A Neurodivergent Clinicians’ Personal and Professional Journey of Self-Discovery

My journey of self-discovery is probably similar to those of many others, with the exception that becoming a therapist, at least to me, is unlike any other career. The things I witness, hear, and experience, have no comparison. For the sake of myself and my clients I must continue to evolve, grow, and remain a lifelong learner. The space of shared stories and experiences is the one from which therapeutic connections can, and have, been made; where I join fully as a human being, and can bring together the various intersectional elements of my own identity. And just like my clients, I have my own story.

Recently, a student asked me about working with neurodivergent clients who have not experienced trauma. I thought it was a great question. In my experience as a neurodiverse therapist and citizen of the world, society is not set up for neurodivergent people and this binary of trauma or no trauma must yield to a more fluid, continuum-based way of thinking. Simply existing can feel traumatic for those who are neuroatypical.

In researching this topic through the scientific lens of my academic identity, I’ve simply not been able to keep pace. There is so much! Through another lens at the intersection of my identities, that of practicing clinician and neurodivergent, I have come to recognize the limitations of purely empirical investigation and have begun visiting social media sites in order to better understand the autistic and neurodivergent community through the lens of experience. I learned more from direct, and very personal narratives, than I did from any textbook or any clinical training.

Working with Bee: An Answer Deferred

Years ago, I worked with an older teenager, Bee, in a rural community who identified as queer. She initially came to see me because her gender fluidity and sexual orientation created conflict with her mother and her mother’s belief system. I want to emphasize the conflict was not between her and her mother, per se, but with the mother’s religious beliefs. This is not an uncommon experience where I practiced. While Bee had social anxiety and low self-esteem, she did have a good support system with her family and friends.

I worked individually with Bee and did some relational work with the family as well. Throughout our time together, she was able to build self-confidence and find employment. By her senior year, she was doing all kinds of things including taking on leadership roles as she fully embraced the trajectory into adulthood. It was for all intents and purposes, an effective therapeutic relationship in which we met the goals of treatment, individual symptomatology diminished, and her relationships improved, as did her attachment experiences and communication skills.

I remember one point during our time together when Bee asked me if she “could have ADHD or be autistic?” I said I wasn’t sure, so I did an ADHD screener, which was diagnostically inconclusive, after which we had several discussions about the results. I even talked about referring for a more comprehensive psychological evaluation, but did not really see the need for it. I talked about some traits but nothing within the clinical range. To support this, I pointed out to Bee that she was doing well socially, involved with extracurricular activities, had friends, and an active social life. At that point, we ended our work.

Through some happenstance around 2-3 years later, Bee’s family reconnected with me to share all the positive things that had occurred in their lives. I met this invitation with openness and curiosity. After the update of Bee going to college and studying a topic of her choice, I immediately shared my need to apologize. Bee asked what I meant. I remember asking, “do you remember when you asked me if you were neurodivergent and I said I really do not think so?” She quickly replied affirmatively.

I went on to tell Bee that I had spent the last several years learning about autism and ADHD, and that in retrospect, she was right. I admitted to her that I was neurodivergent, and that, “I believe you are too.” We shared a laugh about the experience. I was glad she was not angry and that she didn’t feel dismissed but said that “it would have been okay if you had been upset with me.” She knew back then that I genuinely did not think she was on the spectrum, but she was personally unsure. She knew I was not trying to dismiss her and reminded her of my recommendation for a comprehensive evaluation. But those evaluations were not as accessible or affordable as they later became. This was where the field was at that time, and it is where I was along my own path of self-discovery. Statements like the one I made back then, “You have some traits but don’t really meet criteria,” were likely very common before the idea of spectrum was more fully embraced. A few observable traits no longer mean that deeper pathology is being masked, awaiting a full assessment followed by a definitive diagnosis. Neurodivergence means just that…divergence, or variation on a theme. And that variation extends to race, gender, culture, and age.

I am glad I could repair, at least from my perspective, what I considered a therapeutic rupture, although Bee did not experience that rupture in a traditional way to the point that therapy hits an impasse or ends abruptly. The version of myself that spoke with Bee that day knew that she presented with all the “usual” observable symptoms that accompany autism, and that had I dug deeper, the diagnosis would have been clear. I missed or perhaps had resisted the diagnosis because I had not yet found a place for that label in my own identity. I could have let Bee’s narrative lead the way rather than the dictates of my formal training and that of impersonal scholarly investigations. Just as I now have a far clearer understanding of the complexity of my own intersectionality, I now more fully embrace the importance of honoring my clients’ narratives.

Postscript

Quite a while after my work with Bee and her family, I had taken my son at age 7 for an ASD evaluation. The psychiatric resident looked at him and said, “he is not autistic, you see this is the autistic bible––” he slapped his book on his desk––“I can tell by looking that he is not autistic.” My son returned to the room with blue cupcake icing on his face. I felt flooded with embarrassment and rage. I wanted someone to tell me why my son was struggling in so many ways in his life. I firmly said, “I want to see my attending physician.” She subsequently met me with compassion and kindness; however, not even an ADOS was performed.

The irony, or better yet, outrage I felt was because my son had classic symptoms of autism–– hand flapping, lining up toys, and a host of other stereotypical stuff for most of his early childhood, some of which reduced somewhat by age 7. Maybe the resident, and my attending, thought he was too old to be first considered for the diagnosis. But then again, I really don’t know the basis for their preemptory conclusion. I do know that the experience left me angry, feeling rejected, and dismissed, and like there was no help.

To have personally attended a state university that provided evaluations, only for the doctor to not even ask me any questions about my son was so disturbing, if not insulting. I am sure the progress note read something like, “Mother was emotionally unstable and reactive.”

