated parts of the game.

The fifth component of deliberate practice is continually assessing performance. That’s something we do subjectively in psychotherapy, but there’s a lot of research to show that our subjective assessments of client outcome are not terribly accurate.
VY: One thing you say in your book, which I find quite refreshing, is, “I am not a master clinician. I am not a master therapist.” Why did you write that?
TR: Well, I wanted to be very clear. This is not a book by an expert therapist and this wasn’t me imparting my wisdom about my therapy techniques. I am a beginner. I am relatively new to the field. However, I am obsessed with becoming a more effective therapist. I might not ever become an expert therapist. I might not ever become a master therapist. That’s okay. As long as I keep getting better, I feel really good about that. So I really wanted to frame this book from the very beginning as one about just trying to improve.
VY: How did you start learning about deliberate practice and then implementing it for yourself?
TR: Well, I should say that I actually found out about deliberate practice when I interviewed Scott Miller for Psychotherapy.net. In that interview, Scott Miller talked about deliberate practice for psychotherapists, and it was the first time I had ever heard of it. So he should get credit. He is the first psychologist to consider this for our field and he worked on this from the ground up.

My supervisor at the time only would supervise therapists who videotaped their work. He said the reason was that there’s so much nonverbal communication going on. A lot of it is totally unconscious. Unless we can see what’s happening in therapy, as well as hear it, we just don’t really know what’s going on. And as I showed him videotapes of my work, there were multiple instances where the transcript of the session looked like good therapy. It read like good therapy. But the nonverbal communication showed that the client wasn’t progressing at all.
VY: You give several examples of that in your book. Can you give us one now?
TR:
I found that I had a bunch of clients who were basically complying with me. They were pretending to go along with therapy.
I found that I had a bunch of clients who were basically complying with me. They were pretending to go along with therapy. They would answer my questions. They would think about themselves, but they weren’t really struggling within themselves. They were appeasing me and kind of assuming, “If I give Tony what he wants, somehow magically I’m going to feel better.”

And I was going along with this. In fact, sometimes I was even cutting them off. I was talking over them. That’s another thing you can’t see in a transcript. Sometimes my tone of voice was very strong. Theirs was very meek. You can’t catch that in a transcript. Sometimes I would be sitting forward, with a lot of intention in my seat, and they would be sitting back kind of passively. In psychodynamic therapy, we call these “transference dynamics.” Each model of therapy has a different way of discussing the relational dynamics between the client and the therapist, but I found that by watching video I was able to identify all kinds of mistakes I didn’t realize I was making.
VY: It takes courage to look at yourself and have someone else observe you.
TR: Thank you, but it felt more like desperation than courage. I got into this field because I really wanted to help people, and I had a lot of clients that I really cared about. I really wanted to help them but I wasn’t. Sometimes they’d drop out and sometimes they’d deteriorate, and that really pained me.

I could give you another example. Role-plays are another great way of getting direct observation of your work and we would do role-plays in the consultation group you and I were in together. You observed while I was role-playing with one of the other group members that my voice was kind of forced.
VY: Yes.
TR: Do you remember?
VY: I do remember it, yeah.
TR:
My voice sounded like someone trying to be a therapist rather than just being a real person.
I was trying to be a therapist. And my voice sounded like someone trying to be a therapist rather than just being a real person.
VY: Right.
TR: That would have never shown up in a transcript. What you advised me to do is to work on this specific skill. We isolated the specific skill. You said, “Just try talking naturally, Tony. Just try saying whatever you’d say naturally.” And if you remember, it was hard. It took a lot of practice for me to do that. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I went back after that group and I watched video after video of my clients and I practiced just talking naturally to my clients in the videos.
VY: You just sat by yourself and practiced saying the words aloud?
TR: Yeah.
VY: Wow. So that’s an example of solitary deliberate practice. You were just sitting by yourself with a video and practicing speaking.
TR: Exactly. In most other fields, the bulk of the training actually occurs during solitary deliberate practice. So a professional musician might get coaching a few hours a week, but then they’re spending 20 hours a week practicing on their own. The same with an athlete. Same with a master chess player. And that is something that we do not have in our field. We spend time reading about psychotherapy a lot. But we don’t spend time practicing skills ourselves, so the skills don’t move into procedural memory, and then we’re often left floundering in session.
VY: I remember that term procedural memory from graduate school, but I don’t remember what it is. Can you refresh our readers about what it means and why it’s important?
TR: When you ride a bike you are using procedural memory. When you drive a car you’re using procedural memory. It’s when your body just remembers automatically how to do something, because you’ve done it so many hours. It’s automatic. So you can think about other things while you’re driving—like how to get to your destination—because your body knows how to make turns and yield and stop at the light.

Now, that can be a double-edged sword. My wife points out quite frequently that my driving is not always so great. But it’s in procedural memory, so I do it automatically. We want to get the skills into procedural memory, but then we want to also keep refining them throughout time, or else we stay stuck at the same plateau.
VY: Getting back to deliberate practice, so the first step is observing your own work, and one way to do it is through video. Getting expert feedback is step two, and you were getting some feedback from your supervisor about your work via video. The next step is setting small incremental learning goals just beyond your abilities. How do you do that?
TR: Ideally that’s done by the supervisor. In the group supervision we were in, you identified my voice being forced, which was something I couldn’t hear in myself. You showed me how to improve that and then let me practice it. In the group, you gave me little tweaks here and there. Try a little of this, a little of that. And then I took it home to practice on my own with the solitary deliberate practice. Ideally we’re getting that kind of corrective feedback that focuses on specific incremental skills throughout our careers. That’s how you learn pretty much any other skill.
VY: In any other field you’re getting constant feedback. If you’re a lawyer, you’re observing your senior try a case and you’re sitting next to him and maybe you’re getting up and doing some things and they’re observing you. If you’re in plumbing, you’re an apprentice plumber, you’re going to watch a master, they’re going to watch you. We’re about the only field that I can think of where that doesn’t happen on a regular basis.
TR: I think we actually work in one of the most secret fields on the planet, though not intentionally so.
I think we actually work in one of the most secret fields on the planet.
I mean, obviously there’s confidentiality rules and that kind of thing, but even CIA agents in deep cover every few years get some kind of performance review. But I could go the next 30 years without ever having anyone give a meaningful look at my work. We’re required to do continuing education units, but that’s generally about cognitive learning, which is valuable for learning new laws or new theories, but a lot of research has shown that it doesn’t translate to improved skills or effectiveness with clients.
VY: You cite a lot of evidence in your book that even years of clinical experience don’t lead to improved performance.
TR:

The Audience Can Tell the Difference

Researchers have been looking into this for decades. There’s literally decades of research and they’re trying every which way to show that experience improves performance. But except for isolated cases here and there—for example, experienced clinicians can do better with severely psychotic clients—experience is not associated with improved performance.

I think this can be possibly explained by the fact that we do not as a field engage with ongoing deliberate practice. You could take a professional basketball player and if you tell them that they’re not allowed to practice anymore, and then ask them to play 10 years later, they’re not going to be as good.

My friend plays for the symphony in Washington, DC, and she practices two hours a day, six days a week. She’s at the very top of her field and she still practices. She’s getting close to retiring. She still practices. I asked her why she still practices and she said, “If I go a day without practicing, I can tell the difference. If I go two days without practicing, my peers can tell the difference. If I go three days without practicing, the audience can tell the difference.”
VY: The evidence is compelling, but it flies in the face of what we as clinicians think. Most of us feel a lot more confident ten or twenty years into our practice. We feel like we know so much more, not only from our clinical work, but from our life experience. We can empathize with a broader range of clients because we have a broader range of experiences ourselves. We’re not so anxious in session, worrying about how clients are going to think of us, and whether they are going to see how young and inexperienced we are. So it just feels like we are much better therapists. Yet you’re saying that the evidence does not bear that out.
TR: Well, the evidence shows that there’s a lot of variability. Some therapists do improve in time. But some get worse over time. And because we’re typically not tracking our outcome data from an empirical perspective, it’s hard for us to know. We have a lot of cognitive biases, not because we’re bad people, but because it’s the way our brains were built. So it’s risky to trust your own private perception of your work over time without ever getting feedback.

Unfortunately relying on our clients’ opinions is not entirely reliable either. There’s been many studies showing that clients will routinely not tell their therapists when they’re not doing well. In fact, Matt Blanchard and Barry Farber at Columbia University did a study of over 500 clients and found that 93% of them reported having lied to their therapist. Negative reactions to therapy was one of the most common topics they lied about, including pretending to find therapy effective, and not admitting wanting to end therapy.

Now, almost every client I have in my practice has been in multiple previous therapies that they found to be marginally effective or not effective at all. They probably did not tell their previous therapist this. I can tell you, I have a lot of dropouts. I’ve had an overall 25% dropout rate across my career.
Almost none of my clients tell me that I’m not helping them before they drop out. They just leave.
Almost none of my clients tell me that I’m not helping them before they drop out. They just leave. These are the clients we need feedback from the most. Clients who are like, “Oh, this is helping so much!” are not as helpful with their feedback.
VY: Are you still using the same forms to get feedback from your clients?
TR: I use a variety of forms—the session rating scale and some others. I’m always experimenting with different ways of getting feedback from clients and also from experts—but what I do most now is record all of my sessions through video and then get expert feedback on the sessions.
VY: And when you have dropouts, if you look back on those rating forms, do you see warnings signs?
TR: Yes. There often are, but not always. Many clients feel pressure to be nice to their therapist. Look, when I’m at a restaurant and I don’t really like the food, and they come around and ask me how’s the food, I don’t often say, “It’s kind of crappy.” I usually say, “Oh, it’s fine.”
VY: So let’s get back to the final two steps of deliberate practice: engaging in repetitive behavioral rehearsal and continuously assessing performance. How have you gone about doing that?
TR:

Jazzing it Up

So the first three steps we’ve covered are usually pretty easy for therapists to understand, but I often lose them when I talk about repetitive behavioral rehearsal. They’re like, “Psychotherapy is a relational art. Every session is different. Every relationship is unique. This isn’t just playing chess and moving pieces around. It’s not football or basketball where the net is always in the same place. Our clients change their goals every session. We work in an infinitely complex field. So, how can we repetitively practice behavioral skills?”

A metaphor I like to use is jazz. Jazz is the kind of music that utilizes improvisation as an inherent part of the craft. But jazz musicians don’t just sit down and start randomly doing whatever they want on their instruments. To become a jazz musician, you actually go through very rigorous training where you’re learning standardized ways of playing your instrument. You’re learning the same notes as everyone else. You’re learning the same theory as everyone else. You’re practicing the same way as everyone else. And when all those musical skills are moved into procedural memory, you’re then able to improvise with other performers.
VY: That’s why I never got too far with clarinet, because I wanted to improvise. I just wanted to be able to improvise like jazz, but I wasn’t willing to spend the hundreds or thousands of hours playing the scales.
TR: There’s been a lot of research that shows that slavishly adhering to psychotherapy models, kind of following them cookbook style, or doing exactly what’s in the manual with every client, actually leads to worse outcomes. So that doesn’t help either.

There’s a tricky balance where on one hand you know the skills, you’ve internalized the skills, you’ve practiced the skills. But then on the other hand, you’re very adaptable and reflexive to the client.
VY: I think what you’ve pointed out is not obvious to therapists at all, because we just don’t have that in our professional culture, in our training. As you said, so much of the focus is on theory, on reading books, on writing papers, on being able to sound intelligent in class or seminars or group supervision. What are the actual skills to practice?
TR: Many people assume that since they’ve gotten lots of face-to-face hours with clients that that should count as practice. To get a degree and get licensed, typically you have to have hundreds or thousands of hours with clients.

It only counts as practice if there isn’t a real client in front of you.
Something K. Anders Ericsson and the other researchers on expertise found was that it only counts as practice if there isn’t a real client or real engagement in front of you. So a basketball player playing a game doesn’t count as practice. A musician performing doesn’t count as practice. A chess player playing a match doesn’t count as practice. That’s all considered performance. And the reason is that during performance you can’t isolate a specific skill, and you can’t repeat it again and again and again while getting feedback.
VY: I see that in tennis. I’ve spent years trying to learn a top-spin backhand, and yet when I play matches, I’m worried about winning the point. I default to hitting a slice. I don’t do what I’ve learned.
TR: Well that takes us back to procedural memory. When we’re in moments of what we call emotional arousal, your brain immediately goes to procedural memory. That is why it’s important to practice these skills behaviorally and repeat them hundreds and hundreds of times until they’re moved into procedural memory—so you can perform them in those moments of emotional arousal.

In psychotherapy, we work in states of very high emotional arousal. We help clients who are suffering intensely. And we feel that suffering while we’re sitting with them. So we will go almost immediately into procedural memory.
VY: We don’t have a lot of experience or knowledge about how to practice skills that are fundamental in the psychotherapy enterprise. How did you figure this out since there wasn’t a manual for you?
TR: Most fields have taken hundreds of years to figure out models and methods for deliberate practice. I’m hoping that we can start this. Because there wasn’t already a model or method for doing it, I focused on what’s called “facilitative interpersonal behaviors.” These are behaviors that have been shown by research to be effective in therapy across a wide range of models. You can think of them as the basics of psychotherapy. Many of them have to do with attunement with the clients in session, components of the working alliance.

A lot of research shows again and again that the quality of the working alliance in therapy contributes ten times more to outcome than the model or anything else. Bruce Wampold has written a lot about this in his books. He calls it “the contextual model for psychotherapy,” where he focuses on facilitative interpersonal behaviors. An example of that would be tone of voice. I’ve noticed that if I’m not careful I can start speaking louder than my clients. I can talk over them. I can basically overpower them with my voice. This is sometimes due to my own anxiety that goes up in session due sometimes to what they’re presenting, or my own counter-transference.
VY: How do you work on that?
TR: I sit with my own videos, especially videos of clients that I find stir up my own anxiety, and I will practice talking to the video in a level voice. I want to be engaged.
VY: You’ll literally be watching a video and just practice speaking?
TR: Yes. If someone saw me doing that, they would think I was crazy. But think of it like a basketball player shooting, practicing free throws. They’ll just sit there doing it again and again and again, and they might do a hundred a day. So I’ll spend 15 minutes just practicing speaking to videos of clients who I find I have some anxiety with when in session with them.
VY: So you’re experimenting with different tones of voice, and kind of get that into your body, into your procedural memory.
TR: Yes. Another thing I’ll do is I’ll watch videos where there’s clients who are stalled, deteriorating, something’s not going well. I’ll watch the sessions with the volume off. And I will take notes about everything I see in terms of their body language. And as I watch that, I’ll also notice my own anxiety. Does my own anxiety go up or down based on their body language?
VY: Your anxiety in the session, or your anxiety as you’re—
TR: Watching the video.
VY: Your anxiety as you’re sitting there watching the video?
TR: Yeah. I found this very surprising at first, but just watching my own videos was incredibly mobilizing of my own anxiety, my own feelings, and my own defenses. Every therapist I’ve talked with who watches videos of their own work also finds it to be quite challenging emotionally.

It’s exposing ourselves to ourselves, and in a way that we normally aren’t. And that’s one of the reasons it’s difficult to videotape and then watch your own work. So if I can sit there watching the video and noticing the body language and noticing my own anxiety, those are two different skills I’m working on. If I can do enough of that so it moves to procedural memory when I’m sitting with the real clients in front of me, it’ll be that much easier to do those skills in the background, so I can focus on something else.
VY: And what impact did that have on your work? How did you know or notice that that was actually helping you?
TR: Well, one thing I noticed is that I have a butt-load of anxiety with a lot of my clients. And I was shocked to find out. At first I was incredibly embarrassed. I didn’t want to tell anyone. And then I realized that some people could tell anyways when I talked about it with them. And then I thought, keeping it secret is not going to help anyone.
One thing I noticed is that I have a butt-load of anxiety with a lot of my clients. And I was shocked to find out.
And then I realized most therapists have some degree of emotional reaction. I’m a psychodynamic therapist; we call this “counter-transference.” But I also found that there’s a certain level of anxiety that’s kind of universal working with all of my clients. So I don’t know if it’s individual counter-transference from a certain client, or it’s just me.

Some of it might be a sympathetic reaction to what the client is bringing up. Some of it is just my own material. Some of it is wanting to do a good job. And there’s just a certain level of anxiety always going up and down within me during a session. I’m still not really good at this, but I’ve gotten better at tracking that in the background during the session. I can use it psychodiagnostically. So if a client is talking about something that really bothers them, but they’re good at hiding it in their words or even nonverbals, I can often feel their anxiety within me. A sympathetic reaction to their anxiety within me. There’s a clue there.
VY: Using yourself as a tool.
TR: Exactly. When I talk about deliberate practice, people often assume I’m talking about CBT or behavioral therapy, but that’s not accurate. The most benefit I’ve gotten from the deliberate practice methods has been with the more dynamic interpersonal/intrapersonal aspects of therapy.
VY: What do you mean by that?
TR: The more subtle, intuitive sense of myself and the transference roles being played out between me and the client, what I feel pulled to do with the client, how that might be repeating old problematic patterns from the client’s life. How my own counter-transference might be getting stirred up, and I might be guiding the client towards or away from material in ways that are unhelpful. How I might be retreating.

I’ll give you another example. A supervisor once pointed out that I was being critical of a client. I was horrified by this. Horrified. My job is to be empathic, not critical. And if you read the transcript, I was not coming across as critical. In the transcript, I was coming across as very supportive. But he said, “Listen to your voice. It’s critical right here.” I was embarrassed to admit it, but I actually had a sharp edge in my voice. And that was due to my own counter-transference.
VY: Whether you use the term counter-transference or not, or whether you work with a model that has transference or counter-transference or intersubjectivity, or as an important part of a theoretical model, those things are happening anyway.
TR: Yes.
VY: There are feelings between client and therapist that you’re feeling drawn orcompel us to do compelled with certain thing with certain clientsclients to do certain things, whether you act on them or not, whether it’s to support them, whether it’s to tell them what to do. Whether you feel detached or bored. Or whether they pull on your anxiety in one way or the other. Those types of dynamics are always occurring, whether you’re paying attention to them or not.
TR: Many of us know this from reading the theory, but we haven’t practiced actually noticing it in the moment. We practice it with real clients, but that doesn’t count as practice. So, one of the ways that I have addressed this is I’ll sit and watch videos of clients where, again, they’re stalled or deteriorating. And I will just write down what do I feel pulled to do. Do I feel pulled to save them? To criticize them? To support them? Or what role do I kind of want to be in with them?

And over time, doing this again and again, and again, I’ve built my ability to observe that as it happens in session.
VY: So the final idea in deliberate practice is continuously assessing performance. Usually we think that most of our training belongs in graduate school or early in our careers, when we’re interns or psych assistants, accumulating our hours. But you believe that if we want to achieve our maximum proficiency, we should be like other professions and keep doing whatever is necessary to get to the top of our game.
TR: In pretty much every other profession, professionals have to engage in continual deliberate practice throughout their entire career. And if they don’t, they stall, and then gradually decrease in effectiveness.
VY: Let me just challenge you on that. If you’re a professional athlete or musician, yes, you’re going to spend hours a day practicing. Most other professions, I think, you don’t do that. If you’re a surgeon, you do surgery. If you’re a lawyer, you do legal work. You’re not setting aside time to actually practice being a lawyer or a surgeon.
TR:

Competency vs. Excellence

Surgeons actually do set aside time now, and they engage in repetitive behavioral simulations. For other fields, including psychotherapy, it is possible to stay at a level of competence without deliberate practice. So I believe most therapists are competent. In fact, by the end of graduate training, most therapists are competent. Overall, the outcome data for psychotherapy is pretty good. It compares favorably to medicine in many ways. Our deterioration rate of 5 to 10% is actually not horrible. The rate of complications or side effects is very low. The rate of legal problems, people suing us, is relatively low. Overall, we perform a competent service, right? And you can stay an absolutely competent therapist your entire career without using deliberate practice.

Now if you’re an accountant, you might not need to get better. Being competent might be totally fine for your livelihood. Or if you’re a lawyer, being competent might be totally fine for your livelihood. And I’ve met musicians who don’t engage in deliberate practice. They’ve found a level of competence which works for them and they’re totally happy with that. That’s totally fine. For me, it’s not satisfying. It wasn’t satisfying. And it still isn’t satisfying. But that doesn’t mean that it has to be appropriate for everyone.
VY:
You can stay an absolutely competent therapist your entire career without using deliberate practice.
I know that for several years your wife got a job at the University of Fairbanks and you were up there with a lot of darkness. And you used that time productively by learning about deliberate practice and some of these exercises you’ve just described. For therapists that are reading this and are intrigued, and do have that desire to up their game, in addition to reading your book—which is wonderful and well-written and also very funny at times—what would you advise them to do in terms of utilizing these principles?
TR: I’d recommend a few things. One is record your work. Video is really the most effective way of doing that. Using video for consultation supervision is now becoming more and more recommended across the field, and I have advice in the book about how to start videotaping your work. I want to emphasize that this is especially true for psychodynamic therapists, who are traditionally the most resistant to reporting their work.
VY: A lot of therapists worry that their clients will be put off by that.
TR: There’s been a bunch of research on this, and they’ve found that clients in general don’t mind. The client wants to get better. That’s really what the client is thinking about. I don’t mandate recording video for all my clients. I always ask them and it’s always optional and 10 or 20 percent say they don’t want to do it. I don’t argue with them about it.
VY: So you think it’s the therapists who are more uncomfortable about it?
TR: The research shows that, absolutely. Mark Hilsenroth, a psychodynamic researcher, and colleagues did a study recently where they gave the clients questionnaires about using video, and most of the clients were like, “fine, no problem.” They just want to feel better. When I go to the doctor, I’m like “do whatever you got to do.” I want to feel better. That’s what I’m thinking about. However, they also gave the questionnaires to therapists, and they found that when the therapist was uncomfortable with video, the clients were more likely to be uncomfortable with video.

I almost got fired from one of my first supervision jobs because other supervisors were uncomfortable with me using video. Therapists can be very uncomfortable with it, which I find to be quite ironic. Because the clients don’t seem to mind much.
VY: How do you introduce it to clients?
TR: I’m very upfront with the client. I say, “ I’m a human being, I make mistakes like everyone else. And if we record the session, and I can look at the videos later, or show them to experts for consultation, I have a much higher chance of spotting my mistakes. And then we can address them and then I can help you more.”
VY: It makes so much sense. And as you say it now, I recall early in my career, maybe in my internship when we audio recorded our sessions, the idea that I might make mistakes, or that I was getting supervision or consultation, filled me with a lot of anxiety. I think that’s more reflective of the state of anxiety that many beginning therapists feel. And as you mature you realize you’re not perfect, that you don’t help everyone, that there’s always more to learn. Certainly a maxim in psychotherapy is that there is no end to what clients can learn about themselves. There’s certainly no end to what therapists can learn about themselves, including how to be a better therapist.
TR: I’ve found through watching years of my own tapes that if I work with a client for two or three sessions, I’ve already made a mistake. Honestly, I probably made a mistake in the first session, which sometimes can take two or three sessions for me to see. So if I’m not seeing my own mistakes by the third session, it means I’m missing something. And I’m okay with that.
I don’t think being an expert means never making mistakes.
I don’t think being an expert means never making mistakes. It means knowing how to spot your mistakes and correct for them in a timely way.
VY: All right. So you’d encourage therapists first to start video recording their sessions. And then what?
TR: To get expert feedback from someone that they trust. It’s got to be someone you feel good about it. A good supervisor is able to get under your skin. You were able to notice something in my voice. And that’s personal, that’s intimate. And it was okay because I trusted you. We had a good relationship. Without a relationship like that, it’s going to be hard to get the necessary feedback. Ideally it’s a long-term relationship. A lot of our trainings are these one-off weekends or series of two or three weekends, where you’re getting a big knowledge dump, but no one is looking at your work. You’re not getting individualized feedback. And then you’re not getting ongoing long-term feedback. But that’s what’s necessary for the skills to improve.
VY: I think that may be changing. Some of the approaches that we’ve just been making videos of—motivational interviewing and emotionally-focused couples therapy— actually have a lot of that integrated into their ongoing training, where you have to submit samples of your work and get feedback on it. But what you’re saying makes a lot of sense.

Research shows that most therapists think they’re well above average, which statistically is impossible. How do we then go about choosing a supervisor, a consultant, who is good?
TR: This is tricky because I don’t know any supervisor who tracks their outcome data or reports it to people who are approaching them for supervision. At this point all we can really go off of is our gut sense, and occasionally we can watch videos of our supervisor’s work. I found you because I met you and had a good feeling about you. And then as we did supervision together I found it was helpful. But ideally we’ll have a more empirically rigorous way of assessing that in the future.
VY: I tell therapy clients to meet with a therapist a few times. If it doesn’t feel helpful, you may want to discuss with them what feels good, what doesn’t feel good, and see if they’re open and receptive to hearing that. If they’re not, or the therapy doesn’t feel helpful, try someone else. It’s too important not to.

So get a coach, supervisor, a consultant. And then what?
TR:

Track Your Outcomes!

Another thing I recommend doing is tracking your own outcomes, and then using some kind of empirical measure to do that. The outcome ratings scale is a great measure to use. It’s free. It’s easy to use. There are dozens of other measures available. There’s the Outcome Questionnaire. There’s the Behavioral Health Measure. There’s measures made for different settings, like universities, or working with children. And accumulate your own outcome data over time. And over years you’ll start to get a picture of how effective your practice is.

One of the reasons I started doing this is I had a supervisor look at my work and she thought I was doing horrible work. In fact, she said, “You want to kill your clients.” I was shocked. I knew I had made mistakes but I didn’t think I was that bad. But I didn’t have any data; it was just one opinion versus another. This is one of the reasons I doubled down on collecting my outcome data. After a year I had enough outcome data to look at my practice and see that overall I was helping the majority of my clients.