I knew from that moment on I never wanted anyone else to feel that way. At the time of that visit with my son, I had been working on my PhD which paved the way for my own self-study and re-orientation to the whole experience of autism and neurodivergence. The research is clear, at least to me, as a citizen, parent, and clinician.

The field is failing neurodivergent people––kids, teens, adults, families, and couples. Social media has become a substitute, or perhaps a primary place for validation because they can’t receive it from the professional world. When clinicians and the medical community correct clients and dismiss the importance and validity of self-diagnosis, what can be expected? I view this very differently since social media was the source of my own self-discovery of neurodivergence, and a tool for assisting my clients on their own journeys. The entire experience, from my work with Bee to the evaluation of my son to my own self-acceptance, has awakened a deeper awareness that has highlighted the importance of embracing and advocating for the evolution of the professional landscape.

Why Trauma Recovery Isn’t a Straight Line

When clients begin trauma therapy many hold onto the hope that healing will follow a clear path. They picture a beginning, a middle, and an end. A moment where the past stops hurting, their relationships feel easier, and their bodies finally release the tension they’ve carried for years. But as therapists, we know it rarely unfolds that way. Healing is not linear. It comes in waves. Progress can be followed by regression. A moment of insight might be lost in a fog of overwhelm. A good week can lead to a hard month. It’s not a step-by-step climb. It’s a spiral. Clients return to the same emotional terrain again and again, but each time, hopefully, with a little more clarity, a little more stability, and a little more strength.

Clients Might Not Recognize Themselves at First

One of the earliest shifts I’ve witnessed in my trauma work is a client beginning to question long-held coping strategies, survival instincts, and automatic responses. These were the very tools that kept them safe in environments where safety was uncertain. They may start setting boundaries and feel a wave of guilt they can’t quite name. They may say no and spiral into fears of abandonment. They may feel anger surface for the first time in years and have no framework for how to manage it.

This stage can be disorienting. Clients often wonder if they’re regressing or doing it wrong. In truth, they are beginning to do something radically new. The nervous system often perceives unfamiliar experiences as potential threats, even when those changes are healthy. That is why growth frequently shows up as discomfort.

As a therapist, I have found it to be essential to help normalize this phase and support clients in tracking these shifts as evidence of progress. What once felt unsafe begins to register as tolerable. And over time, it begins to feel like safety. This is not failure. This is the nervous system recalibrating.

For clinicians interested in exploring the neurobiological foundations of this process, resources like Bessel van der Kolk’s work, and that of the National Child Traumatic Stress Network offer helpful frameworks for understanding how neuroplasticity supports recovery. I keep reminding my clients and myself that discomfort is often a sign of meaningful change. With time, what feels unfamiliar now can become a source of strength and stability.

The Nervous System Has a Story to Tell

Trauma doesn’t just live in your client’s memories. It lives in their bodies. It often shows up in the form of chronic tension, unexplained exhaustion, or a racing heart in situations that seem calm on the surface. I have noticed how a client becomes anxious in safe environments, withdrawn when connection is offered, or goes numb during moments that would typically bring joy. These aren’t signs of resistance or dysfunction. They are adaptive nervous system responses developed to survive past experiences.

The body carries what the mind may no longer recall. My client’s nervous system often reacts before their conscious awareness catches up. These responses made sense in the context of trauma, even if they seem confusing or disproportionate now. As a therapist, I can help clients begin to recognize these embodied patterns with curiosity and compassion. The healing process often starts with noticing—subtle shifts like shallow breathing, clenched jaws, or emotional distance in the room. These cues are the nervous system’s way of communicating safety or threat.

Rather than encouraging clients to override these sensations, I guide them toward listening to their bodies with gentleness. When I help create space between sensation and reaction, I offer a new way forward. That space is often where integration and healing begin. In learning about how the nervous system holds trauma and how regulation begins with awareness, I have found the Polyvagal Institute to be a particularly useful resource.

In one session, I have found that a client may speak with clarity and confidence. The next, they might come in feeling discouraged after falling into old patterns. Maybe they people-pleased, avoided conflict, or ignored their own needs. They begin to question whether any of their progress was real. It was!

Healing is not linear. The strategies that once helped a client survive can resurface, especially when they are tired, anxious, or uncertain. These moments are not evidence of failure. They are part of the natural rhythm of recovery. What begins to shift is their awareness. They notice the pattern more quickly. They pause before reacting. They ask themselves what they truly need in that moment. These subtle changes are meaningful. They mark the growth of resilience.

I have also found it important to help clients see these moments for what they are. Not as regressions, but as opportunities. This is where change begins to deepen. When someone catches themselves repeating an old behavior and chooses even a slightly different response, they are practicing something new. There is also something powerful that happens in these harder moments. Pain and struggle often reveal where care is still needed. They slow things down. They invite both the client and therapist to listen more closely to what is underneath the reaction.

This is where the deeper benefits of pain and suffering begin to emerge. These experiences have the potential to strengthen emotional awareness, deepen empathy, and reconnect a person with their values. Suffering, while never sought out, can become a guide that point to unmet needs, long-held beliefs, or unresolved grief that is asking to be seen. These moments help build presence, not perfection. Setbacks are not the end of healing. They are woven into the work. I have supported my clients in seeing these experiences not as detours, but as part of the path forward.

Healing Can Disrupt Your Relationships—And That’s Okay

As clients begin to heal, their relationships often start to shift. They may stop over-functioning. They may begin setting firmer boundaries or expressing their needs more clearly. Behaviors they once tolerated may no longer feel sustainable. These shifts, while healthy, can create waves. Not everyone in the client’s life will welcome or understand the changes. And that can bring grief, confusion, or even guilt.

Clients may feel lonely even as they move toward what’s best for them. They may grieve connections that once felt familiar, even if those dynamics were rooted in dysfunction or emotional distance. Letting go of old patterns often feels like loss, even when it is progress.

At junctions such as these, it’s important to normalize these growing pains. Healing doesn’t always feel good at the moment. It can challenge long-standing relational roles and bring uncertainty to familiar bonds.

These disruptions also signal movement toward something more grounded, more honest, and more self-respecting. Support clients in recognizing that discomfort in relationships is not a sign of regression and can be a sign of emerging authenticity. Healing doesn’t always preserve the old. Sometimes, it clears space for relationships that are built on emotional safety, mutual care, and respect.

It’s Normal to Feel Tired and Take Breaks of Healing

There have been moments in my clients’ journeys when the work feels like too much. They may grow tired of telling their story, tired of tracking every trigger, tired of examining old wounds. The weight of self-reflection can feel heavy. They might withdraw for a while. Maybe they spend more time scrolling, bury themselves in work, or cancel a session or two. These behaviors are not necessarily resistance. More often, they are signs of fatigue.

It is particularly important to name and normalize this part of the process. Healing is demanding. It takes emotional energy, and it does not always move at a steady pace. Help your clients understand that needing rest is not failure. Taking a break is not giving up. Slowing down does not erase progress. Sometimes the most meaningful work happens when clients step away and give themselves time to integrate what they’ve already uncovered. Growth needs room to breathe. It needs softness and space. When clients return, whether next week or next month, I acknowledge that return. Remind them that showing up, even imperfectly, is still showing up. That, too, is healing.

Clients often come into therapy carrying unspoken pressure. They want to get better quickly, move on from the past, and prove they’re strong by needing less. Some may feel shame for still struggling or frustration that their healing is taking “too long.”

There’s No Deadline for Healing

Therapeutically, it’s important to gently challenge this mindset. There is no prize for speed. No gold star for needing the least amount of help. Healing is not a race, and there is no finish line.

What matters is consistency, not perfection. It’s the willingness to return to work again and again, even after a setback. It’s the slow rebuilding of trust within themselves. I invite my clients to move at a pace that honors their body and nervous system. I help them see that slow progress is still progress. I let them know that taking the time they need is not only acceptable but it is wise. Therapy is not about rushing toward resolution. It is about creating a space where healing can unfold naturally, with patience, care, and room to breathe.

Postscript

If your clients’ healing journeys feel slow, confusing, or filled with setbacks, that doesn’t mean they’re getting it wrong. In fact, it often means they’re doing the hard, necessary work of integrating change. Recovery from trauma is rarely a linear process. It moves in spirals, detours, and pauses because that’s part of what makes it real.

As therapists, we can support this process by holding space for grief, for uncertainty, and for the parts of healing that take time. We can remind our clients that it’s okay to move at their own pace. That healing isn’t measured by speed but by presence, consistency, and the courage to keep showing up.

Thomas Insel on Science, Zip Code, and Future-Proofing Psychotherapy

Return on Investment

Lawrence Rubin: Hello, Dr. Insel; it’s an honor to be with you, the former director of NIMH, the leading federal agency on research into mental health and illness and author of the recently-published Healing: Our Path from Mental Illness to Mental Health. It’s a rare opportunity for our readers, largely practicing nonmedical therapists, to gain a glimpse into some of the critical issues impacting the assessment and treatment of those with behavioral and mental health challenges. Thank you so much for joining us.
Thomas Insel: It’s a pleasure to be here, and I’m glad that we’ll have a chance to talk about some of the nonmedical aspects of mental health care, which have not received enough attention.
LR: Why do you think that’s the case?
TI:
we have bought into a medical model for how we think about mental disorders broadly
There are two parts to that. I think the first part is that we have bought into a medical model for how we think about mental disorders broadly. And the second part is that the medical model is part of a large healthcare industry, at least in the United States. I don’t know if this is true in other places, but in the United States, healthcare is a massive business, a $3.5 trillion business.

A lot of that business is driven by a particular model which says that illness is due to a singular, often simple cause, whether that’s a bug or a gene or a particular endocrine factor, and that the solution is a relatively simple intervention, often a drug. And that has proven to be really a good business model for the pharmaceutical industry and, to some extent, the medical industry, which has done pretty well over the last four or five decades.

And I must say that for a lot of people with medical problems, this has worked pretty well. I think if you had gotten HIV in the 90s, you certainly were better off than if you got it in the 80s. And if you have cardiovascular disease today, you’re certainly much better off than you would have been 30 years ago. And that’s true now, fortunately, for some forms of cancer as well, where we’re seeing remarkable progress with new diagnostics and new treatments.

the simple bug-simple drug model that has been so effective in the world of infectious disease is really not so effective for the millions of people who have a mental disorder
I just don’t see the same sort of breakthroughs and the same opportunities yet for people who have PTSD, depression, OCD, a range of mental disorders. It feels to me like that medical model has helped some but not enough in the mental health field. Part of why I wrote the book was to try to understand why we haven’t made more progress. And part of that “why” goes right to that issue that the simple bug-simple drug model that has been so effective in the world of infectious disease is really not so effective for the millions of people who have a mental disorder.

A Crisis of Care

LR: You began your time at NIMH shortly after the end of the decade of the brain, when so much research funding was going into genomics and neuroscience. Do you think that we got the bang for our therapeutic buck under your stewardship there?
TI: In some ways! It’s a mixed bag. I think that we learned an enormous amount, but I would say that it’s still very much in process. I don’t think we’ve fully gotten the return on the investment. I think we will, and that science is going to be really critical for us in trying to go deeper into understanding these disorders.