I definitely still have dropouts and deteriorations, but it helped my self-assessment be more level. Before then, there were some weeks I felt like Superman. I felt like everyone was getting better. And then some weeks where it seemed like everyone was getting worse. Of course, neither was ever true.
VY: But we certainly have days like that. If you’re in private practice and you have a few dropouts, or a few no-shows, it’s hard not to feel like something is wrong with you. So getting long-term outcome data is kind of a buffer for that.
TR: I found that my outcomes at my private practice in San Francisco were pretty good. The outcomes at the university counseling center in Alaska were not as good.
The outcome data never looks all good. And it never looks all bad.
Maybe that was due to the setting, the clients, maybe it was due to the darkness. Maybe it was because I was on the edge of being depressed because I was in the middle of Alaska. I mean, it could have been any number of things. Back here in Seattle, the outcome data is looking a little better. But importantly the outcome data never looks all good. And it never looks all bad.
VY: So it’s not so bad that you think you should hang up your shingle. And it’s not so good that you think, “I nailed this. I can coast.”
TR: Yes. Correct.
VY: So people start recording their sessions, getting a consultant in a long-term relationship, but the rubber meets the road with deliberate practice. What would you recommend to help people get over the initial hurdle, because I imagine it’s a big hurdle to actually sit down and do some of these solo exercises that you recommend.
TR:

“It’s the thing I look forward to least in my day”

It is a big hurdle. It’s the thing I look forward to the least in my day. It’s the thing I put off the first in my day. I would rather go to the gym, pay my taxes. In the recent election I was making get out the vote phone calls, which is a very stressful thing to do, and I found that I would do that before my deliberate practice. So it is very, very stressful. And unfortunately in our field it’s not recognized. It’s not rewarded. You’re not compensated for it. Your clients don’t know you’re doing it. Your peers don’t know you’re doing it, or don’t care. A licensure that never asks, or doesn’t care if you do it.
VY: Your spouse may prefer that you go wash the dishes, rather than sit and talk to yourself on video.
TR: Exactly. And to add to that burden is the fact that there are not immediate payoffs. They call deliberate practice short-term effort for long-term gain. So here’s what I do: I think of the therapists who are really, really good who I want to be like. And I know from talking with them that they got that good by engaging in hundreds or thousands of hours of watching their own videos. I’m not smarter than them. I’m not more talented than them. If I ever want to be that good, I’m going to have to put in that time.

The same way that if I wanted to be a really good basketball player, or a really good anything else. It might not make me as good as they are, but it will definitely move me in that direction. I have a reminder that pops up on my computer every day that says, “How good do you want to be in five years?” Now, if that day I don’t really care how good I am in five years, I won’t do it. And that might be fine. I might feel like I’m good enough, and that’s totally fine. But as of today, I still want to be that much better in five years.
VY: Well, I admire what you’re doing. And I’m gratified that I was able to impart some wisdom that was useful to you. It’s lovely to have this conversation and to have been able to read your book and have the tables turned and to be able to learn some very valuable things from you, Tony.
TR: Oh, thank you. To be interviewed by you for your website, it’s a great honor.
VY: I would encourage anyone who finds these ideas interesting to go out and grab your book and read it. Although it is chock full of research citations to back up what you’re saying, it’s not just idle theory. It’s also chock full of funny stories, humorous anecdotes, and I guess I’d like to just leave our audience with one of them. Can you tell the story about the job at the university?
TR:

Professional Identity Politics

Sure. My wife was applying for a job at a university in the West that really wanted to hire her. It was a very small town, and it was full of therapists, so I didn’t think I could just start a private practice there. She’s a wildlife biologist and the ecology department at that university that wanted to hire her were trying to arrange what’s called a “spousal hire,” which is something traditionally done in academic circles when they want to hire a person and there’s a spouse. They call it the “two body problem.” So they went to the university counseling center and they said, “We will give you money, we will pay for the salary if you hire Tony for three years. Part-time. Just so we can get his wife. We don’t care about Tony, but we want his wife, and Tony comes with the wife.” In other words they could have had me as a part-time therapist for three years for free.

We’re more like religions than any kind of public healthcare service.
They asked me to submit videos of my work as part of the application process and I thought, “This is great. I’ve been videotaping my work for years now.” So I sent in some videos and went in for the interview and they were horrified by my work. The style of therapy that I do is short-term psychodynamic psychotherapy. It’s a bit more active and engaged and I work actively with the client’s feelings and defenses. They were doing a more traditional long-term, reflective approach of psychodynamic therapy. When we were watching the video they kept asking, “Do you think this is appropriate for the client?” I kept saying to them, “Why don’t we look at the client outcome data. Why don’t we look at how the client responded?”

It’s like we were having two different conversations. They weren’t really concerned with how the client was responding. They were concerned with the model of therapy I was using. It made me realize that we’re more like religion than any kind of public healthcare service.
VY: You wrote in your book that they weren’t interested in your outcome data any more than a church would want to see how many meals a Buddhist monk had provided to the poor!
TR: Exactly. If we don’t collect our outcome data, if we don’t look at our work, we get unmoored from the outcomes, and we get stuck in professional identity politics where have all these debates about obscure theory because we don’t have actual outcome data to look at. They actually liked me as a person. They said, “You’re such a nice guy. It’s a shame it’s not going to work out.” But they didn’t accept me, and so we couldn’t move there, she didn’t take the job.
VY: The interesting thing is you were both in the general rubric of psychodynamic therapy where oftentimes the clashes are most intense.
TR: Yes.
VY: I had a college roommate who was a Leninist and he would go to some Communist convention. Probably less than a very, very small percentage of the population consider themselves Communist. And instead of coming back with a Kumbaya feeling, he would come back and report to me the big clashes between the Stalinists and the Leninists.

And even now with this emphasis on evidence-based treatments, or so-called evidence-based treatments, there’s a clash often between modalities, not taking into account that the data finds that modalities and theories do not explain outcome.
TR: If anyone ever talks to you about evidence-based treatment, ask them whose evidence. If it’s someone else’s evidence, it is not correlated with your personal outcomes as a therapist. There’s been study after study after study showing that though the models are proven very effective in clinical trials, when taught to therapists they don’t improve the outcomes of individual therapists.
Until evidence means our individual evidence, we’re not really doing evidence-based therapy.
Until evidence means our individual evidence, we’re not really doing evidence-based therapy. We’re working from someone else’s evidence.
VY: Well thank you so much for taking the time to share your journey and your expertise with our readers. Even though you humbly claim not to be an expert therapist, you certainly have accumulated a great deal of expertise on how to become an expert or master therapist.
TR: Yeah, I am learning a lot about how to become one. And thank you for having me. It’s been wonderful.

Note: Tony’s latest article, "What Your Therapist Doesn’t Know," has been been published in The Atlantic.

If You Kill Yourself, Don’t Make a Mess: Paradoxical Intention with a Suicidal Client

"Maybe I was happy for like a day or two”

Marcus once told me he has no memory of what it feels like to not suffer. You’re exaggerating, I told him. He insisted he wasn’t. You are, I fought back. Everyone has such a memory, at least one. Marcus concedes little.

“Well, maybe I was happy for like a day or two.”

“That’s it?”

I’m visiting Marcus in a psychiatric stabilization unit. My task this morning is straightforward but not easy: confirm that he won’t harm himself when he leaves this place, and that he’ll take his medication. “You mean, not think about it?” he blubbers, in response to my direct question whether he’ll kill himself once he’s released. “I think about it all the time.” Coughs. “It don’t mean I will. And it don’t mean I won’t. So that’s that.”

Marcus is rotund and bald, with a noticeable stoop when he stands and a limp when he walks, as if he were an octogenarian trudging through the day under the invincible weight of his age. But he’s not yet even forty.

I walk over to the large window and open the blinds. “Is this okay?” I ask.

So thorough is Marcus’s lethargy that it would take supreme effort to imagine him at any point in his life gamboling joyously while soaking in the sunshine. The way he slouches, the way he mumbles and mutters, the way the sagging flesh on his face seems to collect around his neck, the way his drooping eyes make him look like a human bloodhound, the way he wears his bedraggled clothing, draped tent-like over his fatness—all of it, from his unlaced Converse sneakers to the labor of his breathing, speaks to the torments inflicted upon him as a child and the torments he inflicts upon himself ever since because that past is no mere residue of memory but instead exists within the corpuscles playing bumper cars in his veins. Marcus’s past is vastly alive inside him.

“Knock yourself out,” Marcus says. “I like it dark but it’s fine.”

I can see it more clearly now, with the sunlight drenching the room. The discolored bandage on his neck, the one that covers the stitched-up gash. It is puffy and loose. Like a cloud stained by urine. I ask if I can see the wound.

“For what?”

“For fun,” I say, winking.

Marcus tugs gently on the urine-cloud bandage. All the while he is mute, tongue sliding through soft lips, not unlike a narcotized snake. His tai-chi pull reveals the inch-long railroad track a little off-center on his pink, fleshy neck, the entire slow-motion divulgence giving the unveiling the feel that something ceremonial—no, something intimate—is happening.

The Real Nature of Suffering

Intimacy is what good talk therapists hope to achieve through this special encounter—which is why I strongly hold the view that talk therapy is a kind of artistry, for all art stems from an encounter between the artist and the subject, wherein the two become entwined in an intimate collaboration. What I mean by intimacy in this context is that a special kind of healing can occur when facades fade away, when neither person sees the other as potentially useful, which is to say the other is not a means to an end, the other is not expected to perform a function in one’s own advantage-seeking scheme, where the other is not to be used in some way (subtle or otherwise) to get some wanted outcome.

So talk therapy is something entirely different from having a rap session. An hour of heartfelt exchange without a handheld computer vitiating the experience—that right there makes it sadly unique. We might think of lovers sharing an intimate moment, but when there is the subtle (or not-so-subtle) underlying quest to keep the other close because the other serves the useful function of bringing about an inner experience that we have become attached to (meaning, we love the other’s presence because of the ability that the other has in bringing about a certain feeling within us), the intimacy is tainted thereby. Healing intimacy, I mean to suggest, and the face-to-face encounter that gives rise to it, is untainted. And it is this sort of intimacy that creates opportunities for the therapist to connect with the real nature of suffering.

The real nature of suffering—what is that? Well, I’m looking at it as I look at Marcus’s sagging face, with his eyes barely visible and his lips now sucked into his mouth. I hear it in his mumbling, the gravel, scratchy vocalizations that evoke a sense of futility about life. “No matter what Marcus says, the way he says it conveys his attitude that the whole enterprise of living is fruitless and cruel.” To Marcus’s way of thinking, life consists of events that happen to you; events are rarely neutral and they surely are not participatory; events by and large inflict suffering and there isn’t much to be done to exert control over them. All that is to be done is to take cover.

The existentialist philosopher Martin Heidegger and Doors singer Jim Morrison speak of our being “thrown into” the world, which is to say we have had no say (unless you believe in karmic reincarnation) in what our fundamental life circumstances will be. Will we be born in an affluent country or a war-ravaged one? Will our parents be wealthy or will they be drug addicts? Will they be skilled in the art of parenting or will they mutilate the child’s soul through mental torments or physical deprivations? A pile of shit or a basket of rose petals, or something in between—you don’t get to choose which you get thrown into. I’m sure Marcus has never read a word of Heidegger and I doubt he has ever grasped Morrison’s reference to “thrown-ness” when he sings, “into this world we’re thrown.” But Marcus understands thrown-ness in a way that few do. His understanding is purely experiential, and thus utterly non-conceptual. And that is why it is pointless to talk with him right now about choice and responsibility and meaning—all core concepts in my therapeutic repertoire, but useless at this moment.

His is an attitude of hopelessness, a recalcitrant, immutable belief that his emotional pain is permanent. But there is much more to it, as I see it through my own existentialist lens. Depression might be a clinical description of how Marcus experiences his life, but to restrict ourselves to that misses the deeper truth. Being depressed is, for him, a strategy, in the same way that the fox’s “sour grapes” in Aesop’s fable is a strategy, an emotion experienced to deflect something more painful. Depression is his cover. He has learned to use it—learned helplessness, one might say—to announce to the world that he is not responsible for his choices, that he cannot be blamed or held to account for his many self-sabotaging acts. In effect, helplessness and dysphoria serve as protection against the rigors of transcending his life circumstances. Depression protects him from any demands that he relate to his own life as a process of creation and the living of it as a kind of artistic endeavor.

"I'm Surprised You Used a Knife"

“Does it still hurt?” I ask.

Marcus taps on the wound with two fingers, as if to test it. “Nah,” he says. “Not if I don’t turn my head.”

“I’m surprised you used a knife,” I say.

Marcus had told me early on, repeating it often, that he envisioned himself going into the woods and shooting himself in the head. A fantasy perhaps, some aesthetic end to his particular decrepit story, as if a gun-blast obliterating the cranium in a quiet forest is the quintessential response to an ugly and alienated existence. A worthy denouement to a life of unmentionable sorrow that, though silent to the rest of us, now screams inside his head. A knife? No, I’m sure of it—he’s never mentioned that that would be a suitable instrument to effectuate his escape from the tribulations of his life. And bleed himself out on his mother’s kitchen floor like a slaughtered pig? Not the Marcus I had come to know. He had told me a gun-blast to the head in a secluded area of the woods, a spot he had already designated in his death-welcoming mind, would not leave a mess for others, as if his remains would be shoveled and disposed of with no more ceremonial fuss than the discarding of road kill.

He’s a complete mess inside and yet he has this concern for the mess he might leave when his inner mess becomes too intolerable.

Marcus and I have talked of suicide and death from day one. “Day one,” and many days thereafter, was in his a squalid single-room occupancy hotel. Existential therapy in a paint-peeling, cigarette-smelling room with a mattress on the floor, a small knee-high table abutting it—so much easier to roll cigarettes that way—and an always-on large flat-screen television five feet away. “I think about it all the time, every day, it’s how my life is.” Usually in the morning: such thoughts to be considered before he heaves himself off of the mattress to endure more inconsequential suffering. Not one session ends without him mentioning suicide.

I always make it a point to demonstrate that I’m unafraid of the subject. We’ve even laughed together over how naïve so many are to think that our so-called “survival instinct,” our presumed “will to live,” ineluctably trumps our desire for self-destruction. Self-destruction, alongside myriad habits of self-numbing, is so omnipresent in our world that it seems absurd to think that we humans actually do treasure the gift of living.

If we treasure life, really treasure it rather than just give lip-service to it, then why so much squandering of it?

“What does anyone know about living?” Marcus had said to me once. He wasn’t really asking me a question. He was declaring his own wisdom, his own hard-earned wisdom, the only kind of wisdom that’s worth a damn.

His remark reminded me of the scene in the Vietnam movie Platoon where Sgt. Barnes, the dark character competing for the soul of the Charlie Sheen character says to a group of young soldiers who are smoking pot: “Death? What y’all know about death?” Sgt. Barnes, with his scar-chiseled face and pain-knowing eyes, has undoubtedly peered into some abyss and thus has little patience for the young soldiers who seek escape and avert their eyes from the abyss through petty distractions. I don’t recall how I answered Marcus. But I do remember being impressed by the fact that he understood so well the interdependence of life and death, that to understand life one has to understand death. Not that Marcus spoke from a place of understanding death—far from it. He never spoke with any particularity about how contemplating death might bear on the artistry of living.

“I became an altar boy when I was 12,” he continued. “Did that for a few years. Father Lewis didn’t know nothin’ about living. I’ve seen psychs, therapists, energy doctors, fuckin’ you name it, and none of’em knows a goddamned thing about living.”

Not much to argue with there. I told Marcus that hardly anyone knows anything meaningful about how to live. How pathetic we are, I told him, the vast majority of us in the land of plenty, in the art of living. How can we know? After all, we lack a vocabulary for it. In this money-making, status-seeking, distraction-obsessed culture, we’ve lost the capacity to talk about it; we’ve lost the tools to even think about it in any serious way. Marcus lit a cigarette, offered me one, and as I waved him off I realized I had lapsed into preacher mode. I’ve been prone to do that.

I always refrain from talking Marcus out of suicide. He has commented on that fact a few times, usually to express gratitude for not doing what other health-care providers do—tell him that it would be best to forge ahead (best for whom?), that things will get better (how the fuck do you know things will get better?), that killing himself would only leave a legacy of pain (oh, I get it, I should suffer through life out of obligation). I never take that approach, for two reasons.

First, I think it is useful to look upon the urge to kill yourself as arising from a “self” that wants to manage the pain (which includes vanquishing it entirely). That managerial “self” must exist against another “self” that generates and experiences the pain. There is thus a polarity within the suicidal human organism: the managerial “self” who can’t stand the pain polarized against the pain-experiencing “self” who just won’t stay sequestered in some psychic locker tucked away among all the other toys in the attic. To preach at the managerial “self” about the folly of suicide, to guilt-trip the managerial “self” or appeal to that “self’s” sense of obligation, only leads to an intensified desire to commit suicide because it ignores completely the interplay of the polarities within the human organism. The polarity itself needs to be addressed.

Second, I don’t believe in the notion that living is an obligation and I don’t think it is truly therapeutic to signal such a notion to others, including those in despair. It’s an implicit mental model that generates ripples of more pain and suffering. I’m not one to promote to a desperately suffering person the brightly lit news of how wonderfully magical life can be, if only you just hang on. I do the opposite: I go towards the darkness, the pain, even the madness itself; I climb down into the pit of despair and sit with the person and ask questions like What’s holding you back now? What’s held you back in the past? Why haven’t you’ve given up already? Usually that sort of questioning arouses a spirited discussion, led by the client (a crucial fact), about what makes living worthwhile. It can often take a while to get there, but I have found that it almost always happens.

"If I Had a Gun"

I ask him again to tell me about his choice of killing implement, this time with a forward-leaning posture and a hand-slicing gesture, using my body in the way I used to do in my former life as a courtroom lawyer cross-examining witnesses. “I would have used a gun,” Marcus explains. Silence, for two beats, and then he adds, “If I had a gun.” He taps the wound again. “All I had at the moment was a knife. So I. . . .” He falters in his speech, as he often does.

“So you used it,” I say to complete Marcus’s sentence. He nods. “Small wound,” I add. “Scary, but small.” He shrugs. He tells me he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and I tell him sure, no problem.

Do It Day

A week passes and I visit Marcus again, this time to prepare him for discharge. But first I have to make a judgment—can Marcus leave this place?

“Look, Marcus, you keep talking about killing yourself and sometimes you do stuff like—hell, you know, you cut your throat, for Christ’s sake.”

Marcus interrupts me. “Yeah, and I wouldn’t be here right now if I had a gun around. I woulda killed myself a long time ago. I woulda killed myself a lot of times.”

“Yeah,” I say, holding back a laugh. I guess I’m not too successful because Marcus asks me, with a stupefied look, what’s so funny? And I tell him nothing and he insists that he wants to know so I tell him it’s just the shit you say, Marcus, and he asks me what shit? and I tell him you just say funny shit sometimes and the fact that you don’t know that it’s funny just makes it funnier. Marcus shrugs and he smiles wanly. That’s my cue to push forward and quit the banter.

“Anyway,” I say in a low register, “I get that you always think about it. But let’s talk about doing this whole thing right.” Marcus perks up. His lips separate and form an oval. “First off, let’s set a date. No messing around. Let’s write it in your calendar.” Marcus has a paper calendar taped on the wall near his bed. We go back and forth about a suitable day to “do it” and Marcus keeps saying this is ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous and I keep countering no it isn’t, we need to do this right, and then he says stop messing around, Dan, and I tell him I’m very serious right now. It’s early April and we discuss Memorial Day as “Do It Day.” Marcus keeps repeating this is ridiculous, fucking ridiculous, and then—

Paradoxical Intention

Paradoxical intention is what Victor Frankl called it in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning. The fundamental idea is that of going towards, rather than away from, the peril, the darkness, the pain. Resistance and evasion prolong and intensify suffering; healing is predicated on overcoming. Still, ushering a client towards the distress is frightening, which is probably why Frankl’s paradoxical intention is most often restricted to treating garden-variety phobias. I don’t use Frankl’s technique in any formalistic way. I use it more by happenstance because it accords well with my Zen training, which in turn harmonizes with my therapeutic orientation towards existentialism. That probably explains why I am not frightened to use it with Marcus. My time in a Zen monastery was replete with exercises in paradoxical intentionality, largely invoked to lighten the practitioner’s attachment to “self.”

He relents.

“What difference does it make?” he says, clearly exhausted by the rapid banter. “Let’s make it Memorial Day then.”

I ponder that date, staring at the calendar. It’s a free calendar with a Walgreens logo and a photo of two youthful faces, white male and black female, bearing happy smiles, the cliché image of human joy and social progress. “No, not then,” I say.

“Why not?” Marcus asks.

““You should have one more summer before you call it quits. It’d be stupid to waste a summer, get what I’m saying?””

“No, I don’t.” He starts to rise off the bed. “C’mon, let’s get me signed outta here. That’s that, huh?”

“Summer! Dontcha want one more summer?”

Marcus considers my expression. I feel exuberant, like I’m proposing something wild and fun, maybe even sinister. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says gamely.

“That’s the spirit. Live it up and then do it on Labor Day.” I reach over and pull the calendar off of the wall. I find September and I write “The End” in the little box for Labor Day. Marcus is looking at me with electric eyes. “But here’s the deal, Marcus. I’m serious about this, so listen to me.” I pause, wait for the emotional gravity of the moment to hit. “You can’t back out of this. If you are feeling then what you are feeling now and like you’ve felt in the past, then you have to make Labor Day the last day of your life.”

He nods but I can tell he’s puzzled and yet interested in this therapist-led madness. I tell him we are going to designate a place for The End but that we’re not going to do that now because it’s worth thinking hard about since it’ll be a really important event and we need to treat it as such. I insist that he promise me that he will not harm himself in any way before Labor Day.

“Understand, Marcus? You need to promise me that.” I get him to promise. “But there’s one more thing, Marcus.” I say this solemnly.

“What’s that?”

“This is crucial. This is the key to the whole deal.”

“Fucking what?” Marcus is no longer slouching. He stopped slouching several minutes ago but I’m noticing it now.

“You only get to do it—it’s only The End—if you live it up this summer. You have to go to the beach, like, every day. You have to ask women out and not give a rats-ass if they say no. You have to . . . you know . . .”

“Get laid?”

“If that makes you happy. And I want you to go to the library and go on the Internet and make a reservation for a campsite in August.”
“I love camping,” he says.

“I know, Marcus. You’ve told me that before. That’s why I’m telling you now—I’m telling you, you hear?—to reserve a campsite.”

“Willya come out? To the campsite, I mean.”

“Sure,” I say hastily. I grab his knees, squeeze them together. “Listen to me, man. You have to live it up this summer and then you can do it on Labor Day. You must do it on Labor Day.” I let go of his knees and lean back in my chair. “Unless, of course, you aren’t depressed anymore like you are now.” Marcus picks up the calendar from the floor where I dropped it. He studies it. “Deal?” I say.

“Deal,” he says.

We shake on it. Then I leave the room and return with a legal pad. Marcus asks me what I’m writing and I tell him I’m writing an “Odysseus agreement.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a thing you sign. It’s your signed promise not to harm yourself, and if you do feel like you’ll harm yourself, you’re promising here that you won’t, that instead you’ll call nine-one-one or somehow, someway, get yourself to the hospital.”
“What’d you call it?” he asks

“An Odysseus agreement is what it’s called.”

“A what?”

“Hey, Marcus, what does it matter? Let me write this and you sign it. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. So that’s that. But what’s with the name?”

“Marcus, lemme write this,” I protest. “Sooner we do this, sooner we get you signed outta here. That’s what you want, right?”

“Yeah, but what’s this Odys thing? Never heard of that word.”

O—dyss—e—us,” I say, as I put the pad and pen on the floor. I explain to Marcus, because he really wants to know, a bit about the Homeric poem, The Odyssey—about the gore and blood-thirsty violence, about vengeance and honor, and I tell him that back then, in ancient Greece, they valued things differently than we do nowadays. Heroism, courage, unflinching acceptance of death. “Back then, to be respected and to have self-respect, you had to have conquered your fear of death.”

“Sounds like The Gladiator,” Marcus says, referring to the Russell Crowe movie.

“Yeah,” I say, “the Greeks influenced the Romans.”

“So why is this thing you’re writing called what it’s called?”

Odysseus, the hero in Homer’s classic, requested to be tied down to the ship’s mast because he couldn’t trust his ability to withstand the call of the Sirens. I explain the whole scene to Marcus and he gets it.

“Oh. So, signing this piece of paper, that’s like you tying me down to a pole on the ship.”

“Exactly.”

He laughs. Not a chuckle, but a real laugh. “Go on, then. Write it and I’ll sign it. That’s that.”

Postscript

Marcus is still alive. He discovered that “living it up” isn’t as easy as one might think. Working with Marcus reminds me how difficult being easy-going actually is. Giving oneself permission to live life with ease, free from attachments to our dramas, is something that requires patience and practice. Permission-giving has been the therapeutic project preoccupying me and Marcus, once the Labor Day moment passed, with Marcus telling me, “I’m game to keep going.” Physical challenges continue to get him down—structural damage to one knee, a bad back—but he has become more resilient, largely because he takes fewer things personally. The sessions following those described in the essay—sessions where he was encouraged to “live it up” before following through on his determination to “end it all”—led him to a realization that treating life as an obligation only intensifies suffering. Our slogan these days: Nothing matters, but everything is honored.
 

William Richards on Psychedelic-Assisted Psychotherapy and Mystical Experiences

Psychedelic Healing and Research

David Bullard: I’ve enjoyed our several conversations, Bill, heard several of your talks, seen you interact with students and colleagues, and have learned deeply from your recent book, Sacred Knowledge: Psychedelics and Religious Experiences; it filled so many gaps for me in how we see consciousness and psychotherapy. Plus, this has all been augmented with your articles in tribute to Abraham Maslow and on psychedelic psychotherapy published online in September 2016 in the Journal of Humanistic Psychology.

But even more recently, the December 2016 issue of the Journal of Psychopharmacology published the results of your study at Johns Hopkins and of the similar research reported by the NYU team, showing very impressive results in the use of psilocybin for the treatment of people with cancer who were experiencing existential anxiety and depression. These two studies have been described as “the most rigorous controlled trials of psilocybin to date.” The issue also includes penetrating commentaries from ten notable psychiatrists and neurologists. As stated by the issue editor:

“All agree we are now in an exciting new phase of psychedelic psychopharmacology that needs to be encouraged not impeded.”

The re-emerging study of psychedelic research really hit home for many with the beautifully written article in The New Yorker by Michael Pollan, “The Trip Treatment,” giving a historical perspective on the resurgence of research and the therapeutic role of psychedelic medicines. I was astonished at how positive it was for such a mainstream publication. Pollan quoted you in it, concerning whether people get an illusory or “real” experience of mystical consciousness. Citing William James, you suggested “that we judge the mystical experience not by its veracity, which is unknowable, but by its fruits: does it turn someone’s life in a positive direction?”