The problem for me was that—and this is just a personal reflection and is not in any way an indictment of the NIMH—but when I look at this state of care and what’s happening for most people, particularly those with severe mental illness, with schizophrenia, bipolar illness, severe depression, severe PTSD, it’s not a scientific problem these people face.

They face incarceration. They face homelessness. They face this massive injustice in a kind of crisis-driven system that actually leads them out of the care system and into these other pathways that are often deadly and certainly unfair, generally punitive, and not compassionate. So, that’s not a NIMH problem.

what we are seeing is this egregious set of policies that lead to people with mental illness going everywhere except into compassionate care because there’s no capacity for that
For me, so much of the sorts of public health problems that we’re facing aren’t really about genes or neuroimaging or the science. It’s more of an almost, and I loath to use the term, but really a social justice issue. And what we are seeing is this egregious set of policies that lead to people with mental illness going everywhere except into compassionate care because there’s no capacity for that.

So it actually had nothing to do with NIMH. I left NIMH and kind of never went back because if you want to address those issues, you’ve got to go someplace else with a very different army. And it’s not the army of neuroscientists and those who are brilliant in the fields of genomics and data sciences. It’s an army that is really willing to take on those big social problems and begin to deal with them.

And I think we know what to do. I think we know how to do that, and that’s beginning to happen. But my goodness, it’s not going to happen through NIMH funding. It’s just not their job. That’s something very different from the world that they’re focused on.
LR: Is that why you said in your book that “there’s a crisis of care for the mentally ill in this country?”
TI: That’s right. A crisis of care. It’s not really a crisis of science. It’s not because we don’t have good research or that we’re not spending the research dollars correctly. I argue, actually, that we probably need more research, more science, more funding for NIMH.

You know, we always need better treatments; we always need new diagnostics. But let’s get real here. We haven’t been implementing the things that we discovered 30 years ago. NIMH spent a huge amount of money in the 80s and 90s on the Nurse Home Visitation Program. I write about this a lot in my book because I think it was just a brilliant investment.

But it’s not a research question anymore. We don’t need to put a lot more NIMH dollars into that. We need to implement this for millions and millions of families who are disadvantaged and who need that kind of support, because we know it works.

At some point, you have to try to solve the problem and not just study it
I don’t want to see us get caught up in this academic cycle of “let’s keep studying this problem.” At some point, you have to try to solve the problem and not just study it, and that was what led me moving from this kind of research career to a career that was much more about advocacy, policy change, about making sure that we were starting to invest in the kinds of services and broad social supports that we need and sadly lack in this country.
LR: Is that related in part to what you also said in the book that for therapists, whether researchers or applied clinicians, that zip code is more important than genetic code?
TI: Yeah, exactly. I think where I ended up, and it’s so interesting when you write a book like this; you think you know what you’re doing, but you have no idea. You usually end up someplace very far away from where you started, and that was exactly the case here.

I started this book when I was working at Google, where I was trying to develop really interesting ways of digital phenotyping. I was convinced that technology was really going to transform mental health care, and I still think that’s probably true. But I ended the book by realizing that the problems that we’re focusing on are really problems of mental health. That’s very different from mental health care. And I have to say, I don’t think I understood that.

When I started the book, every conversation I had about health or mental health was about health care or mental health care. And it wasn’t until I was two-thirds of the way through this, and in this odyssey that I took around the state of California to try to understand why we hadn’t seen more improvements in public health measures like morbidity and mortality, that I began to realize, like, wait a minute, this is not a health care problem.

All this stuff, incarceration, homelessness, poverty, health disparities, is happening way outside of healthcare. It’s actually something very different. We could probably fix healthcare. We could probably do so much better on health care, but barely move the needle for morbidity and mortality.

most of the disparity in race- and gender-based mortality in this instance is really about your zip code
As an example, I was just looking at this over the weekend: the chances of turning 70 years old or living to 70 in terms of life expectancy are at about 82% for White females and about 54% for Black males in the United States. That 82% to 54% disparity is not really a function of what medications they’re on or how many clinic visits they have, or even what health insurance they have. That contributes a little bit, we think it accounts for maybe 10% or 20% of that disparity. But most of the disparity in race- and gender-based mortality in this instance is really about your zip code. It’s about your lifestyle, your exposure, your environment. It’s about a lot of other stuff that’s not really in the healthcare system.

I guess the really hard question to ask, and the one that I’ve been thinking a lot about lately since the book came out is, do we need to rethink what we mean by health care? And specifically, do we need to rethink what we mean by mental health care? Is it really just about medication and psychological treatments and maybe some rehabilitative care? Or is there something more essential that has to do with recovery, has to do with thriving, has to do with wellness? Does that need to come into focus, and does that need to be within the scope of what we mean by healthcare?

Making Psychotherapy Better

LR: Within this context of health care, certain models of psychotherapy have been proven empirically to be effective. So why is there such a disparity between what we know and what we do?
TI: I struggled with that in the book. I start from a perspective that psychotherapy is a really powerful intervention and that we have specific, skill-based therapies that have been demonstrated to work. I also understand that outcomes may depend more on the therapist and the therapy, and that’s always a challenge in any kind of randomized clinical trial that one does on these interventions. But the evidence is pretty compelling for both the safety and ultimately the effectiveness, which is quite different from the efficacy of psychotherapy.

we need to look closely at the training of psychotherapists, how we do it, where we do it, and also when we do it
So the question is, with a treatment that’s so powerful, why have we seen this gap, and why has it become so difficult to actually get it delivered in the way that it should be? I think there are a couple of things. One is, we need to look closely at the training of psychotherapists, how we do it, where we do it, and also when we do it. We’ve had this notion that you train, and then you have supervision for a period after graduate school, and then you’re kind of on your own until your next licensure comes up.