Can you talk a bit about your research on psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy and the potential entheogens have to accelerate treatment and facilitate transcendental spiritual experiences?
William A. Richards: Well, I’ve been at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine doing research and clinical work for the past 17 years, but I started out in college intending to be a minister. I studied philosophy, psychology and sociology, then completed a first year of graduate studies at Yale Divinity School, followed by a year of studies in both theology and psychiatry at the University of Göttingen. There I naively volunteered to be a research subject and received a drug I had never heard about called psilocybin for the very first time, having heard that it might provide some insights into early childhood. That triggered an awesome and amazing transcendental experience that I wrote about in my recent book.

I then returned to the States, completed the degree at Yale, studied the psychology of religion with Walter Houston Clark at the Andover-Newton Theological School, and then became a research assistant to Abraham Maslow at Brandeis. After that, I accepted a job at the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center doing psychotherapy research with a variety of psychedelics including LSD, DPT, MDA and psilocybin. To further that work I continued my graduate studies at Catholic University to obtain my doctorate and become licensed as a clinical psychologist.

In 2006 our team at Johns Hopkins published our first psilocybin study, utilizing normal volunteers who had no prior experience with psychedelic substances, and the results were impressive.
We found that 58% of the 36 volunteers rated the experience of the psilocybin session as among the five most personally meaningful experiences of their lives.
We found that 58% of the 36 volunteers rated the experience of the psilocybin session as among the five most personally meaningful experiences of their lives, and 67% rated it among the five most spiritually significant experiences of their lives, with 11% and 17%, respectively indicating that it was the single most meaningful experience, and the single most spiritually significant experience. A follow-up study, published in 2008, indicated that attitudinal and behavioral changes were sustained.


Most recently, our study with cancer patients showed psilocybin produced large and significant decreases in clinician-rated and self-rated measures of depression, anxiety or mood disturbance, and increases in measures of quality of life, life meaning, death acceptance, and optimism. These effects were sustained at 6 months. The study at NYU showed similarly robust results.

So what comes to mind is a growing awareness that this field may really become mainstream. In mid-October I was at a conference in Victoria, British Columbia, with 150 really bright, young mental health professionals and boy they are serious about what needs to be done practically to change the laws in Canada so therapists who are properly trained can use psilocybin and other entheogens in their practices. They’re not thinking 50 years from now, they’re thinking five years or sooner. And why not?

And then in early December in San Francisco, you observed the ceremony for 41 therapists and medical personnel who completed an exciting new eight-month training program, the “Certificate in Psychedelic-Assisted Therapies and Research,” directed by Janis Phelps at the California Institute for Integral Studies (CIIS), where I consult and teach as well.

The program is groundbreaking and so important, since multicenter, phase 3 clinical trials are about to be funded for the use of psychotherapy using psilocybin for end-of-life issues and with MDMA for PTSD. Research also continues with psychedelic substances for treatment-resistant depression, alcohol, cocaine, narcotic and nicotine addictions and social anxiety. The CIIS certificate program will provide wonderfully aware and trained personnel to participate as the guides in this important research, both in the US and in other countries.
DB: I greatly enjoyed witnessing the passion and dedication of the students and faculty at the graduation; it was a beautiful ceremony.
WA: One participant in the program, Dr. Robert Grant, is a physician and a full professor at UCSF who has pursued research with AIDS/HIV and, among other things, is very interested in AIDS survivor syndrome—people who aren’t dying from AIDS now but are often chronically depressed and living with the threat of death over their heads all the time if they don’t take their medication.

There are some very well established clinicians who decided to become students in that program in order to obtain this certificate in case it helps open doors to initiate or contribute to research down the road.
DB: You’ve used a wonderful metaphor of music to describe this profusion of recent events.
WA: Ah, yes! Well, when recently asked how I felt about psychedelic research and clinical work from my historical perspective, I replied, “Most of the time I have music going through my head—and right at the moment it’s the Prelude and ‘Liebestod’ or ‘love death’ from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde.”

It’s very expressive, romantic, soaring music. And then, as the end of the Prelude approaches, it dies down and gets quieter and quieter. And then there's dead silence. I think there are just a couple plucks of strings, and more silence. And then the theme comes back, very softly at first, and it builds, and it builds, and it builds. And it gets bigger than it ever was in the beginning. It returns even more magnificently than before.

My response was to a question about the way the research has developed: when it started to expand in the 1960s, it was a theme with incredible promise for helping to relieve suffering, and then it became very quiet because of the 1970 legal prohibition and all, and now the research is coming back quite strongly. That music is a metaphor for where the research and the field have been and, following a dormant period of 22 years, where they are right now.
DB: And you’ve even created a playlist for psychedelic studies. It looks like a wonderful compilation to listen to, even without psilocybin!
WA: My son Brian and I had a delightful time putting it together. It is based on many years of experience with an impressive variety of people.
DB: Going back to the just-published psilocybin research: The results are extraordinary for any therapeutic intervention, let alone one that consists of just a few meetings pre and post, and one active psychedelic session with very vulnerable people.

The journal issue includes some excellent supportive commentary on your research that I found very helpful, such as one by Stanford psychiatrist David Spiegel, “Psilocybin-assisted psychotherapy for dying cancer patients—aiding the final trip."
WA: We were very gratified by his and the other commentators’ contributions. It is certainly another milestone in demonstrating the gifts that these experiences facilitated by the skilled use of psychedelics can bring. Everyone involved in this work is dedicated and appreciates how profoundly meaningful these experiences can be for many people.
DB: Do you know how many centers they’re going to need for phase 3 clinical trials to build upon your psilocybin research? Definitions of phase 3 that I’ve seen range from 300 to 3,000 subjects.
WA: We don’t have those numbers yet. We expect to discuss this with colleagues at the FDA soon. But there are countless other research projects that can be done as more and more universities start coming on board. Hopkins may be the beginning, the Mecca, but things are happening far beyond Hopkins.
DB: Including at UC San Francisco; I know that Brian Anderson, MD, had a proposal recently funded to utilize psychedelics in a group therapy format for HIV/AIDS patients.
WA: We keep doing the best-designed research studies we can come up with and it’s spreading. All of a sudden it’s socially respectable to do psychedelic research again, when not long ago many people wouldn’t dare touch it for fear of ruining their careers. Now it’s becoming mainstream and being applied to different populations of patients including “well” people, for that matter. Bob Jesse, who helped to facilitate the initiation of psilocybin research at Johns Hopkins 17 years ago, talks about the use of entheogens in promoting “the betterment of well people.” It looks like these drugs really are fundamentally safe for most people when they’re used responsibly with good preparation and when skilled guidance is provided to facilitate the initial integration of the insights that occur during the period of drug action.

And since it can accelerate and deepen psychotherapy for many people, why should this not be a tool available to the profession? It’s a bit like asking, “Should we allow astronomers to use telescopes or microbiologists to use microscopes?” Well, for the mental health world and perhaps the religious world too, here’s an incredibly effective, powerful tool. And sure, we have to use it skillfully and wisely but why shouldn’t it be legally accessible?

Awe and Transcendence

DB: You go beyond the psychotherapeutic goal of symptom reduction and restoring someone to a culturally defined “normal” state of mental health. This therapy can increase the capacity for awe and a deeper sense of interpersonal connection, transcendence and feeling at home in the world.
WA:
Normal for some might be drinking beer and watching television. As human beings, it’s not necessarily all that wonderful to only aspire to that.
I suppose that was inevitable after studying with Maslow. He took me on as his research assistant when a dean at Brandeis got cold feet about accepting me as a graduate student with research interests in psychedelics. It was a great opportunity to learn from him. I remember him saying that the early stages of self-acceptance involve coming to terms with grief, guilt and anger, and relationships with parents and siblings and so on. And that’s important, of course.

But that’s kind of the kindergarten. And then you move to coming to terms with your capacity to love, your creativity, your tolerance of different ideas and perspectives on the world—the whole process of self-actualization rather than adjusting to whatever “normal” is. Normal for some might be drinking beer and watching television. As human beings, it’s not necessarily all that wonderful to only aspire to that.
DB: Maslow was even talking about transcending “self actualization.” These are pretty immense subjects to tackle in this brief interview, but you’ve written about Unitive Consciousness and about space and time in the book.
WA: I wrote about transcending time and space as part of the experience of mystical consciousness. It is always a tall order to capture the Divine in language. Immanuel Kant pondered the mysteries of time and space long and hard back in the eighteenth century. Many others, including Huston Smith, have written eloquently about this.

When in some sort of altered state that we describe as mystical or transcendental, what is perplexing is that people often claim not only that they were distracted or unaware of the passing of time, but that the state of consciousness they were experiencing was intuitively felt to be “outside of time.”

Many of our research subjects have reported such experiences, and I’ve explored it in the book over several chapters. These are all extremely exciting and vital topics to pursue.

Skeptics

DB: You’ve probably had plenty of experience in discussing these issues with skeptics and probably studied the ancient skeptics who classically have been attacked on their major thesis that knowledge is not possible—a rather self-refuting assertion!—but when anyone discusses or writes about mystical experiences, they might be seen as being on pretty thin ice by the more empirical rationalists among us. How do you answer these critiques?
WA: Well, I write extensively about this in the book, but in this discussion I can say that these experiences entail more than emotion—however exalted and elevated the feelings may be. Mystical experiences explored in both the literature of each world religion and in modern psychedelic research, are also claimed to include knowledge.

William James, the Harvard psychologist who published The Varieties of Religious Experience, described it as “beholding truth.” In contrast, Freud had trouble comprehending this aspect of mental functioning and called it “the oceanic feeling,” a term for mystical consciousness that had been coined by a French novelist, poet, and mystic, Romain Rolland.

Freud himself devalued the import of the experience and interpreted it as a memory of union with the mother’s breast before the individual self or ego developed. Yet even he acknowledged “there may be something else behind this, but for the present it is wrapped in obscurity.”

In spite of the apparent efficacy of some visionary and mystical experiences in psychotherapy, I also want to stress that there is also the potential efficacy of psychedelic substances in accelerating psychotherapy within the realm of the ego, often with dosage too low to provide access to mystical forms of consciousness. These experiences are important in their own right, though they may not be described as transcendental, religious or spiritual. In the 1960s a number of European therapists were using psychedelics to accelerate more conventional psychoanalytically-oriented therapy, often administering psychedelics on several occasions during each week of treatment.

Maslow was very interested in my psilocybin experience in Germany as a research subject, but he had a cardiac problem that kept him from pursuing this personally. As noted earlier, I wrote about my time with him in that recent issue of the Journal of Humanistic Psychology. It was a kind of tribute to him and a joy to write and recollect. I’m so grateful for the mentors and other people I’ve been able to know and work with: Huston Smith, Walter Houston Clark, Hanscarl Leuner, Charles Savage, Walter Pahnke, Stanislav Grof, and many others with whom I currently get to interact. Sadly, I just received word that Huston “fully woke up” this morning. I will miss him and find myself grieving—a rich combination of gratitude and sorrow. He was the last of my living mentors. Now we (and an increasingly robust community of other pioneers) are standing on the top of the mountain.
DB: I count 74 colleagues, friends and others who’ve inspired you in the “Acknowledgments” section of your book. So you have found a very meaningful life exploring these understandings with others.
WA: That’s why I can’t retire; it’s too much fun; it’s too meaningful; it’s joyful. And when I look back on my life, I think there were many times when I was wandering academically through sociology and psychology and music and philosophy and comparative religions. People probably looked at me and thought I was just one lost kid. Like, would I ever make a decision of what to commit to?
DB: Yeah, “why don’t you settle down?”
WA: When I look back on it, it was ideal training for becoming a psychedelic therapist or researcher, but I didn’t even know the word “psychedelic” back then. Music really wasn’t a detour at all; it was central to what I was doing. The study of comparative religions was central to it as was the study of depth psychology and it’s like I knew what I was doing unconsciously.

Psilocybin and Cancer

DB: Back to your point about the old worry that having clinical and research interests in psychedelic medicines could threaten one’s career: Ninety researchers and clinicians from UCSF, UC Berkeley, Stanford, and the California Institute for Integral Studies showed up to hear your talk about psychedelics a few months ago and also for another earlier discussion with Françoise Bourzat, a therapist who’s been doing this work for about 30 years. She takes people to Mexico outside of Oaxaca where she works with a Mazatec elder. She creates therapeutic support and integration for the people, and together with her Mazatec teacher, guides them through the ancient ritual of sacred mushrooms.

But for greater acceptance and legality, there will have to be empirical studies following up yours further validating their safety and efficacy.
WA: Yes. The results of our recent research show some profound effects from the use of psilocybin for a selected group of cancer patients who were experiencing existential anxiety. After several therapy sessions for them to become comfortable with the co-therapy team, they had one session with psilocybin in adequate dosage, followed up by some appointments devoted to the integration of whatever new perspectives they had acquired.
DB: Can you brief us on the research design of your group?
WA: Both Hopkins and NYU utilized double-blind, placebo-controlled crossover designs. At Hopkins the control substance was a very low, placebo-like, dose of psilocybin; at NYU nicotinic acid was administered.
DB: So, were there any particular new perspectives that were commonly attained and helpful across subjects?
WA: Though every person’s experience is unique, many reported new understandings of a religious or philosophical nature as well as helpful insights into their own lives and interpersonal relationships.
Those who encountered mystical forms of consciousness frequently claimed not only reductions in depression and anxiety, but also loss of the fear of death, coupled with increased openness and curiosity about life.
Those who encountered mystical forms of consciousness frequently claimed not only reductions in depression and anxiety, but also loss of the fear of death, coupled with increased openness and curiosity about life.

And there’s work going on in Europe to move towards the legal use of psychedelics, especially in palliative and hospice care. Very bright researchers were recently collaborating at the European Medicines Agency—it’s their equivalent of our FDA—working together to determine which data are needed in order to make a drug like psilocybin accessible. And what training do you need to enable therapists to use it safely and responsibly. They’re involved in very practical considerations. So, things are moving out there.
DB: Definitely. I met recently with a visiting Zen teacher, Vanya Palmers, who helped with a recent University of Zürich double-blind study where, on the 4th day of a 6-day retreat, participants who were long-term meditators got either psilocybin or placebo. Each subject had fMRI imaging before and after and completed follow-up questionnaires. Results haven’t been published yet but are bound to be fascinating.
WA: Here in the States, of course, Dr. Rick Doblin’s group MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies) has since the mid 1980s been funding research and education in this area with the hope that some of these medicines, like MDMA, might be approved so that medical professionals could prescribe them as early as 2021.

Enhancing Psychotherapy

DB: Given the apparent effectiveness of a single or just a few of these entheogen sessions in a psychotherapeutic context, how do you see psychotherapy changing to utilize them?
WA: Basically I would say—with no apology—that psychotherapy is an art as well as a science and the being of the therapist is very important as well as the collection of techniques and procedures he or she has memorized and internalized. You can’t do psychotherapy to someone; it’s a process that unfolds in the context of a trust-filled, courageous, committed human relationship; that is, if you want to really accomplish something significant in terms of personality growth or development.

For the clinical use of these medicines, ideally we would have eight hours of preparation. That may be a little more than some people need and a little less than others. But, if in those eight hours you can’t establish an intuitive sense of interpersonal grounding and trust, then I wouldn’t give someone a psychedelic. There’s an intuitive judgement that there’s enough trust here and I’m committed enough to be with this person for the period of drug action whether I’m needed or not. But I can be in a mental space that is completely dedicated, completely accessible, and completely available to that person, especially during the onset for the intense period of drug action.

If the person’s anxious I’m here to provide support; if they just need freedom and privacy and respect I can provide that instead. I’ll make sure they don’t injure themselves physically if they’re off balance and they have to go to the bathroom or something—very practical things. I’ll provide the best supportive music and periods of silence now and then that may be indicated and just let it unfold. It requires evoking and providing the conditions in which the person’s own mind can manifest and heal itself.

And even if there are periods of anxiety or fear to navigate through, we welcome those as well. “In and through, in and through” is the mantra. If an inner dragon, boogeyman, or monster should reveal itself then we go right straight towards it as rapidly as possible and say, “Well, hello. Aren’t you big and scary! What can I learn from you?”

And so instead of running away and getting into panic and paranoia and confusion and even perhaps needing to go to a psychiatric emergency room, you look it straight in the eye and say, “Boy, you’re an ugly part of me but what are you made of?” And when you go towards it, inevitably there’s insight. As you know from psychotherapy in general, the monster turns into the alcoholic father in the middle of the night, or turns into the person who sexually abused you, or turns into some personification of your own guilt or unresolved grief or fears, or deep, dark sources of shame or whatever it is.

But when you go towards it there’s always healing, and insight, and resolution. And what you wanted to run from one moment you can laugh at minutes later. Like, “How could I ever have been afraid of that??!! That was only my drunk father in the middle of the night when I was a little boy,” or whatever it is.

What Devils Hate the Most is Being Embraced

DB: Well, it’s reassuring to know that voyagers like yourself who have been there with people going through it so many times can, with complete confidence and clarity, make that statement that you can face these demons.
WA: In some psychoanalytic circles there’s this tradition of being afraid of revealing too much too soon. Such that you have to precede very, very slowly and gingerly, four days a week, sometimes for seven years!

But I’m convinced these medicines can be used safely and effectively—having had these clinical research opportunities for decades now, working with several hundred different people—and hardly any of them have been so-called “hippies.” They’re just normal people: cancer patients, or alcoholics, or narcotic addicts, or depressed people, or anxious people, or they have personality disorders. Some have been mental health or religious professionals in an educational context. Generally, they’re people who never would have been interested in psychedelics if the opportunity to receive one hadn’t been offered as part of medical treatment, education or research. Some were eighty-year-olds from the inner city dying of cancer; not the hippie type—not the stereotype of the psychedelic user at all. And I have to say just about all these people have benefited.

I’ve come to believe that if there’s anything they’re not ready to deal with yet it won’t even come up, not even in a psychedelic session.

And if it comes into consciousness, to me that says they’re ready to deal with it—that this is an invitation and if it comes to you, greet it. It may be the uninvited guest but it’s the guest. And you meet it. I always say what devils hate most is being embraced. They’re like kids in Halloween masks—but then the game is up, and you realize the false front of the terror.

When you go towards the fear there’s growth and insight and resolution. But you need to be grounded in a good relationship with a therapist or someone you really trust, or in the depths of your mind perhaps if you’re spiritually developed enough. There’s this courage, there’s this intention to greet, to welcome, to embrace whatever comes into consciousness. And with that there’s a willingness to suffer.

It doesn’t have to be a “good trip,” you know, especially if “good” just means getting high and laughing and feeling that everything’s cool.
It doesn’t have to be a “good trip,” you know, especially if “good” just means getting high and laughing and feeling that everything’s cool. Personal growth is sometimes hard work, and spiritual development takes you through the dark night of the soul sometimes. But with that intention to welcome whatever comes into your field of consciousness and accept it, and wrestle with it, and go through it, people invariably emerge with a feeling of inner strength and confidence, and significantly decreased anxiety at the end of the day.
DB: One mentor of mine, the psychoanalyst and Control Mastery Theory co-developer Hal Sampson, would often say that you can reassure people who have articulated something like, “I’m so ashamed about x, y z, that I’ve never told anyone before,” that their being able to say it out loud to you absolutely means that it’s not as powerful as it was before they could even utter it.

But, you’re taking it a step beyond that by your reassurance that anything that comes up even in a psychedelic session—from your experience—is something that means it’s ready to be dealt with. That’s very useful.

I’m remembering a time with my son when he was 7 years old, and in response to his worrying, I said, “well, whatever goes on in your brain is never going to hurt anybody else and whatever you see or imagine…” He said, “What?? Say it again!” I said it again and he suddenly physically relaxed and went, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.”

It’s similar to when I hear you affirming that whatever can come up can be dealt with. And it helped me understand too how we’re used to thinking of traumatic memories coming up and then people being engulfed in them, what some colleagues call a “trauma suck,” but with psychedelics it’s a kaleidoscope, things are going to be shifting and changing.
WA: You triggered a wonderful memory with one of my own sons. On Halloween we were at an amusement park and in one of these rides where you get in a boat and you slowly move through this dimly lit river with dry ice where everything is setup to look spooky. And, as we were going around a curve, there was this girl in a witch’s costume, her back against the wall, just waiting for the moment to jump out and try to frighten us. And Brian must have been six years old and he just jumped up and scared the witch a split second before the witch did her thing. And the poor girl almost fell in the water. But that’s the principle, you know: “If you can scare the witch you’ve got it made!”
DB: There are some therapists and researchers who espouse “exposure and response prevention” and “prolonged exposure” in the treatment of trauma and anxiety. A friend of mine is involved in researching this for the Departments of Defense and Veterans Affairs. But a couple of people I knew just couldn’t tolerate the protocol that they had and so they dropped out, but I have a new appreciation for it in a way by what you’re talking about—of going into it.

The key must be to make sure they have all the tools to make it safe enough—and I think that’s it—an experienced guide who knows it’s safe to go into these psychedelic shifts within consciousness.
WA: I agree. If the relationship is solid and the dosage is adequate so you can tap into what we call transpersonal realms of the mind, beyond the everyday self and at the border between the everyday self and transcendence. One thing we keep discovering, and it’s awesomely beautiful really, is that within the psyche there is wisdom about the way traumas or conflicts are presented to the ego for resolution.
Within the psyche there is wisdom about the way traumas or conflicts are presented to the ego for resolution.
It’s not that it’s just sitting there. But the very way it comes up and presents itself—when you interact with it—the way the mind depicts the process of resolution, it’s like a great novelist writing a very moving and effective story.

And we find these very creative resources within the human body but beyond the ego if you will, perhaps deep within our DNA somewhere. And if you go into the mind with courage, trust, openness, and interpersonal grounding, the experiences that emerge tend to be infinitely more effectively and more artistically designed than anything you could have planned in advance. If you think, “Oh, what this patient needs is to regress to age seven and address her relationship with her father,” you are being unnecessarily controlling and underestimating the resources within your patient. If you just go in with openness and trust, what emerges and what the person writes down after the drug wears off is awesomely effective for many and I suspect most people.

You don’t have to have a doctorate in English Literature, you know; it happens to very ordinary people. And the richness of the imagery and the storylines are very impressive.
DB: And I hear also what you’re saying about the importance of trust by both the person undergoing the experience and the facilitator or therapist, the trust that that’s there.
WA: We’re potentially saying,
“You may feel like you’re dying in this moment and go ahead, let yourself die; you’re going to be okay.”
“You may feel like you’re dying in this moment and go ahead, let yourself die; you’re going to be okay.” Or, “you may feel like you’re going crazy; that’s okay, go ahead, go crazy, we’re going to take good care of you; you’ll be okay.” That certainly takes a lot of trust because when you get into those deep states of consciousness they feel incredibly real, incredibly powerful.

Transpersonal Psychology

DB: But in everyday life we seldom if ever hear those very powerful, positive, loving, supportive messages that whatever occurs in our own psyche, we’ll be OK.
WA: Right. We’ve got to talk more about these transcendental or mystical states of consciousness. When they occur they seem to be the most powerful factor in attitudinal and behavioral change. They literally change the self-concept. They change who you think you are, who you feel other people are, what you feel the nature of reality is, what the nature of the world is, and your sense of values may shift. That’s powerful stuff, you know? And we’re not used to talking about that; we leave that for the theologians. There’s still this whole reticence in psychology to even acknowledge what we call “transpersonal psychology.” I like to think of “trans” as meaning both “above and beyond” but also “between.” There’s a vertical and horizontal dimension of transpersonal psychology, but they’re both there and they’re both incredibly powerful and important.
DB: That’s something you articulate in the book so well—the sense of oneness, wonder and connectedness. I’ve seen something similar in couples therapy—when they think they’re angry at the other person it’s kind of an illusion because they’ve helped to create the other person who’s there, who is reacting to them as they are reacting to the other. When they see what a system they are in the accusations and guilt can greatly diminish. Many Buddhist concepts come to mind in what you’re talking about also.

Jinpa Thupten, a scholar and the long-time English translator for His Holiness the Dalai Lama, wrote his first book for the general public last year. And when he thought about the numerous Tibetan Buddhist teachings that he had learned, he decided to write about compassion as his main topic. And to me that’s a major part of the whole experience of growing spiritually—developing self- and other- compassion—whether it’s therapy or through transcendental states or other psychedelic experiences or some combination. All of these things merge into self-compassion and compassion for others—and then awe and joy of just being alive.
WA: Yes, and after the great mystical experience, however you want to try to put that into words, you come back to earth and the memory needs to be integrated. You chop wood and carry water. And you try to see the divine in your boss, in your spouse, in your kids, and in the people you disagree with. It’s a lifelong process.
DB: We’ve touched on this a little bit before but I think this thing called “psychotherapy,” at moments joining and looking into all these other human lives, is a counterpoint to meditation that involves looking into your own consciousness and beyond. And I know we’re both grateful we’ve been able to do that. You and I are both celebrating our 40th year of private practice—another synchronicity I enjoyed finding out about, as well as your sense of humor.
WA: I sometimes think of how the Jews, Christians, and Muslims who tend to be excessively serious and somber could benefit from the Hindu appreciation for lila, known as divine playfulness.
DB: Anything you’d like to say more about lila? We could use some of that appreciation for life after this terribly difficult election season.
WA: I’m having trouble myself imagining it. I picture this great beast coming out of the ocean and ask how do we confront it and care for it, and love it, and tame it, and appreciate the energy in it, you know, and not just run in terror.
DB: So, you’re saying that, similar to seeing something terrifying during a psilocybin session, when you would encourage the person to, that great term, embrace the demon who hates to be hugged, we have to find a way to deal with our political realities.
WA:
How do you respectfully stay centered and go towards what we label as bad, evil, or unpredictable, or scary?
How do you respectfully stay centered and go towards what we label as bad, evil, or unpredictable, or scary? It’s a real challenge and an art, I think, and maybe what religions are all about.
DB: And your background in comparative religions and the psychology of religion really informs your writing about the psychotherapeutic experience; it really is the culmination of your whole life’s work.
WA: It is, yeah. The book kind of wrote itself really. Hardly any rewriting, it just kind of flowed out during one year and there it was. Also, I’m more aware that I have a different verbal vocabulary than my written vocabulary. Sometimes I write words that I never say and speak words I never write. It’s just interesting, you know; like another part of the brain is in charge.
DB: So now I’m wondering about your sense of the experience of successfully working with trauma through psychedelic-assisted therapy compared to how we understand either prolonged exposure and response prevention or EMDR and somatic approaches. Any thoughts you’ve got about what happens to a person with trauma when they are in the entheogenic state?
WA: I suspect whenever therapy works there’s stuff in common among these different approaches. It may be labeled differently and be conceptualized differently, but there’s something very important about the courage to confront in a grounded relationship without running away and without panicking and just seeing it for what it is.

And perhaps coupling the intention to trust and confront with some breathing exercises or eye movements or whatever may be helpful. But it would seem to me the main theme is this confidence that in this relationship we call therapy there’s nothing we can’t deal with. You’re not helpless and this can be meaningfully resolved, not just vanquished. And in the big picture the flow of experiences might even enrich your life in some way.
DB: I see the distinction you just made between vanquished versus meaningfully resolved. It’s close to the difference between symptom removal and this transpersonal and even mystical experience that you believe can be or should be a part of psychotherapy for some persons.
WA: That’s right. I mean, you can hide under the bed and you won’t see the tornado coming, but I’m not sure that that’s curative. And it goes deep philosophically. Suffering and tragedy has its place; it’s an integral part of living. The image of the dancing Shiva that’s both destroying and creating comes to mind.
Transformation is not just getting rid of pain but finding meaning in pain.
Transformation is not just getting rid of pain but finding meaning in pain. That’s heavy stuff but it’s profound and it’s intrinsic to being human the way I see it.
DB: Maybe the short version from the Buddha is: out of suffering comes wisdom and out of wisdom comes compassion for yourself and for others.
WA: That’s right.

Beyond Death Anxiety

DB: Another aspect of all of what we are discussing is the neurobiological studies of the brain with fMRI’s and other sophisticated scanning instruments. A 2014 study in London found that a dose of MDMA occasioned a drop in activity in the limbic system resulting in less fear. Other such exciting work found a quieting of the regions of the brain involved with the sense of self, especially the so-called “default mode network.” It is easy to be very curious about where all that is going. You’ve noted that correlation is not necessarily causation, and that the nature of consciousness still remains a tantalizing enigma.

Is there anything more right now that you think is helpful for the person who clearly has benefited from the depth of their insights, who feels that they have seen a more real reality and then have come back here? Anything you want to say about those experiences?
WA: Just how incredible are the therapeutic and spiritual outcomes for the diverse people who were terminally ill that I’ve given psychedelics to in our research. I recall people who considered themselves agnostics, or atheists, or Jewish or Christian, or those who never went to church or synagogue, or those who were piously there all the time. With all of them when they have this mystical type of experience there’s a change. Instead of fearing death they report something akin to curiosity about it. As in, “this is a new experience I’m going to have that everyone who’s ever been born has eventually had.”

The perceiver and the perceived somehow interact on a subatomic level and everything is perceived as energy and there’s this ultimate insight that we’re all ultimately the same.
Maybe it’ll be, as this one patient of mine expected, “just like a light bulb going out,” you know, or maybe I’ll encounter my ancestors and maybe I’ll visit hell, or purgatory, or heaven or all three. But there’s this kind of almost innocent openness replacing the anxiety. Essentially they say, “something’s going to happen and I wish I could come back and report, but it doesn’t work that way.” And beyond that is this intuitive conviction for those who encounter mystical types of consciousness that it’s not an issue of personal immortality—whether my little ego is going to continue to survive or not. Instead, an intuitive conviction is often expressed that there’s something incredibly magnificent and eternal and trustworthy that’s not going to go away.
DB: It’s so beyond the personal ego.
WA: Yes.
DB: “I don’t have to worry about my little self, there’s this fantastic, beautiful thing out all around us, in us, outside of us.”
WA: “…that is in control. I don’t have to be in control.”
DB: I recently was thinking that when I die, my own personal experiences of joy, awe, excitement will be gone but these human feelings will still be being experienced by others: by my children, and then by their children.” Excitement itself will still continue. It was very comforting.
WA: Yes, especially in Judaism, what we call social immortality is often emphasized: that whatever your contributions are, whatever you stand for in life, it flows on and continues in your children and your children’s children. It’s a beautiful thought, but it doesn’t rule out the energy of consciousness itself being indestructible.
DB: In the book you distinguish between internal and external unity—could you clarify it here?
WA: In the literature and the psychology of religion and in the study of mysticism scholars talk about two different ways to approach unitive consciousness. One, called “internal unity” entails going deeper and deeper through various dimensions of being until finally the ego vanishes, dies or dissolves, like the drop of rainwater in Hinduism that merges with the ocean of Brahman, and all of a sudden there’s awareness of this great oneness.

And then the other approach, called “external unity,” occurs in interaction with the world, often visually through the natural world, a kind of resonating with visual perception to this point where the best way I’ve been able to describe it is—which I think Alfred North Whitehead was trying to state—the perceiver and the perceived somehow interact on a subatomic level and everything is perceived as energy and there’s this ultimate insight that we’re all ultimately the same. There is a great oneness. It boils down to one approach occurring with closed eyes, if you will, and one occurring with open eyes.

But that the same person in the same culture can experience both approaches to unitive consciousness is what the new discovery is. And so this isn’t culturally bound or indicative of different nervous systems, but it appears to be different ways of approaching the same unitive experience. Whether or not it’s the same unity can be debated forever. How many different unities can there be? But, you know, intuitively it feels like it’s ultimate.

Is it the same galaxy or a different galaxy? It’s mighty big and impressive whatever it is.
DB: My own experience with LSD, a few months before hearing a talk by Timothy Leary in the late 1960s, and just before it was made illegal by Federal law, was a strong glimpse into the awareness that I was not just these identifications I carried around with me then: “21 years old,” “college senior,” “English major,” “Middle class,” “Ann Arborite,” “son,” “brother,” or even “male.” These labels all fell off like articles of clothing and what was left of me was pure energy or light—part of a bigger quantity of the Something. Trying to articulate that the next day in an English Literature seminar was not too successful and didn't generate much further class discussion at the time, as I recall!

The descriptions about your own psychedelic experiences and those of the research subjects you’ve heard from are helpful and clarifying in the book. They added a lot for me as a reader.
I also enjoyed the quote in your book from Thomas Roberts about the 500-year blizzard of words triggered by the invention of the printing press. You have written very “illuminatingly” about our limitations in describing and articulating deeper realities using words and concepts. My favorite bumper sticker is “Don't believe everything you think!”

But, back to using your words, can you comment on the impact of faith and religion in these psychedelic studies?
WA: In our first study at Hopkins, published in 2006, the double-blind study with Ritalin and psilocybin demonstrated that psilocybin really does do something; it’s not all suggestion and wishful thinking. For that study we selected people who were religiously inclined, i.e. they went to church or synagogue, or they belonged to a meditation group, sang in a church choir or something. But people who read that study sometimes think it’s only because they were religiously inclined that they had their spiritual experiences. Clearly we know from other studies that people who consider themselves total agnostics also have profound mystical experiences. Perhaps some may even find it easier to allow the occurrence of mystical experiences than those who have studied and practiced specific forms of religion or spirituality.

When there’s a radical openness and they’re not trying to prove anything, mystical and non-ordinary states of consciousness that are claimed to be beneficial seem more likely to occur. People who might have trouble during a psilocybin session would be either the self-defined atheist who wants to prove that there’s no ultimate meaning—
DB: —or the rigid fundamentalist?
WA: If he or she thought that there’s no way except finding Jesus through the Fourteenth Baptist church, he or she might have trouble. But anyone who’s open and willing to explore consciousness and collect new experiences is likely to encounter these really magnificent states.

Is It Safe?

DB: I wonder if you could again address here what is so well delineated in the book, about the issue of safety?
WA: Gladly. Both my book and the article that Matt Johnson, Roland Griffiths and I published really systematically address it comprehensively. Given the pure drug and the right dose with adequate preparation, the major psychedelics are fundamentally safe for most people. Physiologically they’re safe; psychologically you have to know something about how to navigate well in the internal worlds to benefit. And I make the parallel in my book with learning to ski. It helps to have a few lessons before you do it. And it’s pretty stupid to just throw the drug in your mouth and see what happens, or strap on skis for the first time and jump off the ski lift at a black diamond run.

But given preparation they really are safe for most people. They’re nontoxic and non addictive. They’re not for everyone. For example, persons with psychotic histories, genetic tendencies towards severe mental illness, brain tumors, acute cardiac or renal conditions or dependence on certain medications would incur greater risk and would be screened out of most current research projects with psychedelics. Some persons simply may not be interested in personal or spiritual development, or may prefer other modes of exploration.

Given the pure drug and the right dose with adequate preparation, the major psychedelics are fundamentally safe for most people.
In many studies researchers find that volunteers report little desire to repeat the psychedelic experiences in the near future, even though the therapeutic intervention may be highly valued. One cannot predict the specific phenomenology that’s going to occur, but if you respond to the opportunity of consciousness opening up in an interpersonally grounded style with an intention to accept whatever emerges and explore it, the probability of the experience being beneficial is high. It is not dangerous if it’s handled competently.

Also with psychedelic therapy we’re right up front with volunteers or patients by saying there may be episodes that are scary and painful. One may have to tumble through some grief, guilt, fear or transient somatic discomfort. One may encounter “the dark night of the soul” as part of the spiritual journey, but that’s all good, and it leads towards resolution and transcendence.
DB: In other words, you won’t get stuck in it like the endless dark night…it will turn into daylight.
WA: That’s right, because, whatever comes into consciousness—you can meet it; dive right into it like diving into a swimming pool, and we’re here with you and there’s nothing from which you need to run away. And as we talked about earlier: the principle is that if it arises in consciousness that means you’re ready to deal with it and we’re here with you; let’s meet it.
DB: So, does that imply that it’s necessary for a person who’s a therapist doing psychedelic-assisted therapy to have had the experience?
WA: You have to be comfortable with non-ordinary states of consciousness.
DB: Okay, and you can say that you get there—
WA: Whether with psychedelics or not—
DB: —for example with Stan Grof’s holotropic breathwork.
WA: Yes, or meditation, for some sensory isolation or flooding; then you’re not going to panic if the person expresses something that you might ordinarily label psychotic or fear that the person’s going to get out of control, because that fear can easily become contagious. So, the therapist has to stay centered. “I’m with you and there’s no demon we can’t look straight in the eye.”

“Whether we like it or not the time is coming when we have to put up with being unconditionally loved.”
In a section of my book titled “Movement into the Future,” I wrote that if we take mystical consciousness seriously and accept that it appears to be a potential state of awareness that ultimately awaits all of us, then eventually we may all have to accept that we are spiritual beings, that there is indeed something of god within us, and that “whether we like it or not the time is coming when we have to put up with being unconditionally loved.”

Cosmic Laughter

DB: Well, I’ll be happy to put up with that! And how much, in your experience, do people in these sessions or journeys get into periods of cosmic laughter?
WA: Quite commonly, you know. And it’s usually after approaching something that feels very heavy and onerous. All of a sudden the belly laugh comes out, and god laughs and the universe goes on.

And humor aside, I wish we could offer safe psychedelic journeys here in the United States, both for persons who may benefit from psychotherapeutic treatment and also for people interested in personal or professional development. I write about the centers for research and retreat that I envisage in the book. And I think that day is coming.
It’s ridiculous that people who want legally to receive psychedelics often have to go to South America and take ayahuasca with sometimes questionable entrepreneurs.
It’s ridiculous that people who want legally to receive psychedelics often have to go to South America and take ayahuasca with sometimes questionable entrepreneurs. That may work out well and it may not work out well. Sometimes there is minimal assistance in facilitating the integration of experiences and not much preparation or thought that goes into the construction of the group.

So why should you have to go to South America to have a legal experience, when we are in the land of the free and the home of the brave? Come on USA, get with it!
DB: We ought to have a Constitutional amendment. We have freedom of speech, why not freedom of consciousness?
WA: Many of us will vote for that!
DB: What would you say to people who are considering doing a journey like this because they have treatment resistant depression, or they have been feeling terribly stuck? You’ve said it many different times, but here is one more opportunity.
WA: It’s tricky because I don’t want to encourage people to break laws and there are dangers of ingesting substances with unknown purity and dosage.

I talk primarily in terms of fostering research, and someday the laws will change. Sometimes I go online to Amazon.com and I read some of the reviews that people have written of my book, and one of them is from a guy who claims to have used drugs and psychedelics in the past but never used them right, and since my book essentially taught him how to use them correctly and safely, he had a marvelous curative experience and he’s deeply thankful for learning how to use psychedelics wisely. And that wasn’t my intent in writing the book, you know, but if it makes for healthier sessions and less trips to the emergency room for the people who choose to use the drug illegally; I can’t regret that.
DB: That’s beautiful.
WA: But it certainly wasn’t my plan in writing the book. Yet, since there are an awful lot of people who are choosing to use psychedelics, if the book helps them learn how to do it safely and wisely, maybe that’s a constructive step.
DB: So as we wrap up this conversation, it might be fun to acknowledge some recent literal “big” news: Astrophysicists reported calculations last month indicating that the universe is from two to ten times as big as was previously thought: they now think there may be up to two trillion galaxies, each with hundreds of billions of stars!
WA: There are no limits to awe! But you can only open your mouth so wide, you know?
DB: And Tibetan Buddhist scholar Robert Thurman suggests that the metaphor of Indra’s Net points toward human consciousness being at least as vast as the universe, if not countless times greater. So it looks like there is still plenty of territory to explore

I want to thank you again for the complete pleasure of our conversations.
WA: Well, good being in the world with you. Enjoy and take care.
DB: Namaste.


*For a full list of all articles cited, please email david@drbullard.com.

Margo Maine on the Eating Disorder Epidemic Among Middle-Aged Women

The Equal Opportunity Disease

Deb Kory: Margo Maine, you are a clinical psychologist who has specialized in eating disorders and related issues for over 30 years, and you’ve authored several books about eating disorders, including: Pursuing Perfection: Eating Disorders, Body Myths, and Women at Midlife and Beyond, Treatment of Eating Disorders: Bridging the Research-Practice Gap, and Father Hunger: Fathers, Daughters and the Pursuit of Thinness and you’ve also edited and written for several books about clinical treatment of eating disorders. You’re the senior editor of Eating Disorders: The Journal of Treatment and Prevention and in addition to serving as a psychologist both in private practice and at Connecticut Children’s Medical Center, you’ve done advocacy work to address federal policy related to eating disorders.Having just read your book, Pursuing Perfection, I now know that eating disorders for women in mid-life are a kind of silent epidemic. Can you talk about your work in this area and why you feel it’s so important to dispel the myth that eating disorders are primarily experienced by wealthy, white teenagers?

Margo Maine: It is certainly an equal opportunity disease. I’ve been treating eating disorders for about 35 years now, starting in graduate school working at the local children’s hospital. I ended up doing my dissertation on them and then started up a program for treating adolescent eating disorders that included the parents in treatment as well. Many of the moms admitted to a little bit of dieting. Nobody admitted to an eating disorder, but in many cases, you knew there was something more there. So that was in the background of my mind.And then probably about 20 years ago, a couple of the moms of daughters I had treated called me, and now that their daughters were better and kind of launched, they came back to talk about themselves and their own eating disorders. That was a real eye opener for me.

DK: Did most of the teens have mothers with eating disorders?
MM: I wouldn’t say most of them did, but I would say at least a third. But nobody was talking about it. The kids were the identified patients and the moms wouldn’t mention hiding M&M’s in the closet or laxatives in the glove compartment. We’d ask questions about the mothers’ eating habits but they were all “just fine.”So my interest blossomed out of this early work and I started to see more adult women as the years went by. But the case that made me decide that I needed to bring this out of the shadows was a woman who came to me about 12 or 13 years ago. She had an eating disorder most of her life, and it was very much a family created eating disorder. She went through a normal weight gain in pre-adolescence, but that didn’t sit well with her family. They didn’t like her looking a little bit pudgy, and at the age of 12 they started bringing her to Weight Watchers.

When she went off to college and developed anorexia and came home having lost so much weight, nobody said or did anything. In fact, they were happy with her weight loss. She ended up getting better on her own, graduated from college, went on to have many successes in life, but the disordered eating was always there as a coping mechanism. She had two pregnancies, and after the second pregnancy she wasn’t able to lose all of her weight, and that just launched the eating disorder, which had been subclinical for a while, into full gear with purging, restriction, and over-exercising.

DK: So, it came back with a vengeance.
MM: Yes, though not all at once. She started with one thing, and then that didn’t get her to lose enough weight, and then she added another, and then the symptoms were really out of control by the time she came to me.
DK: How old was she by then?
MM: She was in her early 40s and was very scared. She didn’t really know what was wrong with her and she didn’t know where to go for help. She certainly couldn’t go to anybody in her family, so she decided to make an appointment with her OB/GYN. She’d had two successful pregnancies and she trusted him.She had lost 25 pounds in the previous year between medical visits, and she was a small person to begin with. In terms of the standard BMI [Body Mass Index], she wasn’t off the charts, but for her she was. All the nurses said she looked great and how did she lose the weight, etc., and she’d been prepared for that. But then she was sitting in the examining room waiting for the doctor to come in, and he walks in and says to her, “So how does your husband like your new body?”

DK: Seriously? That’s horrifying on so many levels.
MM: It was devastating to her. Here she was, so scared of what she was doing to herself, and she’d come to him for help. She wasn’t sure if she had an eating disorder, or if she was just kind of “crazy,” but she knew she was out of control, and then that comment made her very, very depressed. She wouldn’t talk to him and left feeling almost suicidal and just kind of closed the book on it. But within a week or two, got on the internet, started researching and found my name. I was only a few towns away, so she came in for treatment and did really well in treatment. But that case really brought to the forefront for me how pervasive eating disorders can be in a woman’s life. This was a very high-functioning woman, she had two masters degrees, she was very respected in her profession, very active in her community—
DK: Somebody with a voice.
MM: Yes, and yet she’d had an untreated eating disorder on and off for her entire life, and for the decade before she came to see me, was very out of control and physically at risk and in need of medical help.

“I used to be a mess, but now I’m a high-functioning mess”

DK: And it sounds like her attempt to get help was met with total failure.
MM: Absolutely. The other thing about a lot of the women I treat, they tend to be very high-functioning. A new fifty-something patient of mine who’s had an eating disorder since she was a teenager said to me, “I used to be a mess, but now I’m a high-functioning mess.”That’s how a lot of these adult women are. No one has a clue that anything is going on because they’re so good at functioning well and taking care of everybody else, but the despair they have about their bodies, what they’re doing to their bodies, is really astounding.

DK: In truth, I know very few women who don’t have some kind of body dysmorphia at the very least. Those who don’t have usually done a lot of work around it, including therapy, to get to a place of body self-love. And I’d say that most women I know had a period of disordered eating at some point in their lives—be it anorexia, orthorexia, binge eating or over exercising. I know that your clients probably self-select based on your specialty, but would you say that pretty much all the women who come through your door have body image issues and/or disordered eating?
MM: Oh, yes. I’m always amazed when I do presentations to clinicians about eating disorders and I hear people say, “Oh, I don’t treat eating disorders.” Really, you don’t treat eating disorders? Thirteen percent of women over 50 have eating disorders.
DK: Thirteen percent? Really?
MM: Yes.
DK: Wow.
MM: But they believe they don’t treat eating disorders.
DK: This was one of the reasons I sought you out for this interview. It seems like many clinicians are missing the boat here because we ourselves are immersed in a disordered culture. Many women therapists have struggled with body dysmorphia and disordered eating, which is pretty much the norm in American society, so if we aren’t actively fighting against the culture of dieting and the worship of thinness, we are likely not only to miss this in our clients, but to in some ways feed the problem. It seems to me that you’d have to assume that every woman who comes into therapy has a relationship to food and to her body that needs to be explored.
MM: I completely agree with you that all mental health clinicians need to be bringing it up, as do medical providers. They need to ask a few questions, just a few, to open the subject. Clients may not be ready to talk about it yet, but they will know that it’s a safe place to talk about it.
DK: What are those questions that clinicians should be asking?
MM: I have five questions that I suggest clinicians—and particularly physicians—include into their assessments. 1. “Has your weight fluctuated during your adult life?” 2. “Are you trying to manage your weight? 3. If so, how?” 4. “What did you eat yesterday?” You don’t ask them if they are on a diet, you ask them what they ate yesterday. Or if it’s later in the day you might ask them what they’ve eaten today. Otherwise people may say they aren’t on a diet, but then when you specifically ask them, “What have you eaten today?” and it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and they haven’t had anything to eat, then you know there is a problem with their eating.And 5. “How much do you think or worry about weight, shape, and food?” I often ask people to quantify it in a percentage, as in “What is the percentage of your daily thoughts that are about weight, shape, and food?” Some women will answer that it’s the first thing they think of when they wake up in the morning. They think about what they’re not going to eat, when and how they’re going to exercise, how they’re going to exercise to get rid of what they eat. It’s a powerful part of their lives, but if you don’t ask the questions, you’ll never find out. It’s kind of like what the American College of OB/GYNs has done with domestic violence—it’s a topic that all OB/GYNs are supposed to ask about at every visit.

DK: And what about with men? Are these questions that you would suggest people ask men as well?
MM: I do. There are a lot of men struggling with body image—more so than ever before, and the numbers are compelling. There are some studies that suggest that as many as 25 percent of men have some disordered eating going on.
DK: Wow. Again these statistics are pretty startling.
MM: In my personal experience, it doesn’t seem like it’s 25 percent, but there are a couple of really good studies that suggest it’s that high.Overall, 10 percent of people suffering from eating disorders are men, and certainly men are getting much more pressure today around body image and appearance. They have a lot of pressure to not look old because of discrimination against older men in the workplace, so there is a greater emphasis on looking young and powerful. Increasing numbers of men are doing cosmetic surgery, but I think the difference for men is that it tends to be about power and influence whereas with women it’s more about appearance—that’s our “power and influence.”

You Can’t Tell by the Body

DK: Why do you think eating disorders so often go undetected? Do clinicians and physicians think that if you can’t “see” the eating disorder—as with someone who is severely anorexic—that it’s not problematic?
MM: With physicians and medical providers, the only eating disorders they think of are the extremely emaciated anorexics that they may have seen in their ICU or the morbidly obese person who comes in who they’re convinced has an eating disorder when they may not. With eating disorders, you can’t tell by the body.Eating disorders come in every shape and size. That’s why the BMI is not a very sensitive instrument by which to assess somebody’s health status. You can be basically anorexic at a high weight because you started at a high weight, your body might have been meant to be at a high weight because of your genetic background, but you’re undereating or perhaps taking medication that has caused weight gain. There are all kinds of factors that influence weight gain, but we know that at least half of the influences on adult weight maintenance are biogenetic, so that’s kind of programmed in, and then behavioral factors are added to that.

So some people go to the doctor and are at a higher weight, and they are put on diets when in fact they’ve already been severely dieting, they’re already undernourished, which is why sometimes they binge, but they’re not necessarily binge eaters, they’re more anorexic.

It’s important for clinicians to know that anorexia is in fact the least frequent of the eating disorders in the general population as well as in adult women, but it’s the one that’s easiest to identify because there is a marked weight loss. Bulimia is the next least frequent, but it’s hard to identify because of the secretiveness of bulimia. People with bulimia are often deeply ashamed of what they’re doing to their bodies and they don’t want anyone to know, so they are good at covering their tracks and are often symptomatic for decades without anyone knowing.

The mother of a former patient of mine called me to get help for her bulimia. She was in her early 50s and said that she’d been bulimic since she was about 20. She’d had two marriages and three children and relationships with physicians over the years and no one had a clue.

DK: What about dentists?
MM: Dentists have some opportunity to assess that, but not everyone with bulimia ends up with dental problems, or sometimes it happens very late in the process. Dentists are trying to step up though. I know when I go to my dentist they have you fill out a form, and it specifically asks you about eating disorders, and I’m so proud of them. I don’t think all dentists do that.

OSFED

DK: So what are the more common eating disorders?
MM: The most frequent disorder is OSFED—otherwise specified feeding or eating disorders—which is basically variations of anorexia or bulimia or combinations of the two or binge eating disorder. Again, weight is not going to necessarily tell you that much about whether someone has binge eating disorder or OSFED. What I’ve noticed in my clients, and there’s also some research recently that showed this, is that adult women tend to morph in their symptoms over time; that they might have started out anorexic or bulimic earlier, but they get a little bit better from that, and then the symptoms kind of merge into what would be OSFED, a combination, or subclinical disorders.
DK: My experience is that subclinical disorders are so prevalent. I’ve had so many women clients come in and say, “I was anorexic in my teens, but I’m fine now.” But “fine” often means, “I’ve learned how to control it in such a way that nobody thinks that I have a problem with eating, but I’m on a permanent diet and cannot cope if I don’t exercise every day.” Do you know what I mean?
MM: I agree with you completely. That’s exactly what it is—they have learned how to keep themselves in check so that they’re hopefully not binging and if they do binge, know how to get through it, know how to restrict for a few days to get themselves out of that trouble, but they’re really not out of the eating disorder.

The subclinical women were as impaired psychologically and bothered by what was going on in their lives as the ones who were full-blown eating disordered.

There was an interesting study done in Austria a couple of years ago that found in one sample of women over 60, four percent of them met the clinical criteria for full-blown eating disorders, another four percent met the criteria for subclinical, but when they asked them questions about mood and anxiety and depression, they were the same. In other words, the subclinical women were as impaired psychologically and bothered by what was going on in their lives as the ones who were full-blown eating disordered. That says a lot, and is an important take-home message because a lot of people, when they have subclinical cases or OSFED, don’t see themselves as being as seriously impaired as people with anorexia and bulimia, but they often are. Another study showed that the medical side effects of OSFED might even be more severe than anorexia and bulimia.

DK: Why would that be?
MM: My theory around that is that OSFED people are less likely to be identified, either self-identified or identified by their caregivers, so the symptoms last a lot longer, they’re probably impaired longer, and that cumulative impact can be devastating. That’s my guess.
DK: So they’re not getting their nutritional needs, but they’re also maybe not getting the kind of emotional support that they need because they’re not recognizing they have a problem?
MM: Right.
DK: I wonder if it’s also that so many people are struggling with this that they don’t actually know what healthy eating and body image even looks like? I know you probably can’t really answer this, but how much of the population would you guess is struggling with subclinical eating disorders?
MM: I’d guess that it’s about 70 percentish.
DK: Wow.
MM:

I think it’s safe to say that in our culture at least 70 percent of women are struggling with subclinical body image issues and disordered eating,

There’s a study of women 25 to 45 years that found that 75 percent of those women were unhappy with their bodies and were dieting much of the time. Seventy-five percent. Another study looked at women over 50 and they found that 80 percent of those women had a tendency to base their self-worth on their weight, on dieting, and some were seriously bulimic. So I think it’s safe to say that in our culture at least 70 percent of women are struggling with subclinical body image issues and disordered eating, but as you said, it is so accepted that nobody talks about it and, therefore, nobody gets help.