I think we want to look more carefully at how we make sure people get the kinds of skills and the feedback to get better and better. I’ve been fascinated by a company with which I have no connection but am really intrigued by, called IESO. It’s not in the United States, it’s just in the UK, but they’ve really focused on, how do we help our therapists who are online to get better and better?

They’ve built this natural language processing engine so that every interaction between therapist and client is captured. It goes through this engine, and they have a dashboard that shows them levels of therapeutic rapport, levels of effectiveness of their comments, and also the state of play for the client; better, worse, what’s the emotional tone in the interaction? It’s really fascinating to watch.

But what’s amazing about it is that by getting this kind of real-time feedback, therapists have gotten better and better. And when you look at outcomes, they went from 49% recovery to 67% recovery just by providing this real-time feedback, not just to patients and clients, but to therapists themselves. It was actually more useful for the therapist than the client. But ultimately, the clients enjoyed that impact.

So I think part of what we need to do is to think about how we help our therapists to navigate and to improve what they do. The other part is we have to ask, what do we pay for? Are we paying for a number of hours spent, or are we paying for outcomes? Basically, are providers being rewarded for how long somebody stays in treatment, or for getting people out of treatment and getting them well? We need to begin to look at the incentives that are built into the system and ask, are we incentivizing for the right things?
LR: Does this IESO program also include biological markers embedded in the therapist/client interaction, like heart rate, blood pressure, and brain wave activities, to get a complete picture of the reciprocal impact of the interaction? Or is it a glorified electronic satisfaction survey?
TI: No, it’s neither. There’s nothing biological here. It’s really taking language and decoding it. If you think about what we do in psychotherapy, it’s listening, it’s observing, it’s communicating. And through that, we hope that there’s understanding and trust and change ultimately through the relationship.

That process of using language to communicate is a process which has really been revolutionized by artificial intelligence and very good data science through this thing called natural language processing, which was created to try to understand how words got glued together and what coherence looks like in language.

But over time, it’s been used to measure sentiment, like mood, and is now being used to measure how well people are connecting and if they’re communicating effectively. This is a multi-billion dollar industry that’s been taken over largely from the call centers. Call centers are now far better than they were five years ago because of the ability in real-time to decode the communication between two people.

Let’s provide objective evidence about how a therapist and client are communicating and relating and actually literally measure things like trust and measure therapeutic alliance
What IESO has done is to take that same kind of effort and said, “Let’s provide objective evidence about how a therapist and client are communicating and relating and actually literally measure things like trust and measure therapeutic alliance.” And they found ways to define that, which I think are really interesting.

It may not be for everybody, but it is fascinating to me that by capturing that kind of data objectively, they have been able to provide a source of feedback that actually helps people do what they’re trying to do, which is create trust, create the therapeutic alliance, build that rapport. Who would have thought that you would actually do that through technology?

And yet, they’ve demonstrated that this can work without any burden on either the provider or the client. It doesn’t take any extra time. It’s kind of like the speedometer in your car, you know, it’s a part of the dashboard, it tells you as you go how fast you’re going and how you’re driving.
LR: There is extensive research on what we call common factors in therapy, those aspects of the therapeutic relationship that contribute to a positive outcome. This process that you’re talking about sounds like it’s algorithmically mediated. Rather than just asking the client, was trust built or how safe did you feel or how effective do you think your therapist was, you’re interjecting elements of AI into it to give more specific data beyond just the self-report of the client.
TI:  It is. I guess I would just push back with the word “just,” because I think we need both. We need both that subjective experience, like, how was this for you? And then, you know, the objective readout of what does the algorithm say? And it may be in the gap between those two that there’s a lot we can learn.

There’s this really interesting new science that is just beginning to shine a light on our behavior, and particularly on our language in a way that I think will revolutionize psychotherapy
There’s this really interesting new science that is just beginning to shine a light on our behavior, and particularly on our language in a way that I think will revolutionize psychotherapy; it will revolutionize the study of mood, behavior, and cognition. I really think we’re just beginning to see that happen.

One kind of untapped example of this, which I’ve been so intrigued by but haven’t yet seen really developed, is that you can use this natural language processing approach to measure the coherence of speech, because every two words have a vector that attaches them. So if I use the word “dog,” it’s not unlikely that the word “bone,” or the word “cat,” or the word “food” would come up in the same phrase, right?

But the word “algorithm” or the word “church” may not be as easily associated as that. And so by measuring what we call semantic coherence, the likelihood that words could come together or maybe wouldn’t be found together, you get a sense of how people are thinking and how things get put together. In contrast, great poetry often has longer vectors, less coherence.

But as people become psychotic, for example, this is a very sensitive way of picking up thought disorder. And you could say, “Well, yeah, but you could just listen to them and know that’s happening.” Maybe, but how helpful would it be to be able to say, “Well, their coherence moved from 0.6 to 0.74.” Or to be able to provide a tool so that a nurse in an emergency room in a rural community, who really isn’t trained to do a lot of the assessment of thought disorder, would be able to say, “Well, according to this tool, this person’s semantic coherence is about 0.68.”