DK: In Pursuing Perfection you point out, very poignantly I thought, that if you’re a drug addict, people look down on you when you’re engaged in your addiction, or they at least know that it isn’t healthy; but if have an eating disorder that causes you to lose weight, you get widespread acclaim from all around—even by doctors—for engaging in unhealthy behaviors that make you miserable. Unlike with drug addiction, the world really conspires to keep you in disordered eating.
MM: Exactly. No one wants to call it out because then they would have to out themselves, too. It is really incredibly sad. I mean, how often when you go out with a group of women does anybody just order off the menu? Instead it’s, “could you please hold this and that? Salad dressing on the side,” etc. That’s become normal.
DK: That’s so true.
MM: I don’t go to gyms anymore because I don’t want to hear all of the body-self-loathing and dieting talk that goes on there

Feminism & Rebellion

DK: That brings me to another aspect of your work, which is the use of feminist theory. I know these days that the medical model is definitely a big part of treating anorexia—people need to find their way back to a healthy weight and be monitored and checked out for medical problems. But in my mind, it’s hard to imagine actually getting better from an eating disorder and body dysmorphia without really understanding the objectification and abuse of women’s bodies in this culture. And it’s something that can be better understood through the feminist lens and reading history and seeing how, over time, women’s bodies have literally morphed in shape to fit cultural ideals. When you understand it in that context, it’s easier to actively fight against it. I think you said somewhere in your book that only a rebellious woman can look at herself in a mirror and love her body.
MM: It’s an act of rebellion. A true act of rebellion.
DK: And it’s a daily practice because, again, from the gym locker room to the workplace to the checkout line at the grocery store, the world really does conspire to keep women hating their bodies. So, I’m wondering if you could talk a little bit about both the benefits and limits of the medical model and whether it is possible to get better without feminist theory?
MM: Well, first of all, eating disorders are tricky because there is a necessary medical component to treatment. People have to get medical evaluations, we have to ensure that people are medically safe, and that can take a lot of time, a lot of finesse from clinicians like you and me to help a patient navigate that.Sometimes when I meet with an adult woman for the first time, she hasn’t been to the doctor in years because she fears what she’s going to hear about her body, and she doesn’t want to get on the scale. So, one of the early conversations I have during the intake is, “I want you to be able to get a medical assessment. If you don’t have a doctor, let’s try to find you one. If you do have a doctor, I am happy to call them and tell them that we have started working together and that they should not be weighing you.” That is such a relief to them. They don’t have to go through that process of being weighed, often out in the hallway, with people commenting on their weight. But we do have to find ways to intersect with the medical community, and it takes a lot of time and energy, most of which is uncompensated. I think that’s part of the reason why there aren’t as many people treating eating disorders. We have to do a lot of stuff that we don’t get paid for.

DK: There’s a great deal of collateral work with doctors and nutritionists and sometimes treatment centers.
MM: I spend a lot of time deprogramming with clients after medical appointments. It’s just something you have to add into the treatment, helping them understand that the physicians don’t know much about eating disorders, and they can’t guide them through the recovery process. They can help gauge whether there are medical problems or a Vitamin D3 deficiency, but they are only one part of treatment.CBT is the one treatment that insurance companies see as the standard, and it’s the most readily reimbursed, but with CBT and other manualized therapies, you have six or 12 sessions and you’re supposed to be cured. Or three months of DBT and you’ll be all better. The insurance reimbursement stops then because ostensibly that’s when a cure should be achieved. In that way CBT has adopted a medicalized framework of treatment and cure, but it’s not a medical therapy. Most of the studies show that only about 35 to a maximum 40 percent of people get better with CBT. If you or I were to go to a physician who told us they had a cure for us that had a 35-40 percent chance of cure, we’d probably want something else.

Eating disorders are much more complex than any 3-month manualized treatment can tackle and often require long-term treatment with many systems of care. We work in partnership not only with the client in determining appropriate treatment, but with the other clinicians brought into the treatment.

DK: Is CBT the standardized treatment for eating disorders in medical facilities?
MM: CBT and family-based treatment (FBT), which is a particular model that conceptualizes the eating disorder as primarily a behavioral issue, and prescribes that parents learn to manage their child’s eating.
DK: Is that the Maudsley Approach?
MM: It’s a variation of Maudsley, generically called FBT now, and it has some genuine strengths in that it gives parents some practical things to do, but it isn’t an appropriate model for everybody. It’s a power-oriented treatment where the parents tell the kids what to do, and there isn’t any talk about emotional issues or problems in the family—it’s more like the eating disorder has sprung up and needs to be dealt with.But I and many of my colleagues treat families sometimes who have had emotional, physical and even sexual abuse, or families where the parents are eating disordered—in these cases this approach is often inappropriate. In families like these everyone needs help and the eating disorder is very much a family-created illness.

DK: Isn’t that so often the case, though?
MM: Well, I have seen eating disorders develop in very, very healthy families where there isn’t a lot to do other than to help them learn how to get their kid through the eating disorder. But sometimes it’s extremely complex and the medical model doesn’t really allow for that kind of openness and discussion. Instead it can very objectifying—the patient is a puzzle to be solved through various medicalized interventions.
DK: And how does that differ from the feminist model?
MM: Within the feminist model, it is a collaboration and a partnership—it’s really about “we.” It’s about us together, and it’s very empowering. But to get back to your question about whether people get better in a non-feminist treatment approach, I think people can get symptomatically better. I don’t think they can get better and stay better unless they’re really, really lucky. And some of them will be lucky because the disorder wasn’t that horrible to begin with, and they get treatment, and they kind of get past it.But for most people, to really recover, they need to understand why this happened for them, and they need to grapple with a lot of gray issues in their lives, and that isn’t something that happens in the medical model, which is based on symptom control and weight management.

When I was doing my dissertation back in the ‘80s, I interviewed women who had recovered from eating disorders and, needless to say, the treatment wasn’t very advanced at the time. The definition of recovery was whether a woman had gotten her period back, whether she had weight restored, and whether she was married.

DK: Whether she was married?!!
MM: Well, I’ve been married a long time and I don’t necessarily see it as a sign of good health, you know? It does say that a person has the potential to have a relationship, but that’s no guarantee that it’s a healthy relationship.
DK: I guess I shouldn’t really be that surprised. There is still a widely held, and largely unchallenged belief in our field, and in our culture at large, that people can only find true happiness through coupling and, ultimately, marriage.
MM: Yes, we’re not much further along thirty years later. Weight is still a primary measure of patient health, even though for many of our patients, weight is not the primary factor in their illness or recovery. In the feminist model we work collaboratively with the patient to decide what the signs of recovery and relapse are.

“We’ve Just been drinking the Kool-Aid longer”

DK: It’s my understanding that a big part of eating disorder recovery is abstaining from toxic pop culture. Avoiding women’s magazines, health magazines, celebrity news, things that are likely to trigger body dysmorphia. Or, like you were saying, avoiding locker room chatter where women are picking apart their bodies and discussing diets.
MM: Yes, absolutely. I think we’ve done a pretty good job of understanding how the media and the culture affect young teenagers around body image and self-esteem and all that. Well, guess what? We adults aren’t any different. We’ve Just been drinking the Kool-Aid longer.
DK: So part of your treatment is educating patients about the cultural and media influences that contribute to their eating disorder?
MM: Yes, and I tell them they’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid. These are smart people—I don’t want to in any way diminish them—but they have bought in hook, line, and sinker to a culture that tells us that we as women have to be a certain way and look a certain way, and it’s very disempowering. So I help them understand that while they think they’ve been making active choices, they’ve actually been acting out the script that is given to women. Over time it’s very empowering.That kind of critical perspective, understanding the impact of culture, is very much a feminist discussion and it’s what keeps women strong. They see that they have to stand up against this culture that tells them to be less than who they—both literally and figuratively.

DK: Are teens open to the feminist perspective?
MM: They’re usually not at the beginning, but after a certain point, once they’re really engaged in their recovery, they become more receptive. Feminism is still the F word, and a lot of girls who do not want to associate with feminism think it’s for women who don’t shave under their arms and hate men. They don’t think of it as sexual and reproductive rights, equal pay, the right not to be sexually harassed in the workplace and so many other struggles the feminist movement has fought. I’ve had a number of young women in their 20s say to me that they want equal pay, but they’re not feminists.
DK: What do you think that’s about?
MM: Well, I think some people don’t really understand sexism until it affects them directly. I had an interesting experience a few years ago where three women who were probably all in their early 30s independently found out that male counterparts were getting paid more than they were for similar jobs. And the meaning they each made of it was that they were inadequate because they weren’t thin enough.
DK: Right, because it couldn’t have been a structural issue. They must have brought it on themselves.
MM: Yes. So I did a lot of educational work with them around what really happens in the workplace around salaries, the inequality in both pay and power, the many double standards and unrealistic expectations that are built into the very fabric of work life. When a woman realizes that a man is valued more in the workplace, it’s not uncommon for her to try to make it right by losing weight, which then can fuel an eating disorder.

Weight is the Politically Correct Form of Prejudice

DK: Particularly for middle aged women who might have put on some weight during menopause, who might not be as quick with words and numbers, who might be having hot flashes all day and drastic mood swings because of all the changing hormonal activity.Let’s talk about obesity for a second. I treated a client who was between 300-400lbs at any given point, and had yo-yoed up and down for much of her life. The way she was treated any time she went to the doctor for any ailment—it literally didn’t matter—was appalling. Nobody could see past her weight and they attributed it to all of her problems. She went in for her knee? Lose weight. For a flu? Lose weight. For pain of any sort anywhere? Lose weight. As if she wasn’t constantly being reminded of this in every interaction she had out in the world. People on the street felt like it was OK to yell insults at her. She had a hard time maintaining a job because of discrimination.

I was scrambling to find ways to be an advocate and counter this awful treatment, and then I read Health at Every Size, which turned out to be kind of a mind-blowing book.

MM: A bible.
DK: It deconstructed a lot of the myths about obesity and shed so much light on the fat hysteria in our culture. And it made me question the whole role that many therapists play in trying to help people lose weight.
MM: It’s a complicated subject, but I don’t think that people with our skills should be employed in helping people lose weight. I think we should be employed in helping people understand their relationship to food and to their bodies and we should help them learn to care for themselves in positive and healthy and sane ways, but that doesn’t necessarily translate into weight loss.Even the people who do the bariatric surgeries and the most intense kind of work in obesity find that a good outcome is a very modest weight loss—10-15 percent of body weight is considered a good outcome. That is not very impressive. People go through that intense and often traumatic experience just to lose 20-25 pounds.

It’s been interesting to watch this bariatric surgery surge. Insurance companies often won’t pay for eating disorder treatment, but they pay for expensive surgeries and the long-term outcome doesn’t seem to be that good, but we don’t get the long-term statistics. We get the statistics up to about a year and a half, but it’s between 18 and 24 months when folks tend to start regaining their weight and having more difficulty with their symptoms. And people who are really struggling don’t go for any of the outcome follow-up because they feel so bad and so ashamed.

DK: So they’re not participating in the research.
MM: Right. I honestly think we have to be very careful about being sucked into the war on obesity. Obesity is associated with some health problems, but we don’t know that those health problems are the result of obesity or if obesity is a result of a health problem. It’s correlational and not causation. People can really improve their health parameters—cholesterol, blood sugar, cardiac status, etc.—by eating better, by getting some exercise. But for people who are big, it can be hard to move their bodies, and they’re often very ashamed, so they won’t necessarily go to a yoga class at a local studio. As you said about your client, people are astonishingly judgmental and even rude to big people, which can isolate them from taking part in the kinds of classes that many people rely on for their exercise. As I said in one of my earlier books, weight is the politically correct form of prejudice.
DK: That is devastatingly true.
MM: When I have patient who is obese and needs to see a physician, I always offer to call their doctor and introduce myself and let them know, “What she needs from you is a good medical assessment, but she doesn’t need to be told to lose weight. She already is embarrassed about coming to you and feels deeply ashamed about her body, and there isn’t anything you can say that’s going to be helpful to her about that. Leave that to me.” If you say it clearly, lots of doctors really get it and are happy to partner with you.The anti-obesity movement really feeds a lot of eating disorders. The whole BMI craziness—the BMI has nothing to do with individual health. It’s a population statistic.

DK: Do you think it should just be abolished?
MM: I think it should be abolished. Pediatricians are supposed to monitor it at every visit and talk to parents about putting their kids on diets. These are kids who are going through normal uneven development. Most kids don’t develop perfectly— they get fat before they get tall, they get tall before they get fat, or they have a long neck for a while or big feet for a while.
DK: I see a lot of teens in my practice and all of them struggle in one way or another with their changing bodies and many of them flirt with eating disorders. How do you intervene there to try to help them get through that?
MM: That is a very normal process for kids, getting used to their bodies and living in this culture where other kids are going to be talking negatively about their bodies. I think some education around these changes and the normal course of development, talking with them about their fears and worries, and working with them on self-soothing. So often people turn to eating disorders because they have no clue how to self-soothe, and starvation feels soothing to them, or the calm after bingeing and purging.

DK: Teaching them self-soothing techniques at that age could head off a lifetime habit of disordered eating.
MM: Yes, and learning how to express your emotions directly and knowing that it’s okay to have emotions. It’s important to help them figure out what helps them feel good, what helps them get calm, and to develop some tolerance for their big emotions. If kids knew how to self-soothe, you’d have far fewer eating disorders, drug issues, substance abuse, self-harm, all of that.

Can People Fully Recover?

DK: Can people fully recover from eating disorders in a sustained way, and what is the best approach therapeutically for doing that that?
MM: I do believe that people can get fully better, and in my practice over the years, we’ve seen a lot of people get fully, fully better. They may still have issues to deal with, but it doesn’t turn against them in the same old way. It doesn’t become, “I can’t eat, I hate myself.” Rather it’s a signal that they have to put their recovery to work and perhaps reach out for some extra help, come back into therapy for a bit, etc. But it’s not that they’re coming back into therapy because of their eating disorder, it’s that they’re having life struggles that could trigger disordered eating if they don’t get help.To the question of what’s the best therapeutic approach, that really is different for each person, and it may change over time. It can’t be quick.

There’s no such thing as a quick fix. It has to be different interventions at different times. One of the limitations in treatment outcome research is that it assumes that everybody goes to one kind of treatment for a particular length of time and that’s it.

But most people with serious eating disorders have a little bit of treatment early on which may or may not help, and then they have some other treatment over here, and then maybe they go to a partial hospitalization program or residential treatment, and then maybe they end up in outpatient treatment, maybe they do some group therapy. It’s a tapestry that blends together into what is right for them, and it’s not a one size fits all. Of course the medical model wants it to be one size fits all, wants it to be CBT or DBT or FBT and that’s it, but the reality is that treatment needs to be varied, long-term, and is different for everyone at different stages of life.

DK: Does it usually take more than just individual psychotherapy?
MM: Yes, more often than not it takes more than individual therapy. Certainly there are people who get what they need and recovery with individual therapy, but if it’s a serious eating disorder, they might need a dietician, they will certainly need a doctor, they will benefit from things like art therapy, creative therapies.
DK: Art therapy is especially helpful?
MM: Yes, nonverbal work is really helpful for them. And family therapy, medication— a whole range of treatments.But the keystone for most people is the individual therapy, and their own trusting relationship with somebody that they can feel safe with and be honest with about what is really happening. Someone to guide them through the process and stay with them and help them break out of their shame.

The driving force that creates and sustains eating disorders is shame. So therapy is all about what do we do about that shame.

DK: Well it’s been so interesting and informative to talk with you about your work. Thank you for taking the time to share it with our readers.
MM: It’s a pleasure, thank you.

Louis Cozolino on the Integration of Neuroscience into Psychotherapy—and its Limitations

Neuroscience or Neuro-psychobabble?

Sudhanva Rajagopal: Lou Cozolino, you are a psychologist and professor of psychology at Pepperdine University, where you were a teacher of mine. You’re a prolific writer and researcher on topics ranging from schizophrenia, child abuse, the long-term effects of stress, and, more recently, neuroscience in psychotherapy and the brain as a social organ.As a clinician in training, it seems like there is a lot of neuroscience talk out there in our field, and it gets used to legitimize anything from specific interventions to whole theoretical orientations. My first question to you is, for the clinician in training, how do you recommend that we see through the noise of all that to what is actually helpful in the room with a client? How does knowledge of neuroscience play out in the room and what is actually important for the clinician to know?

Louis Cozolino: There are two main realms where neuroscience can aid clinicians. One is case conceptualization and the other is for clients who aren’t really open to a psychotherapeutic framework or an emotional framework. For them a neuroscientific explanation or conceptualization of their problem is often something they can grasp while they can’t or won’t grasp other things.

People who learn a half a dozen words about neuroscience think they’re neuroscience literate.

But there’s so much psychobabble and neuro-psychobabble out there, and the thing is if you say something is the amygdala as opposed to saying it’s anxiety or fear-based, you haven’t really upgraded the quality of the discourse. You just substituted one word for another. So the risk is that people who learn a half a dozen words about neuroscience think they’re neuroscience literate.

Learning neuroscience takes dedication. It takes work to get beyond the cocktail level of conversation and clichés. It took me ten years to feel like I had any sense of what was going on and I studied it pretty intensively. So I think we all have to be careful, but even more importantly, just because you know some neuroscience doesn’t mean you know anything more than the therapist who doesn’t. It’s really about how you use that information to upgrade the quality of the work you’re doing.

SR: In your book, Why Therapy Works: Using Your Mind to Change Your Brain, you say that science in many ways is just another metaphor. Do you think there are dangers to people using neuroscience to legitimize their work?
LC: Well, sure. There’s a fellow, Daniel Amen, who does these SPECT scans of people and he’s been selling them for thousands of dollars for probably 20 years now. It’s hard to know whether any of his data has any meaning. All we know is he’s made a hell of a lot of money doing them. The danger is in selling things before you know that they have any legitimacy, so you have to watch out for snake oil salesmen just like you do when you’re buying carpets and used cars.
SR: So how do you recommend that someone like me goes about finding and learning about neuroscience in a way that’s helpful? How do I avoid the snake oil salesmen?
LC: It’s important to realize that knowing neuroscience doesn’t make you a good clinician—in fact it doesn’t make you any kind of clinician at all. So I would say for beginning therapists, it’s probably best not to pay too much attention to neuroscience.Learn a few things about it but focus on getting the best supervision you can in a recognized form of psychotherapy—psychodynamic, cognitive, behavioral, family systems, etc. And avoid the passing fancy of all of the new therapies; every day there’s a new therapy with a new set of letters in front of it.

SR: Yeah there are so many different kinds of therapies these days.
LC: Try to learn something that isn’t just a fad, because the fads—I’ve watched hundreds of them come and go over my years. But if you cleave to psychodynamic training and cleave to cognitive behavioral, Gestalt, family systems training—those are the things that you can hang your hat on. Then you can learn the fads to add to your tool box. The fads are very sexy and they create the illusion of understanding because they’ve got fancy terms and nice workbooks and such, but really you’re not a thinker when you’re doing those things, you’re more of a mechanic.Now neuroscience is sort of like a sidecar to conceptualization, but you’ve got to remember the motorcycle is the real tried and true way of thinking about clients. You know, what is a particular problem? What is mental distress or mental illness? Where does it come from developmentally and what are the tried and true ways of approaching it and treating it?

Every Therapy is Embedded in Culture

SR: Speaking of tried and true ways of thinking, you say in your book, “Psychotherapy is not a modern invention, but a relationship-based learning environment grounded in the history of our social brains. Thus the roots of psychotherapy go back to mother-child bonding, attachment to family and friends, and the guidance of wise elders.” My question is, where do you think psychotherapy fits in to the context of healing traditions that have been around for millennia?
LC: Well, I think one thing that seems to be different over the last hundred years in psychotherapy is a kind of structured recognition of the fact that the therapist is imperfect and contributes in a lot of different ways to the problems. The tradition of wise elders was one of an authoritarian stance: This is the truth and I’ll take you on this journey with me to change you into my likeness. To whatever degree psychotherapy has evolved past that has to do with the self-analysis of the therapist and the recognition that whatever pathology exists in the relationship between client and therapist, some—hopefully not the majority, but some—pathology in the relationship comes from the therapist.That type of recognition is a step forward. There are probably some steps backward too. Often psychotherapy is ahistorical and acultural—or at least tries to be—but every therapy is embedded in culture. There is a kind of pretense about an objective scientific stance that is just a fantasy. So in some ways, wise elders in a tribal context with a long history are probably advantageous for some people as compared to psychotherapy.

SR: I was flipping through the index of your book and noticed the word “culture” appears exactly once, though you do talk about the wisdom of the ancients, about Buddhism and Confucianism and some of the Indian traditions. Seems to me that once we start relying on these kind of generalized, evolutionary, and biological forces as explanations for things, there’s a risk of painting people’s lived experience with a pretty broad brush. What’s your take on the importance of culture as it relates to neuroscience and psychotherapy?
LC: From an evolutionary perspective, a basic principle is biodiversity, and culture is too blunt an instrument to understand people because there are so many differences within culture. I think in terms of every individual being an experiment of nature. Every family is a culture in and of itself, and the more different someone’s cultural background is from mine, the more there is for me to learn. I think that culture needs to be interwoven into every sentence of every book, not just included in some special chapter of a book.
SR: From my point of view, many of these older cultural practices have been repackaged and rebranded as psychotherapy theories and techniques. The “mindfulness revolution” and transcendental meditation are based on ancient cultural traditions, but they are marketed as if they are especially effective because they are “new” and “evidence-based.” What is your stance on that?
LC: Having studied religion and philosophy and Sanskrit starting back when I was in college in the 70s, the self-awareness of meditation has been part my worldview since long before it became a cottage industry. But even back then there was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and the Beatles, and it was coming into the cultural context. Now people have figured out how to package it as a way to sell more therapy, which isn’t all bad, but runs the risk of becoming “the answer.”

I think we’re in a race between global destruction and global consciousness, so we’ll see who gets to the finish line first.

What I’ve been hoping for since I first discovered Buddhism in the 1960s, is that as the world gets smaller and as people from different cultures communicate more, the wisdom of the ancient Eastern philosophies will be interwoven with Western technology and we’ll come to some higher level synthesis of understanding and consciousness. I think we’re in a race between global destruction and global consciousness, so we’ll see who gets to the finish line first.

SR: Can you say more about that?
LC: Well, it’s a slow evolutionary process for the types of awareness that people four or five thousand years ago discovered in India and Tibet, in China, in Japan, to penetrate Western culture. The Western world view is so different—for so many people it’s almost impossible to conceptualize an internal world; everything is external. Everything is about creation, growth, and, in a more destructive sense, conquering and genocide.So there are forces of destruction—of each other and of the planet—on the one hand and then there are the forces of consciousness and wholeness and a sense of oneness of the species on the other. So will we understand that we’re all brothers and sisters on a spaceship before we destroy the spaceship?

“There only needs to be a piece of you that’s a psychologist”

SR: How can psychotherapy play a positive role in this race you’re talking about? Or psychotherapy as we know it in the Western world?
LC: Well, one of the problems with psychotherapy as I see it is that psychotherapists tend to be sort of passive—they retreat from the world of leadership and create very insulated relationships in their consulting rooms. But for the field of psychotherapy to have any impact, it has to be expressed politically and socially. The types of ideas and theories that we’ve researched and studied, like the importance of early child rearing, self-awareness, authoritarian personalities, positive psychology and so much else, need to become part of political discourse both to elevate it and also have an impact on how resources are distributed.

One of the problems with psychotherapy as I see it is that psychotherapists tend to be sort of passive—they retreat from the world of leadership and create very insulated relationships in their consulting rooms.

Evolution is a slow, meandering process. All you have to do is watch the Republican debates to see that. It reminds me of junior high school in the Bronx in New York where we used to engage in chop fights, which was all about humiliating the manhood of other guys just to get a one-up. It doesn’t make me optimistic about the evolution of consciousness, but we’ll see what happens.

SR: I want to move onto something you said in your preface that I liked a lot: “Like monks and soldiers, therapists of all denominations assume that God is on their side.” What do you think are the limitations of psychotherapy and where does it come up short against the human condition, cultural walls or seemingly immovable, systemic injustice? In other words, when do we have to admit that psychotherapy is just not helpful or effective?

LC: The risk with psychology and psychotherapy is that it can lean too much in the direction of helping people tolerate rather than fight against oppression. Self-awareness and self-compassion are crucial experiences and skills that we foster as psychotherapists, but there needs to be a balance there. You can’t become too much of a psychologist. There only needs to be a piece of you that’s a psychologist and there’s another piece of you that has to be willing to go out and fight for systemic change.

As I said before, psychologists tend to watch from the sidelines, and that’s why as a field it has relatively little impact. In fact, the profession gets a lot of bad press because there are plenty of famous psychologists who do staggeringly immoral and unethical things. They are the basis of the cartoon version of the therapist nodding their head and going, “uh huh.”

SR: You talk about psychology as being an essentially solitary profession. Are there people you can think of who aren’t standing on the sidelines?
LC: Psychologists you mean?
SR: Yeah, psychologists.
LC: No. Can you?
SR: Not off the top of my head.
LC: Psychologists are really good at telling other people they should do something. It’s sort of like life by proxy.
SR: Indeed.
LC: Another problem in psychotherapy is a lack of appreciation or respect for anger; anger is always something you’re supposed to manage. Or you’re supposed to learn how to behave appropriately in society, but that’s not always an appropriate response, especially if you’re a member of an oppressed group. It’s really important sometimes to go on picket lines and carry bricks and defend yourself and make a lot of noise.I very much respect the Black Lives Matter movement and I watch them in these Trump rallies, and they’re getting pushed around. It breaks my heart because it reminds me of a lot of bad memories from childhood during the Civil Rights Movement. And I’m sure you’ve seen pictures too of what happened in India with the British, of people being hosed and slaughtered. There’s a tendency in human behavior to objectify differences and we really need to fight against and not tolerate that. I’m hoping that, given that Trump is consolidating and activating the anger of people in this culture against immigrants and foreigners and God knows what else, that it also energizes the liberal base and brings out a new progressive movement as well.

SR: Absolutely, but this idea of psychologists carrying bricks and taking up arms seems really at odds to me with this image we have of psychologists as dispassionate observers, people who are sitting in their therapy chairs saying, “uh huh.”My interests lie in political action as well and I do remember, at least from my dad’s generation and my grandfather’s generation, thinking about British rule and the independence movement in India and the idea of people really taking a stand. But that doesn’t seem like something psychologists really do. Even in the room with a client, we’re not taught to take a stance on things, you know?

LC: In fact it’s the opposite. Everything that we believe is interpreted as countertransference and non-neutral. It creates a real rift in people. It’s hard to imagine that a lot of younger psychologists with any sort of a political drive would be attracted to psychology. It will continue to attract people who want to stay on the sidelines in the world or avoid the conflict.
SR: How is that going to change?
LC: In truth I don’t know. In the 60s we had something called community psychology, which was very radical at the time and which still exists, but it’s not prominent at all anymore. One of the main focuses of community psychology was to identify those people in the community or in the tribe that other people went to for assistance—people like hairdressers and bartenders and cab drivers. These are the people that folks in trouble tended to talk to, so community psychology emphasized educating people in the community that were sort of hubs of interaction. The field has gotten so much more insular since then.

Transitioning From a Beta to an Alpha

SR: I want to go back to something you said about anger that intrigued me. I’m just thinking back to discussions and supervision I’ve had in training, and whenever anger comes up, you’re told there’s something “behind” the anger. You know, there’s shame behind the anger, or sadness behind the anger. How do you feel about anger as just a primary kind of emotion? And do you think it has value both for the therapist and for the client?
LC: If you’re going to become empowered, if you’re going to transition from a beta to an alpha in your life, you really need to be able to get back in touch with your anger because it can be very propulsive, very helpful in life. It evolved along with caretaking and nurturing because it’s not just necessary to feed and nurture babies, but to protect them.Anger is the only left-hemisphere emotion that we consider negative, but anger is a social emotion, unlike rage. It can be engaging, relational, constructive. In order to combat the social programming that leads to shame, we have to get at least somewhat angry—at both the voices in our head and out in the world that shame us, disempower us, keep us from speaking up.

When I think of somebody like Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr., I think of the courage it took to walk into angry crowds. It’s so moving to me and such a powerful act. We can’t just be passive about these voices in our head and in society. We have to get angry because our anger and our assertiveness and our power are all interconnected. If you give up your anger, you give up your power.

SR: Agreed. Tell me a little bit about your idea of the social synapse.
LC: The more I studied different physiologies, social psychologies, organisms, the more I realized that there is a very complex highway of information that connects us via pupil dilation and facial expression and body posture and tone of voice, and probably a hundred things that we haven’t even discovered yet.What we’re doing in psychotherapy, and in any relationship where we’re trying to be soothing and supportive and nurturant, is connecting across the synapse between you and someone else. You’re trying to create a synergy between the two of you and have an effect on their internal biochemistry that enhances their physical health, their brain development, their learning. If you’ve ever been with a really good teacher, you know that in part because you feel a lot smarter because you’re connecting with someone who’s stimulating your brain to work better. If you’re with a bad teacher, you feel dumber, and you get pissed off and angry. And there are not a lot of good teachers out there so you’ve got to cleave to the good ones.

But also there’s a different chemistry between different people. Someone who’s a good teacher for one person may not be a good one for another. Same thing with therapists. Every therapeutic relationship creates a new organism—a dyadic field— and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. The chemistry part we often don’t have any control over.

SR: Going back to the brain and neuroscience, where do you think we are in right now in the field and where are we headed?
LC: Well, we’re all over the place in brain science, but there is a great deal of focus right now on genetics. In other words, looking at the relationship between experience and interactions and how the molecular level of the brain gets constructed and changes over time in relation to the others and the environment. I think that the translation of parenting and relationships in psychotherapy into actual protein synthesis and brain building is an incredibly complicated but very important paradigm shift that is going to be playing out probably over the next century at least as we uncover those things.Another shift in neuroscience is getting past the phrenology of looking at individual brain regions related to specific tasks and starting to look at these new technologies that measure brain connectivity. In other words, how do different areas connect to regulate each other and synergize? The next step will be figuring out how two or more brains interact and stimulate each other.

I don’t know where the technology to research that is going to come from but I think it’s on the horizon. We’ve got to get beyond thinking about brains as individual organs and think about how they weave into relational matrices so we can understand human connection and have a scientific view for the types of things that Buddhists and Hindu meditators and Tibetan scholars have been thinking about for the last several thousand years or so.

Why Does Neuroscience Matter?

SR: How would you explain to an existential psychotherapist why these advances in technology and in brain science are at all important to what they do?
LC: I don’t know if they are important to what they do. I don’t think neuroscience is more important than Buddhism—it’s basically just another narrative.
SR: Interesting.
LC: It’s just another way of looking at things. Think about when you’re at a museum looking at an exhibit and you’re walking around it trying to experience it and appreciate it from a number of different angles.That’s pretty much what reality is. We walk around it and we have these different ways of thinking about it and explaining it that are partially satisfying and partially unsatisfying. Buddhism is incredibly satisfying a lot of the time and very unsatisfying some of the time. So when you get bored with one way of looking, you want to look at something in a different way. For me it’s interesting to combine and integrate different perspectives but I don’t think that you have to subjugate one to the other.

In the 1950s Carl Rogers was talking about how to create a healing relationship. Fast forward 65 years and now neuroscience is discovering pretty much what Rogers was talking about. Am I better off talking about it from that perspective than listening to Carl Rogers? I don’t know. But it makes me appreciate what Rogers says even more and in a deeper way when I can see it from this scientific perspective.

SR: That makes sense.
LC: If Buddha were alive, he’d say, “Of course,” right? “There’s 5,000 research studies you did, but all you needed to do was read the Sutra and you would have figured it out.”But I think it’s interesting to just keep learning about life from as many points of view as possible. When have your read enough novels?

Each novel you read is a new way of capturing the universe, and they’re entertaining and stimulating and make you feel human. I feel the same way about the sciences, which is why I love reading E.O. Wilson’s work on ants, because I learn a lot about humans by reading about ants. So many things we do are very ant-like. Plus, ants are interesting.

Nobody Has the Answer

SR: Ants are very interesting. That’s a great way to look at it and I completely agree. Moving away from neuroscience for a moment, I’m curious about how your clinical work has changed over the years.
LC: It’s changed constantly. When I started as a student of pastoral counseling at the Harvard Divinity School, Carl Rogers was one of my teachers, so my first real training was Rogerian. The reason I got interested in counseling in the first place was reading Fritz Perls’ Gestalt Therapy. Then when I ended up at UCLA I realized you have to learn cognitive behavioral therapy whether you like it or not. So I was trained in that. I did a couple of years at a family therapy institute in Westwood in L.A. My supervisors were psychodynamic and my therapist at the time was a Jungian, and then I had a couple of other therapists who were psychodynamic and Gestalt.I was working with people who had been severely traumatized as kids, so I got interested in neuroscience through a study of memory, trying to figure out what the heck was going with the memories of people who’d suffered severe trauma.

Since then, my heart is more in the object relations world, I think mostly because it matches my personality and the type of relationships I like to create with people. But I’ve woven in neuroscience, attachment theory, a bit of EMDR, some meditation and self-awareness exercises. It’s a hodgepodge of all the different things that I’ve learned, but I don’t really feel like I’ve got a hammer and everybody who comes in is a nail. It’s more like I’ve got a toolbox of 30 or 40 years of things that I’ve been collecting and I try to figure out how to match as best I can to the needs and the interests of the client.

SR: Is there a certain population or certain pathologies that you’ve been working with more lately or that you’re more interested in?
LC: Not really. My practice is pretty general and I like to keep it that way. I don’t really like to see the same problem over and over again. I always think of psychotherapy as kind of like a collaborative research project. People come in and we work together to figure out what’s going on—how did it arise? Is there any hope of making it better? I really like having problems I haven’t dealt with before.
SR: What do you wish you’d known as a beginning clinician?
LC: When I started, I was looking for an answer and I wanted to know who had the answer. So

I tried to become a disciple of one person or another person. It took me quite a while to realize nobody has the answer. Everybody has a little piece of it.

And what I’ve got to do is just learn the best I can and then sacrifice and move on. This is a very ancient Rig Veda philosophy—every day you wake up, you sacrifice the day before, you move on, you create a new reality.

Had I understood this, I would have spent a lot less time worrying about finding the truth and being acceptable to whatever godhead I happened to run into at the moment. I think idolatry is the problem. Idolatry and objectification.

SR: It’s hard to avoid being exposed to that as a student. At least in my experience, in every new class you’re exposed to something people think is the answer, the best way to look at things.
LC: In my experience, the degree to which someone is enthusiastic and adamant about having “the answer” usually reflects the degree of insecurity they have and their lack of ability to tolerate their own ignorance. If we’ve learned anything, especially when it comes to diversity, it’s that we have to embrace our ignorance and be curious as opposed to leading with certainty.Jacob Bronowski was a physicist who died about 20 years ago, but he did this wonderful documentary about visiting Auschwitz, where his whole family was slaughtered. He waded into the mud behind the crematory and grabbed a handful of mud, realizing that his ancestors were part of this soil, and said, “This is what happens when we’re certain.”

Certainty leads to ideological beliefs that supersede humanity. At a less dramatic level, we get so enamored with our philosophies and our therapeutic beliefs that we miss our clients because we’re so convinced that we’ve got to convince them we’re right about the things we believe should be true.

SR: So last question here; where do you think the field as a whole is going?
LC: Well, I don’t think mental distress is going anywhere. I think that more and more people are going to be having psychological problems as society and civilization become increasingly crazy. No matter how many therapists the schools pump out, the world is creating plenty of suffering, so there will always be a need for therapy.And though there will always be therapists trying to create revolutionary new therapies with great acronyms, I think that the tried and true methods will remain strong and stay strong because they’re tapping into fundamental constructs in human experience—the need to connect with other people, to be able to leverage our thinking to modify our brains, to ask questions about ultimate meaning and existence.

Where the field is going to have to upgrade its sophistication and quality is in the areas of like pharmacology, epigenetics, psychoneuroimmunology, diet. All of the actual mechanisms that create and sustain our brains will have to become part of the dialogue about how we help people sustain and maintain health. This might just be my Eastern philosophy bias, but we’ll probably be moving in the direction of more holistic, integrated thinking and treatment—not just combining East and West, but integrating scientific discoveries into our case conceptualizations and treatments.

Finally, I hope that psychology becomes more integrated with education. I have a book series that I’m editing for W.W. Norton which is on the social neuroscience of education, and we’re pushing to have psychologists, neurologists, neuroscientists and educators communicate more so that the things we’re learning can be integrated into each field.

SR: Well that seems like a great place to end. Thank you so much for taking the time to share a bit about your work and your life with the readers of psychotherapy.net.
LC: It was a pleasure, thank you.

Robert J. Lifton on Political Violence, Activism and Life as a Psycho-Historian

The Psycho-Historian

Deb Kory: Robert Lifton, you’ve long been one of my heroes, and I’m delighted to be able to interview you and share your work with our readers. For those who may not know, you are a psychiatrist, researcher and writer, and have written many books on the psychology of political violence, the effects of such violence on both perpetrators and victims, totalitarian ideologies, the traumas of war, the threat of nuclear weapons, and much more.
I’m an early career psychologist and I started my doctoral program back in 2004, just before revelations emerged about psychologist’s involvement in torture at Guantanamo and other CIA black sites. It would turn out that the involvement went up to the highest levels of the American Psychological Association, but outside of a small group of activist psychologists, nobody in the field of psychology was talking about it. You were among the few mental health practitioners who publicly denounced this collusion with torture from the very beginning. When I wrote my dissertation on this subject, I drew heavily from your writings, particularly The Nazi Doctors: Medical Killing and the Psychology of Genocide, to help me understand and contextualize how seemingly normal, good people can commit evil acts.
As I came to learn through reading several of your books, your activism and commitment to social justice has been a fundamental and inextricable part of your professional work as a psychiatrist, researcher and writer.
Robert J. Lifton: Well, thank you.
DK: Your most recent book, Witness to an Extreme Century: A Memoir, weaves together your various works with your personal life, and the ways in which witnessing atrocities—you were a teenager during WWII, for example—impacted the course of your life. In it, you call yourself a “psycho-historian.” Can you explain what that means?
RL: It means applying a psychological approach to historical events, which requires a handling of psychology that is open-ended and sometimes outside of the orthodoxies within our field. The derivation is from Erik Erikson, who used the term as an adjective—he spoke of a “psychohistorical perspective.” It’s probably better to avoid the noun.
DK: When you say applying psychological methods, are you talking about research methods in particular?
RL: In my case, I’ve systematically used a psychological interview. I believe very much in the interview method. Though I haven’t spent much of my career doing psychotherapy, I have done a kind of equivalent by means of interviews. I think that the psychological interview is a beautiful instrument if one is careful and rigorous about the context. And it’s underused, even in the profession of psychology.
DK: How so?
RL: In terms of psychological research, the interview has become much less popular—the tendency is more toward questionnaires or statistical studies these days. The interview method that I have made use of is a modification of a psychoanalytic method. I was trained in psychoanalytic psychiatry, as we used to call it, and then had some training in psychoanalysis, but there was a kind of paradox for me. I thought then, as I still do, that psychoanalysis has been a great intellectual movement; but in its more rigid and dogmatic form, it can undermine the very historical approach that one wants to develop. So I modified it quite a lot.
DK: You talked in your autobiography about studying at the Psychoanalytic Institute in Boston and how you found some similarities between the kind of totalitarian mentality that you’d found among survivors of Chinese thought reform and the atmosphere at the institute. Can you say a little bit more about that?
RL: I was careful about how I wrote about that. I didn’t dismiss psychoanalytic training and, as a matter of fact, I learned a great deal from the psychoanalytic training that I did. But I found that there was an inherent problem in psychoanalytic institutes. Many others had spoken of it, but I had studied Chinese thought reform as well as the Cultural Revolution and so had that framework. The difficulty in psychoanalytic institutes at the time was that one was simultaneously a student, a candidate, and a patient. In a sense, the same people were one’s teachers, one’s therapists, and one’s judges in terms of whether one was accepted into the profession. There was a danger of requiring adherence to the existing doctrines as a necessary element for success, as opposed to originality or a creative perspective.
So I said those things, and I made the comparison with a thought-reform like environment. I did it carefully, but it was a fairly bold thing to do at that early stage of my own work.
DK: Were you ousted?
RL: No, no, I wasn’t ousted at all. There have always been within psychoanalysis people who are more open and more critical of their own group. Erikson was like that himself, as have been many other psychoanalysts whom I’ve known over the years. In fact, over time psychoanalysts have invited me to their programs—I’ve spoken at various institutes and groups. I chose to discontinue psychoanalytic training when I received a chair at Yale back in 1962, both because I had reservations about the dogma, but also because I had no need to become a psychoanalyst in terms of the direction I was going in my research. But, still, psychoanalytic tradition has a lot to offer and has been important to me in my work.
DK: You also wrote that breaking away from the Institute and the psychoanalytic framework allowed you to approach Freud in a new way and to connect to some of his more radical ideas.
RL: Yes, that was important to me. Back then, Freud had almost a deified kind of standing at the institute, and there were constraints on criticism and open-minded thinking that might find him lacking in any way. And so it was more difficult for someone like me to really engage with his ideas in a creative way. Later when I left the Institute, I was free to do that and did so in particular in relation to death and death imagery, which I was exploring after my study of Hiroshima survivors. I found that Freud had a lot to say about these things if one could translate the instinctual rhetoric into a rhetoric of symbolization. That’s what I tried to do in relationship to death imagery in one of the books that I wrote in those early years, in 1979, called The Broken Connection: On Death and the Continuity of Life. It was about those issues as they affected psychological and psychiatric thinking in general.

Hiroshima and the Symbolization of Death

DK: Can you explain what you mean by the symbolization of death? It sounds in some ways like an existentialist perspective.
RL: I don’t call it existential or phenomenological, but it resembles that kind of approach in many ways. What I mean by a symbolizing approach is that Freud did speak of symbols in his work, but it was more in terms of one thing representing another. A pen symbolizes a penis or whatever. But a broader approach to symbolization came through Ernst Cassirer and Susanne Langer, symbolic philosophers. Their idea of symbolization is that the mind can perceive nothing without recreating it, at least during adulthood and during mid and late childhood. We are inveterate symbolizers. And that means that every perception includes a recreation with this wonderful and sometimes dangerous gray matter of the human brain, so that we recast every perception and have no choice but to do so.
That’s what symbolization really is. And in that sense, although Freud rightly emphasized denial of death, I could evolve making use of his work and also the work of Otto Rank, a great early psychoanalyst, the idea of the symbolization of immortality—not as a denial of death, but as a symbolization of human continuity. Because we’re a cultural animal, we need to feel a continuity with those who go before and those who will go on after what we know to be our limited life span. And that is a symbolization of immortality rather than a literal claim to it, which of course is never realizable.
DK: It sounds like a non-religious way of thinking about what happens after death. Did these ideas emerge out of your study on Hiroshima survivors?
RL: Much of this research about death and death symbolism did evolve from my work in Hiroshima. And it’s my way of developing a secular perspective—because I remain secular—that takes into account some of the insights that have been developed in relationship to death, but also in relationship to what is thought to be immortality or some kind of afterlife.
My approach is a natural one. It’s never supernatural. But what I’ve learned is that the mind and the brain are extraordinary instruments that, in extreme situations, can go places that we find hard to imagine.
DK: You have been exposed to a great deal of death imagery not only through your research in Hiroshima, but with Vietnam vets, Nazi doctors, and other research you’ve done. What do you think drew you to this kind of work and to these questions?
RL: It’s not easy to answer that question, and I don’t think there’s any single characteristic or single experience that drew me to these events. I hadn’t probed the issue of death and death symbolism until my Hiroshima study, and I came to my Hiroshima work through a certain kind of activism leading to scholarship, rather than in reverse, as we usually think about it. It was through my exposure to a group called the Committee of Correspondence in Cambridge [MA] led by David Riesman in the late ‘50s. He was an early antinuclear academic, a sociologist who probed ways in which nuclear weapons were harming our society and our social institutions.
It was because of him and others in the group that when I was in Japan subsequently in the early 1960s to do a study of Japanese youth, I decided to make the trip to Hiroshima.
I was stunned to find that nobody had ever done a comprehensive study of that first atomic bomb. I developed a principle, which may not always hold up to scrutiny, that the larger a human event, the less likely it is to be studied. It’s difficult to study large events, and we don’t like to get out of our comfort zone, which a study like that certainly required.
I was then just beginning my chair at Yale and I was able to work out with the chairman of my department an arrangement to stay on in Hiroshima for six months to do the study. But it was the exposure to activism that led to the scholarship, and then I tried to do the work very systematically through interview methods in a modified way. The book I wrote from that study, Death in Life: Survivors of Hiroshima, was my scholarly contribution to antinuclear activism.

Combining Scholarship with Activism

DK: You say in your autobiography, “I was groping for ways of expressing in my work and in my life deeper opposition to what America was doing and becoming. The sequence involved for me consisted of first outrage, then research to deepen knowledge, and then protest in the form of writing and action.”

Most people don’t associate psychiatry and psychology with activism. Did you feel like you were forging a totally new path? Or were there other psychiatrists doing what you were doing?

RL: I was intent on combining scholarship and activism. I didn’t call it that at the very beginning, but I came to the realization that I wanted to combine them over time. There were a few others doing it at the time and I think there always are people doing it in any given field. I think each of us who tries to combine scholarship with activism does it in his or her own fashion.

There’s great value in obtaining good training for one’s profession, in deeply learning the trade we’re doing and combining that with activism. One can make certain kinds of contributions through professional knowledge that enhance activism in a way that contributions without that professional knowledge wouldn’t be able to do.

There are always some people, however few, who can look critically at their profession and yet see value in its tradition. In the case of psychology, as you know, there have been quite a number of very good psychologists who have spoken out passionately in opposing the American Psychological Association’s involvement with torture.

DK: Yes, like the folks at Psychologists for Social Responsibility who kept this in the media and fought against it for over a decade, finally getting a resolution through the APA to remove psychologists from all national security interrogations last year in 2015.
RL: They’ve always been there. And one no doubt has to seek them out and work with them and find ways in both one’s training and in one’s life to combine scholarship with activism. It can be done.

Of course, institutions can be backward and can, as we saw in the case of the American Psychological Association, take dangerous directions. But mostly if one is rigorously combining scholarship and activism, one is not really that condemned and on the whole one is honored for the effort. It’s demanding and it can lead to moments of conflict and difficulty, but it’s also rewarding.

DK: Well, it requires going against the grain, right?
RL: It’s going against the grain of the mainstream, but there is much in cultural experience that goes against the grain of the mainstream. One way of looking at it is that every profession has an ethical dimension as well as a technical one, and it’s a good thing to be well trained in the technical aspects of one’s profession, but not at the expense of ethics.

I was very aware of this in relation to studying Nazi doctors. Some of my friends warned me against doing it because they thought I would simply reduce them to psychopathology and lose sight of the ethical issues. I thought that was a fair warning and decided that whatever I did, I would look to both psychological and ethical elements, never leaving out the latter.

DK: That must have been difficult.
RL: In my work on Vietnam, I talked about the scandalous moment that we reached during the Vietnam War, where the duty of psychologists and psychiatrists was to help soldiers, traumatized by what they were seeing and doing, return to duty and daily atrocities.
DK: That reminds me of the army resilience training that positive psychologist Martin Seligman has been doing at the University of Pennsylvania. Among other things it’s designed to help troops better withstand multiple deployments in places like Afghanistan.
RL: When this was happening in Vietnam, I began to study the history of the concept of “profession.” It was originally a religious concept, a profession of faith, and then with our secular age it became more and more technical. Professions became learning technical details specific to that profession, and that technicization was highly overdone at the expense of the ethical dimension. We need to newly incorporate the ethical dimension to combine it with the techniques that we learn in our profession. That idea has been a common theme throughout my work.
DK: How do you imagine the ethical dimension being reincorporated into training? It strikes me that in the ethics classes that we take in psychology training, often times we’re dealing with thorny individual situations—when to break confidentiality, what’s the best way to protect yourself from lawsuits etc.—but we are rarely taught how to break free from toxic groupthink, how to stand up against immoral ethical transgressions like what happened in the American Psychological Association, how to dismantle unethical systems that might be contributing to the mental illness of the patients we see. We’re not often tackling these larger ethical issues that are deeply wounding and affecting the people we see in therapy. It can feel like a kind of resilience training we’re doing, helping people better navigate an unjust world without tackling the injustice that brings them to us.
RL: I think each of us can question things in the world around us, but there is no perfect answer to this problem. It’s not always possible to combine one’s activism with one’s professional work, sometimes they are things you do in parallel ways. Sometimes that means working with an institution that doesn’t live up to one’s activist principles, one’s activist desires, but I think it’s a constant balance one struggles for within oneself.

In work with patients, even if one doesn’t impose on them a full expression of all that one believes about how the world should be, every patient in psychotherapy has a strong sense of the ethical and political qualities of a therapist.

Even when things are not said. One’s holding to these principles does make its way into the relationship. And, of course, these are things that can be discussed in therapy, though one has to use one’s judgment about that. But I’m not one to give extensive advice about therapy. It’s not an area of expertise of mine at all.

DK: What went into your choice to not become a clinician?
RL: I was trained in psychotherapy and I did some of it early on, but relatively little. I began doing research and I found that the research I did was so involving and I was so intensely bound up with it that I wanted to deepen it and extend it. Doing individual therapy in a way was a distraction from that kind of research. Individual therapy requires one’s presence and a lot of one’s imagination. It’s very demanding and it’s also very satisfying. I felt its demands and I even enjoyed it, but I really preferred to develop the research, which I did with great intensity, and that required giving up the work in therapy.

The Nazi Doctors

DK: You’ve written many well-known books, but Nazi Doctors is one of your most well-known. When I read it, I was shocked that you were able to have so much face-to-face time with people I assumed would have been in prison. They had obviously perpetrated or witnessed a great deal of atrocity, some were still Hitler enthusiasts, and they were just living life in post-war-Germany like everything was dandy.
RL: It was the most difficult study I did. It was hard to sit down with Nazi doctors, you’re right. Most of them were not fanatical, but they tried to present themselves to me as conservative professionals who had experienced pressures during the Nazi era and tried to handle them as well as they could.

They knew I didn’t accept that self-presentation, but I worked from a standpoint of probing them and constantly asking questions and then asking more questions rather than confronting them and calling them evil or anything of that sort.

What happened in general with most of them was that they were surprisingly ready to talk to me, but behaved as though that person during the Nazi era was somebody different from the person sitting with me in the room, and that he and I were talking about that earlier figure as a third person—a kind of extreme dissociation.

I studied as much as I could about the particular person I was talking to, what people in his situation with the Nazis actually did, so I had a considerable knowledge of the context in most cases before I even sat down with them.

There were one or two who remained ardent Nazis in a way, but mostly they didn’t. Still, it was very uncomfortable and partly I could manage it because I knew I would have my say in the book I would write. And I deeply valued the research enterprise, its potential to say something that other studies of Nazi behavior couldn’t say.

DK: I researched those studies for my dissertation, particularly Stanley Milgram’s studies on obedience around the same time that Hanna Arendt was writing for The New Yorker about Adolph Eichmann’s trial in Jerusalem, both of them coming to the conclusion that normal people can, indeed, commit atrocities. It was a big scandal to say at the time that Nazis were human beings, not monsters. Were you worried that your work would humanize them too much?
RL: Some people were worried about that. But, you know, they were human and that was the problem. They were human beings. They were human beings who did evil things.

Evil things are only done by human beings in my view, not by god or by the devil, but by fellow human beings. And in that sense, yes, I had to encounter all of their sides. Not humanizing them to the extent of leaving out or negating their evil, but rather recognizing and trying to probe ways in which human beings are capable of evil, or what I came to call the psychological and historical circumstances that are conducive to evil.