In understanding thought disorder and psychosis, for example, it provides an objectivity that we’ve come to expect for assessing diabetes or hypertension. It gives us a number which is reproducible and which ties back to something that’s truly actionable because based on that number, you might decide “this person is, in fact, currently psychotic and needs to be treated along this pathway,” versus “this person is a very good poet who tends to put ideas together that are very creative and that are different, but this is not necessarily pathological.” So I think we’re at the beginning of a revolution in our ability to add objective measures to what we are currently and have traditionally done just subjectively.
LR: I can see how that can really be useful in working with people with serious mental illness, like schizophrenia and other disorders with psychotic features. But what about with what we might call more garden variety emotional, mental, or behavioral problems, or even subclinical presentations, where the person is not going to necessarily come to the attention of an emergency room clinician or an algorithm?
TI: Actually, the subjective experience may be what really counts or is far more important. But that’s why I brought up the IESO example, because I think there is an opportunity for technology to improve the quality of what we provide in the psychotherapeutic relationship.

there is an opportunity for technology to improve the quality of what we provide in the psychotherapeutic relationship
It may turn out that we don’t need that. But I think the data would suggest that there’s room for improvement. And, to be fair, there are people who are just naturally gifted as clinicians and who just have the ability to do this without a huge amount of training and without needing many years of experience and probably won’t need that kind of a tool.

But there are a lot of us whom I think would benefit from getting that continual feedback in a way that’s passive and ecological, because it’s done within the hour. It’s not, you know, in a supervisory hour. And it gives you a sense of something that is probably fundamental to the treatment process, which is the development of a therapeutic alliance.

People, Place, & Purpose

LR: This focus on strengthening the therapeutic alliance sounds fascinating and important, but I wonder how, in the shadow of the expanding medicalization of mental disorders, these two pathways can work in parallel. Can they coexist?
TI: I think that’s a really key question, and it’s one that I also struggled with in working on the book. I’ve spent four decades making the argument that these emotional and behavioral problems are medical problems. And I ended up in the book saying, yeah, these are medical problems, these are brain problems, and they deserve the same reimbursement, the same rigor, the same science that we would expect for any other medical problem.

But the solutions are much broader and much different. The solutions are relational, they’re environmental, they’re political. We have to really widen the lens here if we want to begin to have the impact that I think all of us care about, particularly at a population level, and the medical model just isn’t really built for that.

the recovery model, to me, is really defined by these three P’s that I talk a lot about in the book: people, place, and purpose
I talk a lot in the book about—and to be fair, you’re right, this is more about serious mental illness—but I talk a lot about recovery. And I have to say, I was not the person pushing the recovery model. I sort of see there’s a medical model and a more recovery relational model. I think we need them both, but the recovery model, to me, is really defined by these three P’s that I talk a lot about in the book: people, place, and purpose.

If we really want to think beyond just symptom relief and we want to see people thrive, we want to see them recover, we want to see them have a life, then we have to be thinking about more than the medical model. We have to be thinking about, how does someone with a mental illness have a shot at getting the things that all of us want? Social support—that’s the people, a safe environment—that’s the place, and a purpose—a reason to recover, something that they wake up for, something that they see as a mission.

We don’t do that in the medical model. That is not what we mean by mental health care in 2022. And what I’m arguing for in the book and in trying to start this kind of new social movement around mental health is that we just take on a broader perspective that says, actually, we should reframe what we mean by care, and the care should include the three P’s, that providers ought to be able to write a prescription for housing, and we ought to expect Medicaid to pay for a clubhouse which provides the three P’s every day for people with serious mental illness.

We need to think about how we get beyond this simple idea that there’s a magic bullet intervention
We need to think about how we get beyond this simple idea that there’s a magic bullet intervention, that if we get just the right pill to just the right molecular target in just the right patient, we’ll solve this problem, because that’s probably not ultimately the way we solve this problem. It’s going to be actually from multiplexing the problem or thinking about people, place, and purpose and providing a much broader range of care, not a more narrow focus on medication.

Best of Both Worlds

LR: So the medical model doesn’t necessarily, in your thinking, preclude interventions that are social and even moral. You can spend money doing research on biomedical markers and the neuroscientific basis of mental disorders, but you can’t let that steer the car to treatment necessarily. Because if you don’t provide people with these three P’s, then it doesn’t matter what part of their brain or what part of their genome has been somehow disrupted. It won’t matter.
TI: I guess the argument is we need both. I think about psychotherapy as learning to play the violin. You’re learning a skill. It takes time, it takes practice, and it often usually takes a really good teacher. But that’s really hard to do if you have a bad tremor. So, I’d start by treating the tremor so somebody has a decent opportunity to be able to actually learn how to play the violin, but I wouldn’t stop with treating the tremor. I think that is a part of it. You need both, and you need to be able to do both over a long period of time.

our field has been, unfortunately, very fragmented between medical approaches and psychological approaches
And I guess what I feel really strongly about is two things. One is that our field has been, unfortunately, very fragmented between medical approaches and psychological approaches. The science says that the two of them together are better than either one alone. And yet in practice, we rarely see them combined in a way that’s most effective for patients or clients. I think that’s something we need to fix.

But the second part of that is, we often don’t pay for this in a way that it merits. There’s a tendency, I think, by both public and private payers to undervalue the treatments. It often is easier to pay for the medication because, by the way, they’re almost all generic, super cheap, it’s easy to write a prescription, and payers are very comfortable with that. It’s harder to require the combination and to be able to pay for the combination.

It’s so funny, I was just in a conversation about the use of psychedelics. And if there’s one area today where everybody is thinking, “Oh, this is the new…” you know, it’s very hyped. “This is the new magic bullet,” that psychedelics are really going to matter. Again, it’s just one more pill that you can take, and you’ll be able to play the violin.