DK: What you call, “atrocity-producing situations?”
RL: Yes, atrocity-producing situations are those in which ordinary people may be socialized to evil. They come to belong to a group in which the norm is destructive—murderers in Auschwitz, let’s say. Or even in Vietnam. And since we are social animals and we all belong to groups, we never work totally in isolation intellectually or emotionally. If one enters into a group which holds an ideology of genocide or mass killing, one tends to internalize much of that ideology. That is a way in which human beings carry out evil projects and, of course, do so as human beings.
DK: Was one of the difficulties of doing this work that you could sort of imagine yourself in their shoes?
RL: One has to wonder that. If I had been a German, would I have done some of the things that they did? I wouldn’t necessarily condemn myself and say I would have, but one has to ask oneself that kind of question. And one has to also come to value, as I did, those who opposed the Nazis. For instance, I became a friend of two of the few psychoanalytic heroes I know of, Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich, a husband and wife who were anti-Nazis and were part of the underground during the Nazis era at great risk. He reintroduced Freudian psychoanalysis into Germany after the war and was the first to expose, on the basis of the Nuremburg medical trial, the deeds of Nazi doctors.

I also met Jewish survivors of Auschwitz who had managed to remain healers while in Auschwitz. So there were people one could admire in those extreme situations and one could at least hope that one would have been among them, should one have been exposed to that sort of pressure. But who can be sure?

DK: Do you hope through this kind of research to prepare people to be among the helpers, the healers?
RL: Yes, the research is very much meant to expose the destructive behavior, the killing, and assert its opposite, the healing. In all of the studies I’ve done, I’ve looked at the alternative to the extremity of behavior that I was studying. Even in my first study of Chinese thought reform, which applied great pressure in coercing change in people, I had a long concluding section on what I called “open personal change.” All of my work is in the service of openness and healing and ultimately justice, even though—or particularly because—it studies the opposite.
DK: Do you think that people who deny their own darkness are more likely to act out in evil ways?
RL: I think we all have a potential for destructive or evil behavior. When I completed my work on Nazi doctors, people would say, now what do you think of your fellow human beings? And most people expected that I’d completely lost my faith in humanity, but what I said was, “We can go either way.”

I haven’t lost my sense of possibility in human beings. And, yes, we do have a potential for destruction. Somebody wrote a book called We Are All Nazis and I didn’t like that kind of approach because it ceases to make distinctions. Having the potential for evil is very different than actually engaging in evil behavior. But we all have a potential for destructive behavior and it’s well to look at that.

I think that the relationship to ideology and groups that form around ideology has a lot to do with which direction we take. By ideology, I mean idea structures that have intensity and which explain aspects of the world to us. This is something we all engage in, even though we Americans like to think we’re non-ideological. The kind of idea structures we embrace and the groups that we immerse ourselves in have a lot to do with which aspects of the human potential we find ourselves expressing.

DK: Is your concept of the “protean self” a counter to this more strictly ideological way of being?
RL: Well, the protean self is a counter to the more rigid, fixed self and to the totalistic tendencies that I am averse to or even allergic to. The all-or-none kinds of totalism that I studied and wrote about in my first study of Chinese thought reform in particular. What I found is that the reverse of totalism is a kind of proteanism, which has surprising capacity for change and transformation and for a multiplicity of elements in one’s character or personality. This has its vulnerabilities, too, but at least means that we needn’t be stuck in totalitarian dogma. To the extent that we are protean, there are constant opportunities for new beginnings.
DK: Does it mean just being a flexible, open person?
RL: Yes, it does, but also more than that. It’s consistent with flexibility and openness, and a capacity for change and transformation.

Apocalyptic Violence

DK: In your book, Destroying the World to Save It: Shinrikyo, Apocalyptic Violence, and the New Global Terrorism, you do a study on the Japanese cult that released sarin nerve gas in the Tokyo subways. We’re certainly living in a time of apocalyptic violence and I’m wondering what your study in this book has to teach us about it more generally.
RL: The Japanese cult, Aum Shinrikyo, was notably apocalyptic. The guru and his close disciples believed passionately in the end of the world, and in actively contributing to that end. It was an example of what the ancient Rabbis called “forcing the end.” I write of an ancient rabbinical dialogue about whether it’s correct for people, for rabbis, to advise joining in the violence to force the end of the world and help bring about the appearance of the messiah. The rabbis decided against it, saying that only god kept that timetable.

But some of the most extreme groups do embrace violence to bring about the end of the world, as did Aum Shinrikyo. And there are certain American right-wing groups that have that intent, who have tried to destroy the government through acts of violence, and contribute to an apocalyptic vision, as well as to forcing the end.

But there’s also a lot of apocalyptic thinking in this country without necessarily resorting to violence. There are confused, highly fundamentalist groups in America with an element of apocalypticism who, for instance, deny climate change. They say that only god could change the climate, that it would be impossible for human beings to be responsible for it. And some of those people are in the mainstream of American political life in the Republican Party. That’s a fundamentalist approach that can also be apocalyptic. It isn’t necessarily violent, but it can be highly dangerous.

DK: Do you think that the war on terror, particularly as it was waged by George W. Bush, had elements of apocalypticism in it?
RL: Yes, it did. I wrote about this in my book, Superpower Syndrome: America’s Apocalyptic Confrontation with the World. George W. Bush saw it as a war against evil and that takes on something close to an apocalyptic tendency. To destroy evil is to create an endless war against an enemy that can never be destroyed. It also is to polarize the world into one’s own good and the evil of the other. It’s that tendency that we’re seeing now with regard to terrorism.

Terrorism is real. And ISIS is a real danger. And it’s a highly apocalyptic and murderous movement. But there’s a tendency among some groups in this country to view it the way that communism was viewed in the past as absolute evil in contrast to our absolute good. That radical polarization of the world is enormously harmful and can feed violence ultimately rather than diminish it.

DK: Is that the kind of historical issue that you bring your psychological methods and moral complexity to, for purposes of understanding the “other”?
RL: That’s right. Moral complexity becomes extremely important. That’s where we psychologists and psychiatrists can have something to say.

Climate Change and the Nuclear Threat

DK: Right now you’re working on a book about climate change and you are also making a connection between the antinuclear movement and the climate change movement. You basically never hear about nuclear proliferation these days and I’m wondering why people aren’t more freaked out by it. To my knowledge, the world’s arsenals have only gotten bigger.
RL: Yes. The nuclear threat is still very much with us and there are people who are saying this, but it has lost its visibility in a larger society. So there’s a gap between mind and threat. During the ‘80s, the heyday of the antinuclear movement, when there was the million-person demonstration in Central Park and the nuclear freeze or moratorium, there was a certain amount of fear that was useful. And there was a closer relationship between mind and threat.

I don’t equate nuclear threat with climate threat, but I look at the nuclear threat and the antinuclear movement for both parallels and differences in order to think more critically and understand the challenges of climate change.

They both are realities that threaten the human future; they both have world-ending possibilities—yet they both are movements that the human mind is capable of addressing. We haven’t figured this out in time to prevent enormous amounts of suffering because of climate change, and there’s a great amount of work that has to be done even to limit that suffering. Nonetheless, there is a demonstration of what I call “formed awareness” about the nature of climate change that has great value to us because it’s the basis for anything constructive that we do in that area.

DK: But there’s not that sense of imminent crisis that the threat of nuclear war gives us.
RL: The comparisons are complicated because, yes, there’s something about a bomb—it’s an entity, it’s a thing that explodes and destroys a city. We saw that in Hiroshima and Nagasaki and I’ve experienced it viscerally by studying it in Hiroshima. Climate doesn’t do that. It’s a slower incremental series of changes, but what’s changed now in relation to the climate threat is that it’s become more active. We’ve had hurricanes and floods—
DK: Super storms.
RL: We’ve had coast lines being destroyed. It’s closer to us. The gap between mind and threat is narrowing. Climate change has become not just something that will become much worse in the future—it will if we don’t do more about it—but also something that’s now affecting and threatening us in profound ways at this moment. So, that distinction between the two is still there, but it’s lessening. And climate change is closer to us as a real threat.
DK: Well thank you so much. This has been such an interesting conversation.
RL: You’re very welcome.

Bad Therapy: When Firing Your Therapist Is Therapeutic

The Nail Biting Maternal Yes Woman

I was never taught how to recognize and deal with therapy that was more subtly bad.

I have been in psychotherapy at various times throughout my life, and I must acknowledge that I have always felt like a difficult client. I am a passionate and devoted psychotherapist, but I have been a reluctant, suspicious client. I know this is a deficit. I recognize how crucial it is for me as a therapist to see my own blind spots. Throughout the years of working with different therapists, I’ve never really loved being in therapy. But oh, I would love to meet the right therapist for me, if there is one out there, and experience meaningful, utterly significant therapy. At times, I feel bad that I am offering a process in which I haven’t wholeheartedly engaged from the other side.

Part of what has made me feel difficult as a client has been my intense aversion to being told what to do—I don’t like feeling forced into anything I haven’t chosen freely. I felt trapped and pressured when I was six years old and taken to see a therapist because I had anxiety about having a small heart operation. Therapy felt like a punishment; I missed birthday parties and play dates and instead spent hours feeling judged by a very earnest and unrelatable man for having “worries,” as he put it. My “worries” had gotten me in trouble!

The more I complained about therapy, the more my parents insisted I continue with him. I remember clearly when I figured out that if I pretended not to be worried about things, not to show my emotions too strongly, and not to show that I cared one way or another about going to therapy, I would be better off. Sure enough, my show of insouciance succeeded. Pretending to be indifferent released me. When my parents and the therapist told me I could now stop treatment, I didn’t dare show my sense of joy or liberation.

I always questioned the quality of therapists I saw briefly at various times in my teenage years and early twenties. When I moved from New York to London, I was happy to leave a therapist who emailed me after her hysterectomy to request that I purchase and send her a specific type of fudge that could only be found in Covent Garden. The first therapist I saw in London increased her fees significantly without telling me. I only discovered the price hike in the invoice she sent me after two months of weekly sessions.

For the first two years of my clinical training, I had an unbelievably gentle, humanistic therapist. She was sweet and supportive and I cried and offered up morsels of vulnerability and she praised me relentlessly. It was all unconditional positive regard. She was the boring, uncritical motherly type in contrast to my own, and her niceness felt soothing until her flattery struck me as hollow. I showed up for a session on a rainy morning and she applauded me for making it to the session, given the pouring rain. “She said yes to everything I said, praising me for simply existing, bit her nails compulsively, and never challenged me.” I disqualified her harshly for these things. It felt like skiing the bunny hill. I wanted to develop, to grow, to be stretched!

When I finally expressed my discontent with our work together, and said I wanted to be challenged more, she suggested that I consider the challenge of not being challenged. I was outraged by her inadequate response to my attack, and I left abruptly and felt guilty afterwards. I was in my mid-twenties and I was flighty, cocky and insecure. I sometimes recognize versions of this sort of behavior in my practice—the angsty twenty-somethings who start off treatment showing receptivity and curiosity about themselves; they think they’re psychologically-minded and ready and willing to do the work. They want to please, and they agree to a weekly time, to the financial and emotional commitment, to the whole thing, and then they reveal their ambivalence, missing scheduled appointments, claiming not to have realized that the following session was arranged for the agreed time.

I understand this combination of inconsiderateness and desperation to please. So in this sense, my experience of being a bad client has expanded my repertoire of understanding as a therapist. I recently emailed this therapist to acknowledge and apologize for my abrupt departure all those years ago. She wrote back a warm and friendly email.

The Bad Referral

E. seemed smart, rigorous, and her approach was intellectually appealing to me—relational, attachment-based therapy with a psychodynamic conceptualization of development mixed with gestalt elements. I found her manner a little austere, but I assumed I was projecting and I thought her briskness might mean she’d challenge me and not just agree with everything I said. I also assumed that there were certain cultural factors at play—she was British and I was American (though I’d spent the last decade living in the UK). It was typical for an emotionally-forthcoming American to feel that English people could seem remote. I told myself I had to respect her minimal way of showing feelings.

As months and then years passed, E. continued to seem chilly, but my strong sense of being a difficult client left me not trusting my judgment of our therapy for a long time. I assumed I was impossible to please, so the fact that E. and I didn’t form a rapport didn’t set off alarm bells. I didn’t think I could do better, and I thought the problem was with me, not her. I think I displayed a fearful avoidant attachment style in my therapy with E. I wanted very much to connect and express my needs, but I didn’t think my needs could be met, so I tried to stay away from too much exposure or vulnerability.

As time went on, I struggled to trust E., both in concrete ways and in a larger sense. I felt paranoid that E. would gossip about me with my supervisors and lecturers, whom she knew from her teaching days. She felt like an authority figure who could get me in trouble. I didn’t want her to see the parts of myself I disliked.

"Reassurance is Never Reassuring"

I voiced my fears to her and she neither confirmed nor contradicted them. I think I wanted her to reassure me. I asked for this once. “Reassurance is never reassuring,” she quipped. Oh, but sometimes it simply is. Especially when it comes to something as vital to the work as the therapeutic relationship. At least probe my anxious concerns, be curious about me and ask me to go deeper, explore further. She wouldn’t speak about these things. “The more she withheld, the more emotionally hungry I became.”

The mutual mistrust played out around money. Her invoices frequently billed me for extra sessions we had never scheduled. The first time she overcharged me, I was embarrassed. I pointed out the overcharge with a degree of shame, and only after I’d meticulously confirmed in my head beforehand that the mistake was hers. She argued and insisted the bill was correct until finally she saw that she’d charged me for two extra sessions on days when she’d been away. Most of her invoices contained extra charges. Could I just pay each week, I asked. Or pay the set amount, knowing what I owed? No, this was me trying to break the frame, wanting special treatment, not knowing how to play by the rules.

When I pointed out the routine overcharges, she said I must always check her calculations and insisted it meant nothing. But her mathematical mistakes only ever overcharged me—the inaccuracies never went the other way. At the end of every month, I would open her invoice knowing I had to scan and detect the overcharge and go back to her and point out a mistake. Did a part of me delight in finding fault with her, knowing she was in the wrong? Sure. Especially given her absolute insistence on analytic neutrality when it suited her, her financial distortions seemed like frame deviations on her part. But any delight I felt in catching her errors was overshadowed by the feeling of chaos and unease these mistakes brought up for me. She was supposed to be the adult in the situation, yet it was up to me to fix the mistakes, and she didn’t acknowledge the burden.

Money in our work felt personal (it often is, of course). I paid her in cash; she counted every bill in front of me, licking the tips of her fingers to shuffle through each note. Her overcharging and her counting each note (I always paid the correct amount—not once, in all the years of working together, did she discover I had stiffed her, but the suspicion never lifted) wasn’t open for exploration, even though I felt convinced that the repeated overcharging revealed her wish to get more money for having to deal with me.

In my practice, I have made occasional mistakes with invoices, once under-charging (I’d forgotten about an extra session and the client graciously pointed this out) and recently, charging for a cancelled session that I had agreed I wouldn’t charge for. In both cases, I acknowledged my mistakes and gave the clients room to air their grievances or feelings of any sort. I praised them for pointing out my errors, and invited them to express whatever my mistakes might have evoked. Perhaps I overcorrect, but in these small ways, I attempt to repair some of my personal therapy wounds by trying to do better with my own clients. I try to handle my mess-ups honestly and thoughtfully. I know how much a therapist’s righteousness can hurt.

In the beginning phase of therapy with E., I found myself chatting about issues that were somewhat relevant to my life without being really pithy and significant. This was my classic resistant manner of seeming open and self-revealing but in a safe enough, limited way. Except that my carefully constructed issues were actually significant for me, and I longed for E. to understand me and help me understand myself.

Heaps of Rubbish

“What if one day you realize you wish you still had the old chair you got rid of?” she asked. But the chair was broken and wobbled and I didn’t like it much anyway. I was okay with not keeping the chair. Why wasn’t she? I struggled with her insistence because I needed to consolidate and clear space and get rid of things I didn’t need. I felt discouraged from letting go of things, which was an issue that had troubled me and which I was trying to overcome.

Only two months into our work, E. had announced that she would be moving her practice to the other side of London. What had been a three-minute walk door to door would now be a sixty-minute commute on the underground. I agreed to make this move, but resented it. I wasn’t delighted with our work together but I felt committed and somehow obligated to make the move to the new location. She wouldn’t tell me if this new address was her home or a separate consulting space. I figured out quickly when I showed up for our first session in the new location that it was where she lived. And I discovered the moment I arrived that she was a hoarder.

Piles and heaps of rubbish lined the hallway. I could see stacks and stacks of boxes of newspapers in the window of the living room as well as the room above the consulting room. There were mountains of post that made it difficult to fully open the front door, and there were unopened letters marked URGENT underneath old mugs and broken china. There was a horrendous odor of detritus and filth and I don’t know what.

Suddenly, E.’s urging me to hold onto things made sense. I didn’t acknowledge the piles of stuff that invaded the therapeutic space because it simply didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to embarrass her, or bother her, or seem critical, even though of course I felt all sorts of things I wish I had been able to express. So we pretended the stuff wasn’t there.

“When I asked if I could charge my phone one day, E. insisted on a very lengthy interpretation of my need to get energy from her.” It didn’t match my sense that she had very little energy to offer me, but I suppose I was often emotionally hungry and felt underfed. I think of this every time a client asks to use an outlet in my consulting room to charge his or her phone. Sure, there’s some symbolism, but in my work with E., it didn’t match my perception.

Rupture Without Repair

I arrived for a session on a crisp spring day wearing a grey dress I had recently purchased which made me feel cheerful and attractive. I came into the room feeling chirpy, and before I’d sat down or spoken, she looked at me quizzically. “You look like you’re dressed for a funeral,” she said. When she did break the silence, her statements were wild.

“I felt like dressing up. I’m going out for dinner after this and I wanted to look nice.”

Silence.

When I felt morose and down, I felt as estranged from her as when I was upbeat. She kept an incredible distance which I found painful and cold. My wanting closeness was not unreasonable or something to be ashamed of. I struggled incredibly to make sense of this really pretty terrible and very long therapeutic experience.

I felt the negative transference heavily for the five years that we worked together. I brought this up again and again, and E. met my statements with silence. I would ask for more feedback, and she would refuse to speak. I wondered if there were a rationale for her obstinate silence, and she wouldn’t offer me one.

It began to emerge that the therapeutic approach she aligned herself to professionally didn’t at all match my experience of her in the room. Attachment theory? Where was the attunement, the reparative emotional experience, the nurturing, and the secure base? Perhaps it wasn’t just my fantasies, paranoia, or projections. Nor was it simply the distortions of negative transference. E. really detested me. That was my overruling sense, and I said this to her tearfully in a session one day. Stony silence. I pressed her, feeling desperate and distressed by her refusal to reassure me or challenge my perception. “So am I right in thinking that you just don’t like me?” I cried.

“I never said that,” she said.

“But you’re not saying otherwise,” I said. “I feel like you just don’t get me—you don’t like me—I feel it strongly. I feel like you’re never glad to see me. I’m not sure why we’re still working together. Can you help me understand? Do you think we should still be working together?”

“You’re wanting this to be about me and this is about you,” said E. Yet she claimed she was relational.

“Please,” I begged. “I know my feelings are strong right now, but I want to understand which feelings belong to me, which belong to you, and which we’re experiencing together. I want to understand how you see me.”

“This is about you,” she repeated, and she wouldn’t elaborate.

“But how do you see me? I want to understand.”

Silence.

I’d gone from the Maternal Yes Woman to the therapist who refused to mirror me at all—who was there but not there—someone who was technically present but emotionally absent. Thinking about it now, “I wonder if she simply couldn’t bear her feelings towards me and so she partitioned them off and tried to extinguish her presence in the room altogether.” She couldn’t engage fully because it might have exposed her unruly feelings about me so she had to withdraw and disconnect emotionally to keep the space manageable.

This is all speculation, of course. She would never help me decipher what was my stuff, what was her stuff, and what was our stuff together. It was all my stuff. Except that her stuff was everywhere. In the hallway, stacked behind her desk, heaped next to the armchair where I sat, brimming everywhere. And despite her efforts to clear out her emotional responses to me, I felt them heavily. They were everywhere, even if they couldn’t be talked about or acknowledged.

The Dirty Underwear Incident

On this occasion, I went into the bathroom and there was a pair of underpants on the floor filled with blood. It was a startling sight and I wasn’t sure if it was blood or feces, or both. I went upstairs and told E. what I’d seen. Silence. I asked if she could please explain what I had seen. Silence. Did she think I was making it up? Could she go see what I had just seen so we could agree on this reality? Silence.

“If her silence was justified by her psychoanalytic stance of abstinence, then surely allowing me to witness underpants filled with a huge amount of blood or feces was a frame transgression and not in keeping with therapeutic neutrality.” Please could she confirm reality? I felt alone. Alone with my perception, alone with my feelings: isolated, unthought-of, and disliked.

I realize that my bringing up the unsightly bathroom discovery was perhaps my own aggression coming out—I felt righteous and somewhat gleeful at the same time that I was distressed to have discovered proof of the horror I felt all the time in that house. But E. would not acknowledge my attack on her. That would be admitting that I mattered enough to hurt her.

When I announced my engagement, E., who knew I’d longed for this moment deeply, didn’t show any pleasure in witnessing my joy. She often took my husband’s side when I brought quarrels to the sessions, but that felt like her way of suggesting that I should hold onto any man who loved me. When I was animated about a therapeutic idea I’d read about or something I’d experienced at one of my clinical placements, she met my enthusiasm with a look of boredom. Of course, she didn’t confirm or contradict my sense of her feelings, but her feelings were still there, coming out in myriad ways, even if she didn’t acknowledge them.

Pregnant Silences

“You’re making this about me, rather than staying with you,” she said in a clipped, measured tone.

“I want it to be about us just a little, maybe so I’ll feel less alone with my pain,” I said.

“Perhaps you find it difficult that other people don’t share this with you, that other people can get pregnant instantly and you can’t.”

I mulled this over. I felt like she was encouraging me to feel jealous… jealous of her? Envious that she might have had no trouble getting pregnant? I had once glimpsed her daughter. Did she want me to envy her? What was going on? But I had to limit my queries about our relationship or what was personal for her because it would be interpreted as me being intrusive, me making this work about her and not about me.

As my struggles with infertility continued, I became increasingly interested in the idea of adopting a baby. I felt excited and enlivened by this possibility, and my husband was open to this potential path as well. I brought this up in a session, excited and relieved by my own enthusiasm and renewed hope. “Adoption is second best, and you know it,” E. said. I became livid recalling this comment, and I brought it up in the following session. E. defended her statement, saying that adopted children inevitably have attachment difficulties, and it’s second best to having your own biological child. We argued and argued and couldn’t reach resolution on this issue.

Her heavy-handed insistence on burdening me with her personal views on adoption upset me intensely, and I discussed this with a couple of close friends who were also therapists. One of the friends suggested I report E. to the ethics committee. I thought about it but decided it would be like suing someone for breaking your heart—my case against E. was so emotional, so intensely personal, and it all felt nebulous and highly subjective.

The Challenge of Leaving

I wish that my extensive psychotherapy training had offered trainees more tools for recognizing and dealing with inadequate therapy. “For all of the rigor and scrutiny that goes into honing the craft of psychotherapy, we are not sufficiently educated in knowing how to evaluate our own personal experiences of therapy.” There is still a sense, as a trainee, that the therapist is the expert and the therapist in training is the student.

For all the discussions and studies on endings in therapy, it was only when I’d finished my training and qualified that I felt able to end my bad therapy. Perhaps it was her hoarding ways that allowed E. to hold onto me even if she didn’t consider me that valuable—she held onto ancient junk mail, after all. But she too should have let me go—if the work is life-diminishing, the therapist owes it to the client to at least acknowledge the impasse and danger of carrying on in a destructive and unhelpful way.

I finally ended my work with E. a month after I had completed my clinical training. That extra month was probably my last rebellious expression against being told what to do—now that I was no longer required to be in weekly therapy, I had to end my therapy on my own terms, and it wouldn’t have felt right for our last session to coincide precisely with the end of my training. I actually really needed therapy at this time in my life. I was still struggling with infertility and my anxiety and obsessive thinking around this issue was corroding my sense of self and affecting all areas of my life and even my work.

In anticipating our ending, E. had often suggested that we would finish at least temporarily when I had a baby. This contingency plan made me feel that pregnancy and motherhood would be the only legitimate excuses for getting out of this relationship. And the fact that I deeply longed to become a mother, and felt deprived and frustrated by my difficulties becoming pregnant, made me feel all the more trapped and stuck, in therapy and in life.

Finally, still not pregnant, still in weekly therapy with E., I arrived for a session and told E. I just didn’t think that continuing therapy was a good idea for me. “I don’t think you like me, and that feels like a big problem for me. Call it my narcissistic wound—in fact, I would love to know what you think, if you think it is my ego, or my distorted perceptions of how others experience me, or if I’m picking up on your real feelings—please do tell me if you can, but in any case, I want to stop. I don’t want to come here anymore.”

“Fine,” she said. I asked her to elaborate. She wouldn’t. I asked her—no—I begged her, to tell me what she thought about my sense of her sense of me.

“Please, could you give me some parting words, some closing interpretations I can take away with me, so I can look back at our years of work together and have some solid sense of your ideas about me?”

She responded with this: “Charlotte, you have been coming here for five years. You know my interpretations. You know my ideas about you.”

“I really don’t! I really, really don’t! I often feel as if you don’t like me. I don’t know if I should trust my sense of this or not. Please, even if you think you’ve said it all before, please say it again. Do I sound borderline, demanding this from you? Paranoid? Perhaps. But please, do it anyway! Tell me what you think of me!”

“You are like a ram with horns,” she said. “You press, and you press.” All true. Actually useful feedback, even if it seemed harsh. I appreciated her directness.

“You’re bright; you’re beautiful. You know that,” she said, looking utterly fatigued.

I felt like crying, though the tears just didn’t come. Was this everything I had longed for? Did her praise mean more to me because she wasn’t emotionally generous and she’d been so withholding all this time? Was it worth it? Not really. But it helped. Though her comment about my looks seemed odd and out of character. I didn’t dare ask her to say more. That was enough.

I wanted to end the work thoughtfully, especially given how long I’d stuck it out up until this point. I had to justify the long and grueling struggle. E. disagreed with my sense that we should have a termination phase, and said that “given the givens,” we could end the following week. I found this notion cryptic, but that was nothing new. I left our final session feeling buoyed by the freedom to walk away from something that doesn’t feel healthy or good. The following weeks, I breathed more easily; I felt lighter, freer, empowered. It was that glorious feeling of finally letting go of something that’s bad for you and that you don’t actually need.