And yet, what’s so interesting is when you talk to people in that space, they talk about psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy. It’s so refreshing. It’s the first time in 40 years I’ve heard people committed to combining medical and psychological approaches in a way that’s really thoughtful and potentially very impactful. It’s such a paradox, with all the hype around taking the magic pill. That is actually the place where we may find and understand the importance of combining the two therapies.
LR: You said in your book that the term “psychotherapy” is a misnomer.
TI:
the process of change is also a process of neuroplasticity
I don’t remember saying that, but one of the things that I tried to convey in the book is that the process of change is also a process of neuroplasticity. And the idea that there are medical treatments that affect the brain, and then there’s psychotherapy that affects behavior, is really probably grossly simplifying. It’s very likely that the change that occurs with medical treatments partly relates to opening people up to behaving in different ways and exposing them in new ways.
LR: Which changes the brain.
TI: Which changes the brain. And likewise, that going at this from a psychological perspective also changes the way people think, changes the way they behave, which also changes the brain.

behavior and the brain are inextricably linked together in ways that we can’t often see, but we have to accept
To go back to my violin analogy, when you learn to play the violin, you wire your temporal cortex. There’s no way around that. We have to begin to think a little more mechanistically about what actually happens with behavior change and to realize that behavior and the brain are inextricably linked together in ways that we can’t often see, but we have to accept.
LR: So when we consider both the biomedical bases for and psychosocial treatment of mental illness, the brain inevitably changes, hopefully for the better, which then starts the cycle all over again. Complex, yet simple at the same time.
TI: I like that idea, Lawrence. We have to get out of our sort of tribal approach to this. It’s so frustrating, and I kind of understand it, you know, it’s where people come from, it’s their identity, but what if we flip the narrative and say, “What’s most helpful?” What actually helps a 14-year-old with anxiety or a 24-year-old with psychosis? It’s not about our role. It’s not about our skill set, necessarily. I mean, we have to think much more broadly about putting all of the tools in the toolkit together in a way that serves that person in a way they will want and accept it.

Only about 50% of people who should be in care or could be in care and would benefit are actually buying what we sell
We haven’t been very good at that. I mean, even the very fact that we built a care system that’s really built for payers, to some extent, for providers, but not for the consumer. And it’s one of the reasons why I think we get very low engagement. Only about 50% of people who should be in care or could be in care and would benefit are actually buying what we sell.

Bridging the Divide

I think the next decade is an opportunity to say, “Can we meet them where they are?” Particularly for young people. They’re not likely to show up at a brick-and-mortar office. They are likely to be on TikTok or Discord, or now maybe even Twitch. I mean, there are lots of places where you find them. Is there a way to meet them there? Should we rethink the mental health care that we want to deliver so that it’s much more person-centered, more culturally sensitive and adapted, and begin to understand that what we’ve been doing hasn’t really worked for a lot of what we had hoped it would? Yeah, we have great treatments, we have great skills, we have something that really is useful, but it’s not getting the people in the way they want it. Particularly, I would say, for communities of color, LGBTQ communities, I mean, there are just lots of people who feel on the outside and who see mental health care as we built it as not friendly and not matched to what they’re looking for.

This is a place where I think technology can make a big difference. It can help us to democratize care and give people choices that they haven’t had, particularly people who are in rural areas and underserved communities. People who feel that, for whatever reason, they’re part of a small niche in society that’s been underserved. I think now is the time we can say, can we create a different platform, meet people where they are in the ways that they would want to be engaged, and give them something useful?

I guess in some ways, helping people with mental illness is a little bit like what we learned with COVID, where there was this gap between creating vaccines and delivering vaccinations
I guess in some ways, helping people with mental illness is a little bit like what we learned with COVID, where there was this gap between creating vaccines and delivering vaccinations. I think NIMH and others have done a spectacular job of creating the equivalent of vaccines for psychological treatments, for medical treatments, and for people who struggle with emotional and psychological issues. We haven’t been so good at delivering the vaccination part, actually delivering these in a way that people want them and can use them and can benefit. I think that is the challenge for the next decade.
LR: Some psychotherapists work in private practices while others work in community mental health centers. How can psychotherapists, irrespective of where they’re delivering service, be part of this movement you envision over the next decade?
TI:  I think it’s already happening. In my career, I’ve never seen the kinds of transformations we’re now witnessing—and I don’t think that’s too strong of a word, it really is a transformation of this workforce and care system. You have the aggregation of large numbers of private practice psychotherapists into these massive groups, and there are companies that have gotten very wealthy through doing this. Lifestance and Uplift Health are doing a piece of this in several states. It’s very interesting. It’s changing the culture of how people practice. It ultimately will provide them with resources, as they get in group practices that will make their jobs in some ways more effective and hopefully easier.

You also have the advent of teletherapy on a big scale. Last year $5.1 billion was being invested in mental health startups. How amazing is that? You’ve got hundreds of new companies starting off. Eight of them are already unicorns, meaning they’re valued at over $1 billion. You have a company that I find really interesting, Cerebral, that’s a little more than two years old. It started at the beginning of the pandemic. It’s arguably one of the largest mental health care providers in the United States today. They have many, many thousands of providers. They talk about having served 350,000 clients in the last two years.

So, we’re going through this massive change. I don’t know where it’s going to end up, but I would imagine many of the people who are listening, who are in private practice, are thinking about, should I (and maybe they already do) work for Talkspace or Cerebral or Lyra or Ginger or Modern or Better Help. I mean, there’s so many of them that are hiring. In a way, it’s sort of an invitation to a new economy, a gig economy, just like we saw for Uber. People are having opportunities. They have a lot more possibilities of what they can do and how they can spend their time and work.