The Happy Ending

I ran into E. at my training institution a couple of weeks later. I walked through the turnstile with my student ID which had not yet expired, and saw E. struggling to get through from the other side. I was never sure if she had poor peripheral vision or simply pretended not to see me on the few occasions I’d spotted her out in the world. Her stuckness was awkward and she snapped at the receptionist that she should not have such difficulty. I decided I had to have one final encounter, and I was desperate to tell her my news.

“E! Hello!” I said, meeting her on the other side of the turnstile. She smiled opaquely. “I’m so excited to tell you some news,” I said, grinning unabashedly. “I’m finally pregnant. It’s early days—five weeks or so—but at least now I know I can get pregnant, whatever happens.”

“Yes, indeed,” she said, allowing a smile out. “Five weeks. Hmmm. Perhaps it was my parting gift to you.”

“Yes, I like that idea. I wanted you to know because it felt really significant that it happened the same week we ended.”

“That’s interesting,” she said. ?

“I’m so happy to finally give you this news,” I said. “I’ve wanted to be able to tell you this for a really long time. So thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” she said. And that was that.

My work as a psychotherapist has helped me see that my wants and needs as a client were legitimate. They were nothing to be ashamed of, or hide, or regret. “I had a right to want more from my therapist, and I encourage my clients to expect nurturing and care from me.” I encourage them to want connection and attunement. I give my clients what I wish my therapist had given me, so in that sense, my work has also been therapeutic for me. And my experience of bad therapy has helped me become a better therapist because I know very well what doesn’t work and what isn’t helpful.

I also trust my clients when they talk about bad experiences in therapy. If E. did dislike me (or whatever she felt about me), I wish she had found a better way to deal with, or even use, her own countertransference. Recognizing negative feelings about a client can be helpful, and even illuminating and transformative, if a therapist deals with them properly.

Finally, in supervision recently, I brought up my unsatisfactory therapy with E. My supervisor told me that he and E. had been colleagues for many years. I’m very fond of my supervisor and we have a strong rapport. He asked if I wanted to know his opinion of E. “Yes,” I said, “desperately!” I’m not afraid to show him how I feel, and I don’t have to hold back.

“Oh dear,” he said. “I find it bewildering… You, with your warmth, your vivaciousness, your joie de vivre, were in therapy for five years with E? Dear oh dear. I understand your disappointment.”

“Tell me! Oh please, tell me,” I said.

“She’s just, well… she’s just so cold,” he said. “She’s cold, cold, cold.”

“What a relief,” I said. “So it wasn’t just me. Well, it might have been me too—she might not have liked me, but it wasn’t just me finding her cold all those years—my perceptions were reasonable after all.”

“Yes,” he said. “What a mismatch. Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Because I kept thinking things would turn around; that I could get something out of the whole thing; that it was me, not her; that I was projecting and imagining things; that getting her to like me would be some kind of victory; that the difficulty of each session was somehow useful; that the struggle had merit; that I couldn’t be understood by anyone so I might as well stick with the familiar therapist even if she didn’t understand me or like me; that I couldn’t do better. That’s why. I’m sure it was more perverse than I realized. I thought that if I could warm her up, I could play against the house and win—I would succeed in getting her to like me and that would count for something, but it never happened, of course. Talking with you now has made me realize that, actually, she wasn’t the right therapist for me.”

I stayed with the wrong therapist for far too long. I didn’t have the confidence to trust my feelings and opinions sufficiently and end the relationship sooner. There was detritus and filth and junk right there between us and surrounding us and I felt it and sensed it and experienced it once a week for five years, even if the person sitting across from me denied the problem. Something was severely wrong in our work together. I’ll never know if she felt it too.

Spencer Niles on the Latest Developments in Career Counseling

There's Got to Be a Better Way

Greg Arnold: Spencer Niles, you’re an expert in the arena of career counseling and are the star of our new video, Career Counseling in Action: Tools & Techniques. You currently serve as dean of the school of education at William and Mary, after many years on faculty at Penn State. Have you been focused on career counseling throughout your career?
Spencer Niles: Career counseling has pretty much been my gig for the last several decades. It’s what captured my focused interest, and I’ve been surprised at how my interest in it has stayed with me all these years.
GA: You thought it was a phase?
SN: Yea, I thought it was a phase. And maybe it is a phase, a very long phase. But I’ll tell you what happened with me.

GA: How did you get interested in career counseling in the first place?
SN: Well, my first graduate school experience was at a very liberal protestant theological seminary that was very much focused on social justice and social action.
GA: Wonderful.
SN: Theology was a great way for understanding how people make sense of the things that happen to them in life. And I still believe that’s true, but working in a religious institutional setting wasn’t quite right for me. It was way too restrictive and not inclusive enough, so I decided to go get some career counseling for myself. I was about twenty-three at the time.

Somebody referred me to this career counseling center, which was actually a vocational assessment center, they weren’t actually doing career counseling as it turned out, but they called themselves that. I was living in Rochester, New York, and it was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, so I called them and they said they could work with me for a fee of $600.

At the time I had dropped out of graduate school and was substitute teaching in Rochester city schools and working in a gas station kiosk collecting money from people after they pumped gas. That was my life at that point. Just barely getting by and kind of desperate.

A standardized assessment arrived in the mail, and I filled out the bubble sheets, sent them in, and then about six weeks later, drove down to Lancaster, Pennsylvania where this assessment center was and had a series of meetings over several hours, culminating in a meeting with the sort of lead person in this center. $600 was more than a couple of weeks income for me. I was really desperate.
GA: Sure, that’s a chunk of change even by today’s standards.
SN: I was living in a house with about four other people in a little room, having pop-tarts for breakfast and on a good night, a TV dinner for supper.

But I’ll never forget walking into this guy’s office. He had an impressive office, a nice big mahogany desk and he sat on his side of the desk and I sat on my side of the desk, and he proceeded to debrief me and go over the assessment results.

I remember him saying, “If you do anything in psychology, make sure it’s clinical psychology—don't think about counseling psychology, clinical psychology is where it’s at.” But he honed in on speech therapy for some reason. At one point, he asked me a question and I turned to my left to think about it, looked out the window. It could only have been a few seconds, but when I turned back to answer, he had fallen asleep! And I think “oh shit, what the hell do I do now?”
My self-esteem at that point wasn’t all that great, and now I had managed to put my career counselor to sleep. That’s how boring I was.
My self-esteem at that point wasn’t all that great, and now I had managed to put my career counselor to sleep. That’s how boring I was.

Luckily, he woke himself up and went on with the interview, but I was too meek and insecure to say anything to him, so I just pretended nothing happened. And that was it. I left there thinking, “There’s got to be a better way to do this.”
GA: I would hope so! Besides him falling asleep, which is an obvious empathic failure, what else went wrong with that scenario?
SN: Well, to begin with, they used this very rigid, narrow set of assessments that had nothing to do with me. They were just generic questions with no tailoring whatsoever, which was the norm at that time. This very dry, routinized, mechanical directive process.
GA: Impersonal, disconnected.
SN: And the active/passive, expert/novice dichotomies that get set up that are not very empowering.
The truth is that there’s no assessment in the world that can tell you what you should do. It just doesn’t exist.
The truth is that there’s no assessment in the world that can tell you what you should do. It just doesn’t exist. There’s an illusion of precision with these assessments. We pretend that they have more power than they really do. So I’m not a big fan of that style of intervention at all. It’s grounded in my own experience.

The Psychology of Possession

GA: Your style is actually quite personal in the video we’re releasing this month. Can you explain how your approach differs from this old-school style and how you’ve refined it over the decades?
SN: Well, first of all, we start with the belief that there are few things more personal than a career choice and we link career development with human development. We’ve often treated it as if it were isolated from human development rather than a key component of human development.

If we think about setting it in a context of developmental competencies, for instance, then we look at how careers unfold across the lifespan. It wasn’t until the 1950’s when theories that were more developmental in their orientation began to emerge in the work of people like Donald Super, who is a very well-known vocational psychologist who used a developmental perspective. He was on the faculty at Columbia for years and I was part of his research team toward the latter part of his life. It was people like Super that began to say we have to look at longitudinal expressions of career behavior. We can’t look at it as a single-point-in-time event.

For too long the focus on career intervention has relied upon the psychology of possession. What do you possess relative to specific traits that are relevant for career orientation, career decision-making, career planning, etc, relative to a normal curve. So what that guy who fell asleep was doing was looking at the percentile ranking of my aptitude test results and deciding for me what the implications of those ranking were for my career possibilities.

But most of us do not think of ourselves as locations on a normal curve. Nor are we static in our capacities. A psychology of possession focuses on how much we possess of certain traits and qualities, and what our probability for success is relative to others on the curve in particular occupational fields.
GA: Which, as you say, is a very static way of looking at people.
SN: And what it ignores is the psychology of use. How do I use those traits, those qualities, those experiences I’ve had in my life and how do I translate those qualities and those experiences into meaning and purpose?

Now I’ve been interested in career development since about 1980, and I still love it. It hasn’t died. Why the heck is that? There are times I kind of reflect upon that and I think why do I love this stuff so much?

Getting Out of Our Predicaments

GA: Yeah, why do you love it so much?
SN: Many people would say it’s very boring and they don't want to have much to do with. But most people are thinking of an anachronistic version of career counseling when they think that. It’s very exciting work.

In response to your question of how my model is different and more personal, I use an Adlerian-based model that hypothesizes that we’ve all had particular experiences in our lives that capture our attention. And when it comes to our careers, often what captures our attention are the things that happen to us early in life, and more than that, it’s events that were painful. These painful early events create predicaments for us in our lives. And at whatever level, we seek ways out of our predicaments in living.

We seek to make meaning, to turn an early life pre-occupation to a later life occupation, to hopefully make a social contribution.
We seek to make meaning, to turn an early life pre-occupation to a later life occupation, to hopefully make a social contribution. In that process what we do, even at a very subconscious level, is identify role models. Heroes, heroines—real or fictional characters that we see as guiding the way for us out of our life predicaments. As people who have actively mastered what we are passively suffering.

So if you identify an early life hero, heroine, role model, however one wants to frame it, we’d ask the question, what is it about that person that attracts you? In what ways are you like that role model today? What are the solutions you think that role model offered you, given your early life predicaments?

I remember when I was five or six years old—so this was about 1960—my mother calling my sisters and me together to tell us that she was going to get a divorce. I didn’t even know what the word meant, but my sisters immediately started crying and my mother was crying so I knew it wasn’t good.

From that day through the next ten years or so, my life was really turned upside-down. My family was split apart, we moved every couple of years. I went with my mother, one sister went with my father and my other sister kind of went back and forth. In that period in history, no one talked about this stuff. It was a source of shame.
GA: I can only imagine.
SN: So I repressed a lot of that experience, but I remember early on wondering how people make sense of this kind of stuff when it happens to them. It was part of the reason I decided to go to graduate school in theology, to find out how people make sense of their life experiences, their purpose, their vocation. And then when I had the experience of my own career counseling and then eventually took a career counseling course, there it was.
GA: Your own vocation.
SN: Career development ultimately speaks to these questions of meaning and vocation. How do people make meaning out of their life experiences and translate that meaning into a direction, into an activity that they find meaningful and purposeful?
GA: When you couch it in those terms, it’s anything but boring. The person seeking career development is an agent in the act of self-expression, of working through their personal journey that started with these childhood experiences, and they’re informed by heroes. It’s an incredibly significant part of their health and their journey to self-insight and working through their childhood experiences.

Your path reminds me a bit of Carl Rogers, who was initially called to theology, and also Brad Strawn, whom I interviewed recently for psychotherapy.net. He had a similar attraction to theology and the way it can inform our lives and similar frustrations about what theology couldn’t provide that psychology could.

It’s exciting to hear you speak about career counseling in this holistic way. I have to admit I had conceived of career counseling as kind of boring before diving into your work. But I was wrong. In retrospect I don’t think it was boredom as much as a kind of learned helplessness, or this sense that of all the ways we can help people, helping them find the right job feels kind of hopeless to me, and we’re the bringers of hope. It’s just so hard and so informed by factors out of our control. What would you say to counselors who think of it in these hopeless terms?
SN: It makes sense that you would have felt the way given the objectifying way we usually think of careers. As if it’s about getting or possessing certain skills so that you can get some kind of occupational title.

How do people make meaning out of their life experiences and translate that meaning into a direction, into an activity that they find meaningful and purposeful?
What matters much more are the subjective experiences you have in living your life, where and how do you derive meaning and purpose and where have you been struggling to overcome that sense of hopelessness. We need to make the implicit much more explicit. We need to help our clients articulate those kinds of experiences in which they find that kind of meaning.

There’s no test that will help you identify those things, but what I can do is collaborate with you to find it. I can walk with you on that journey of clarification and articulation of how you find meaning out of the very personal things that have happened to you. But ultimately I’m bringing the same skills to career counseling as any good therapist does to therapy. All those competencies that are essential to effective psychotherapy are essential to effective career counseling.

So You Want to Be a Professional Guitarist…

GA: Is there anything over and above that or is it just using the same common factors that apply to any good therapy?
SN: It’s the common factors of good therapy with a focus on helping people make informed decisions about their career changes and choices. For example, if I were to tell you I wanted to be a professional guitarist—and I kind of do, actually—
GA: Me too!
SN: Here’s the problem though.
I didn’t start playing the guitar at all until I was fifty. And I am bad. I don’t lack for enthusiasm, but I do lack for talent.
I didn’t start playing the guitar at all until I was fifty. And I am bad. I don’t lack for enthusiasm, but I do lack for talent. I love to listen to a great guitarist, I love to play my major chords and every once in a while maybe a little bit of a minor chord or a bar chord thrown in there, but that’s about it. It’s never going to happen.

At one level, it’s important for me to have some clarity about that, but I don’t want you as my career counselor to tell me it’s not going to happen. You might ask questions about the probability of that given my competency level. And I might say, as the client, “I hear you, Greg, but this is my passion.” And you’d start to dive into that with me. What is it within that activity that you really resonate with? Is it truly just knowing where a particular note is, or the shape of a particular chord, or is it something deeper than that? Is it more about your creativity? The emphasis in that process is about clarifying and articulating that passion.
GA: Beautiful.
SN: You’ll table the goal for a bit in favor of helping me describe and name the contours of that passion. You’d encourage me not only to come up with real occupational titles, but to make some up, expand the list, really let my imagination run wild.

The process of identifying the passion allows us to connect to our passion and then to look for opportunities that will elicit that passion. We in the West are lousy at really owning the fact that when people are busy making a living, they’re busy living a life.
GA: What do you mean by that?
SN: I don't know of any occupational nirvanas. We create these false expectations for work. I think what is really important is identifying possibilities that allow us to create a life structure that we find meaningful and purposeful. One of the specialities that I’ve worked with over the years that is so effective at ignoring this is lawyers.
GA: How so?
SN: Lawyers, especially new lawyers, if they are doing their job well, they’re probably working a hell of a lot of hours each week. What happens to the rest of your life? Law is an occupation that has among the highest turnover and dissatisfaction rates.
GA: I’m not surprised.
SN:
People simply ignore the fact that work is also life; it doesn’t happen in an isolated, compartmentalized silo.
People simply ignore the fact that work is also life; it doesn’t happen in an isolated, compartmentalized silo. Work happens within a context, and if the context in which it happens doesn’t allow you to express the life-structure that you find meaningful and purposeful, then life’s not going to be good. It’s not going to last long—or if it does, you may end up compensating in ways that are highly dysfunctional.

So we ask, how does this purposeful goal that you might articulate based upon your meaning and passion feed into a life-structure that you would prefer living?

So if you’re a parent, how do you effectively parent if you work sixty hours a week? It might be possible, but I have to say that those times when I’ve worked like that, I probably was much less effective as a dad. And if I had the chance to do it over, I wouldn’t do it again that way. That’s just me.

"Positive" Addiction

GA: That’s a powerful realization.
SN: I wasn’t aware of the tradeoffs as clearly as I should have been. And of course this gets into positive addiction. We get positively reinforced for being workaholics. We get positively reinforced for achieving in our professions at a high level.
GA: Absolutely.
SN: And that’s OK, as long as we make informed, conscious decisions and we’re aware that it comes at a cost. Maybe it’s a tradeoff that we’re just fine making, but we want to be aware of it.
GA: So what you’re saying is that in the West—at least until recently—we were led to believe that we could find the “perfect” job through these assessments that looked only at static traits and matched us based on some normed statistic, which contributes to grand illusions about what is possible in our careers. And then our society promotes workaholism, which creates even deeper dissatisfaction and often leads to unhealthy coping mechanisms. Your way of working is much more nuanced, developmental, humanistic view of career counseling. How prevalent is this in our profession right now?
SN: I won’t be overly optimistic here.
We get positively reinforced for being workaholics. We get positively reinforced for achieving in our professions at a high level.
I’d say slightly more prevalent today than it was fifteen or twenty years ago. A lot changed about the work world in the last part of the 20th century. Layoffs and the notion that the workers are expendable became a fairly well-accepted ideology, which ran in contrast to what we used to think of as kind of a social contract or career ethic between employer and employee. You know, work hard, put your nose to the grindstone, be loyal to your employer and he will be loyal to you.

This translated into people relocating their families with kids in 11th or 12th grade because the company said, “We’re moving you from Poughkeepsie to Omaha.” That was the ethic, but then people began to realize as this happened more and more frequently, that no matter how hard you might work, no matter how loyal you might be, it could happen to you. People began to say, “I’m not sure I’m willing to sacrifice everything for my employer when my employer is so willing to sacrifice me.”
GA: Amen.
SN: The wounds and the challenges created by that sort of lived experience shifted things quite a bit for many, many people. It’s interesting for me to talk with millennials.
GA: How so?
SN: My son is one. He was offered a raise and a promotion at his current job. He’s 24 and he told me this after the fact. I said, “So what did you do?” and he said, “Well, I turned it down.” I said, “You turned it down? What was the job?” He said, “I’m not really sure.” I asked, “What did it pay?” and he said “I don’t know.” “How don’t you know?” “I didn’t ask.”
GA: Wow.
SN: I said, “How could you not have asked these very basic questions?” And he said, “because I love what I do.” I thought, whoa. He loves his current position and he let that guide him in this process. He’s much wiser than I’ve been throughout most of my life, because I would have asked, “What’s the job? What does it pay?” And if it paid me enough, I might have taken the job even if I loved what I was doing. It’s the old idea of propping your ladder up against the wall and then getting to the top of the ladder only to realize you propped it against the wrong wall. So many of us have done that kind of thing. I certainly have.
GA: Sure, most of us have, I think.
SN: There are just so many dimensions to this work. One of the things we’re finding these days, which is becoming more of a focus in the area of career development, is that the self-concept—what we believe to be true about ourselves and all that that entails and all that means, including our passion and purpose—evolves over time. So career development also evolves. It never stops. If we get passive about that, if we ignore that, we do so at our own peril.
GA: Lifespan development.
SN: Indeed. I took a new job at fifty-eight. I’ll probably take at least another couple other jobs before I’m done with it all.

“Busyness is an Offense to the Soul”

GA: I saw a statistic in Forbes earlier this year that more than fifty percent of people are unhappy with their jobs. A huge contributor to that is the perceived instability and the breakdown of the social contract between employer and employee. But then there’s this silver lining of millennials who are pursuing passion over logistical necessities of income or geographical location. Is this preferable in our new world? And how do we accommodate the lightning fast progress of the twenty-first century? How do we prepare for jobs we can’t even imagine twenty years from now?
SN: Those are great questions. The first question, about which way is preferable, is informed both by generational and individual factors. For example, my father was born in 1921, the WWII generation, and lived through the Great Depression. From those experiences he developed a work ethic that he then passed onto me, and, on one level, that ethic has served me well. I’m a very hard worker, I’m success oriented, always have been, and those are attributes that we get rewarded for in this society.

On the other hand, this is an ethic that focuses more on human doing than on human being, and there’s a real cost to that. For example, the notion of being reflective about our experiences and what they might mean for ourselves, of actually scheduling in time during each day to be reflective about the countless number of experiences we’ve had just that day—these things don’t come easily to folks like me. We don't really allow as much time for human being as human doing, which relates to your question. If you’re going to journal, if you’re going to engage in meditation, mindfulness activities and so forth, those activities are focused on human being; they’re not productive in the doing sense.
GA: So has your model of career development taken in more of this human being aspect?
SN: A colleague at the University of British Columbia and one of my doctoral students at a university in Morocco and I have developed a model that begins with self-reflection. The steps are all in a book we published entitled Career Flow, and the first step is engaging in activities that focus on being and not so obviously doing—journaling, meditation, mindfulness activities, however you might define those. If we engage in those activities on a regular basis in very intentional ways, they foster a greater sense of self-clarity, which is the second step in this model.

We have to elevate the importance of self-reflection if we’re ever going to be able to sort through all the stuff that comes at us, sometimes rapid-fire, each day, and that lead us to being so busy.
Our editor asked, “Why did you separate out self-reflection from self-clarity? They’re the same thing.” And we said, no they certainly aren’t the same thing, and that’s part of the problem. We have to elevate the importance of self-reflection if we’re ever going to be able to sort through all the stuff that comes at us, sometimes rapid-fire, each day, and that lead us to being so busy. One of my favorite Christian mystics, Thomas Merton, said that “busyness is an offense to the soul.”
GA: That’s deep.
SN: And I know I offend my soul every day. So the question is, how can we be less offensive to our souls and honor our experiences and who we are by being much more intentional about engaging in self-reflection? There’s a poet, David Whyte, who has written quite a bit about work. One of my favorite lines of his is, “I look out at everything growing so wild and faithfully beneath the sky and wonder why we are the one terrible part of creation privileged to refuse our flowering.”

Squirrels are out there doing their squirrel thing. Same with golden retrievers, same with trees, but we can get misdirected in so many different ways, by so many external influences and so many factors. We seek to please people in a variety of ways that move us away from who we are. Or we chase certain things that in the end don't provide much in terms of meaningfulness and satisfaction. So we have this “privilege” that often leads us in that way. I think if we were more mindful, more self-reflective, and asked the tough questions, lived the questions, we would be less likely to refuse our flowering. So finding a balance of being and doing is an important dimension of creating careers for ourselves.

The CEO of Netflix takes six weeks of vacation each year, and when he’s on vacation, he’s really on vacation. I officially get two days of vacation a month, and I’ve been in this job for three years. I don't think I’ve used more than three weeks of vacation in three years. I mean how goofy is that? That’s really goofy. I’m in a job where you get every six or seven years, you get a sabbatical. This is my twenty-ninth year as a faculty person. You know how many sabbaticals I’ve taken? Zero. These are not things to be proud of.
GA: Well thank you for airing your dirty laundry with me. This is a relic of the depression era, don’t you think? This work ethic of human doing over human being, where we’re rewarded for workaholism. It’s understandable how we fall into these patterns of busyness. So you’re not taking vacations but hopefully you’re finding time for self-reflection.
SN: I’m much better at it today than I was. It’s not something that garners external rewards, but it certainly brings internal rewards.
GA: It seems like you’re really advocating that work be considered holistically as an integral part of health and wellness. That there should be no separation of “life” from “work” in developmental terms, and that therapists need to be considering career development as a fundamental part of human development.
SN: That fifty percent of people who are unhappy with there jobs that you referred to, the majority of those people have no clue what to do about that. We as mental health professionals have done them a great disservice by perpetuating this notion of the separateness of work from other dimensions of life.
GA: So what can we do? What can practitioners do to more effectively work with career issues and actually help clients with these issues?
SN: That’s a great question and challenging question. The National Career Development Association in the United States is a great organization and some of the leading thinkers in this area attend and present workshops at their annual conferences.

I’ve done a lot of work in the area of policy as it relates to career development. I’m on the board of directors for something called the International Center for Career Development and Public Policy. One of the things I’ve learned from working with them is that here in the United States, we don't have many policies and legislation that support the provision of career intervention across a lifespan.

So even those who are from the mental health professions, who are trained in this area, aren’t addressing these issues and intervening at critical moments in people’s lives.

Take school counselors. Career development is supposed to be one of their three major areas of involvement, but it often isn’t because of other pressures that force them in different directions, but they can be absolutely critical with early-life interventions. There are research studies that show that adolescents who leave school early, at maybe seventeen or sixteen, have psychologically left school long before that, often because they see no connection between what they’re doing in their day-to-day activities and their possible futures. Being informed about career development across the lifespan and this more holistic way of approaching it could mean that a school counselor makes the difference, could connect the dots, for a kid who would otherwise drop out.

So there’s a lot of work to be done and it requires engagement from multiple perspectives and multiple stakeholders. It starts with valuing the developmental perspective that you and I have been talking about relative to helping people begin to make much more informed choices about how they find and express meaning in their lives, including within their work.

Also, I think people in our field often denigrate career counseling, but understand that the version of career counseling that is being denigrated is frozen in time and anachronistic, it’s not what many practitioners these days are doing. The National Career Development Association has a list of practitioners who people can be referred to.
GA: Thank you so much. We hardly touched the tip of the iceberg, but I for one take your call to action to put a new face on career counseling, to revise outmoded, anachronistic definitions and learn about and be a practitioner of this developmental, humanistic, optimistic, hopeful model that brings dignity, respect and a personal connection to people seeking work and wellness throughout the lifespan from cradle to grave.
SN: Well said, my friend.
GA: Any parting words you’d like to leave our readers with?
SN: Well, I’ll leave you just with one brief additional story from the poet David Whyte. At the time we was working at a non-profit, and he noticed how bored and exhausted he had become in his day-to-day experience in that work. He was trying to do poetry on the side and fit it in where he could, and he had this ritual of getting together with a friend on Friday evening to read poetry together.

He viewed this person as very wise, a person of good counsel, and so he decided to talk to him about the exhaustion he was feeling. So one Friday night, he confides in his friend and his friend reflected with him that the antidote to exhaustion is not always rest.
Many times the antidote for exhaustion is whole-heartedness.
Many times the antidote for exhaustion is whole-heartedness. Doing those things that engage us in a whole-hearted way. The conversation led him to leave that job and do work in which he felt that sense of whole-heartedness. So we have lots of clues, lots of indicators along the way. Exhaustion can be a clue. The key is to pay attention. It’s our soul’s way of telling us if something is amiss and if we need to redirect our path.
GA: That’s such an inspiring message and also conveys to our readers how inspiring career counseling can be.
SN: Thanks so much for the opportunity to talk with you about it. It’s been a lot of fun for me.
GA: Likewise, it's been a great pleasure.