I don’t know how this is going to end up, but I guess the question I’m asking myself, again, going back to what does this mean for the 14-year-old with anxiety or the 24-year-old—
LR: The kid of color who’s struggling with sexual or gender identity issues, or the suicidal Native American. We have to reach them.
TI: So, are they better off or worse off at the end of this? Or is there no change? I do know that there are now startups that are just for African American male therapists so that African American male clients who are looking for that can find it.

this whole transformation of mental healthcare delivery is probably a play in five acts, and we’re in Act 1
So I think it’s early. I always say this, Lawrence, this whole transformation of mental healthcare delivery is probably a play in five acts, and we’re in Act 1. In Act 1, we’re getting to see who the main characters are; we’re trying to solve the problem of access. And by the way, we’re starting to address some of the conflicts and some of the problems that are coming up.

I think Act 2 is going to be really interesting. I think it’s going to be more about improving quality and starting to find ways of measuring outcomes and all of that. We’re not there yet. It’ll be really interesting to see how that works out.

But what a fascinating time to be in this field! It’s all changing very quickly. In 2027, you know, five years from now, I think we’ll be having a really different conversation. I think the access issue may be largely fixed through the democratization of care and through the fact that it doesn’t matter where you live or what your race or ethnicity or zip code might be, you’ll be able to find someone who can help or someone who has at least signed on to help who looks and talks and maybe even understands you in a way that might be hard to do today. The question will be, can they teach you to play the violin? Do they have the skills and the experience to be able to do this well?
LR: It seems that in order for this revolution, as you describe it, to take hold, to democratize access to care, to reach people technologically, you’d require funding on a massive scale that only seems possible at the federal level. So do you envision that the NIMH 20 years from now will be dedicating itself to this parallel track of implementing what medical science has told us?
TI: Well, the NIMH in 1970 or 1980 would have done that. But in 1990 or 1991, there was a fissure and the federal government created SAMHSA, the Substance Abuse Mental Health Services Agency, and they said to NIMH, “Going forward, you’re like any other NIH Institute. You’re just like NIAID or NINDS. Your job is science. You’re a research agency. We don’t want you to get involved in service delivery. You shouldn’t be thinking about that. That’s SAMHSA’s job.”

The reality is that SAMHSA is still a fairly small agency. The federal government still, it’s changing a little bit, but largely has delegated to states and counties the provision of mental health services. So what you get for mental health care is going to be very different depending on where you live, what state, which county—
LR:  Politics, huh?
TI:
I look at what we’re doing here in California, with $4.4 billion now dedicated to youth mental health
Yeah, but there’s still a large investment. I look at what we’re doing here in California, with $4.4 billion now dedicated to youth mental health, the transformation of the Medicaid system, the development of the Mental Health Services Act—it’s this millionaire’s tax that pays for mental health care. This year that will generate about $3.7 billion for mental health care in the public sector. There’s a lot of stuff you can do and a lot of stuff that’s happening.

I wouldn’t lay this on NIMH. Really none of this is their job. On top of all that government spending, last year we had $5.1 billion coming from the venture capital industry invested in startups. That’s two and a half times the size of the NIMH budget.

So there’s a lot of investment, a lot of money being pushed into the system right now. We just need to make sure it’s going to the right things and that we’re holding funders and beneficiaries accountable for results. So that it’s not just pouring money in and not actually seeing changes in outcomes, which, at the end of the day, that’s what we care about. We want to make sure that, in fact, the rate of suicide is coming down, the rate of employment is going up, kids are finishing their education. It’s not just measuring PHQ-9s [a depression questionnaire]. It’s actually knowing that people are beginning to recover and function in a way that we haven’t been measuring and we certainly haven’t seen over the last 30 years.
LR: As we close, I’d like to know, if such a thing even exists, what do you want your plaque in the NIMH Hall of Directors to say?
TI: Gosh, I have to think about this for a moment. It probably should say something like, “He Served in the Golden Age,” because this was just an extraordinary moment to be leading this research effort and to see where the science could take us in terms of understanding the brain and health and disease.
LR: Thanks so much for sharing your time, experience, and insights with our readers, Dr. Insel.

Has Psychotherapy Lost Its Mind?

Losing Our Mind

It’s happening so slowly that we are almost unaware of it. Little by little, psychotherapists seem to be losing their minds. Recent progress in neuroscience has led to the opinion that the mind is out and the brain is in.

We used to think in dualistic terms of body and mind, apart and together, or as two sides of the same coin. Now the mind is viewed as an expression of the brain, and not the other way around. Gilbert Ryle’s concept of the mind has triumphed: there is no ghost in the machine. The downgraded mind has become no more than a scientific misconception. According to Antonio Damasio, it is a remnant of Descartes’ error, the dualist split of mind and body. The only thing that truly seems to matter today is what’s happening within the brain. The mind is relevant only insofar as it has a physical correlate. The brain has won, and the mind has lost in their ancient competition for ascendancy. Maybe it’s just another stage in the evolution of Homo sapiens, or perhaps a paradigm shift in the way we conceive of ourselves as human beings?

The growing prominence of the brain and the body is not only happening within psychosomatic medicine, biological psychiatry, and neuropsychology. Psychotherapists of all persuasions have also been influenced by this paradigm change. Having lost faith in natural observation studies and self-administered tests, an increasing number of mental health professionals have gradually adopted data from biochemistry laboratories and neuroimaging data to explain why people do what they do. Psychological theories are now disposed of as primitive and unfounded folk psychology and have been replaced by scientific evidence from neuroscientific discoveries. The recent popularization of epigenetics has only reinforced this conviction. At every stage of these new findings, it seems as though psychotherapists are gradually losing another piece of their minds. Perhaps large-scale genomic analysis will deliver the final death blow to the mind?

Talking Neuro-Talk

Overenthusiastic media reports have convinced us that we are driven by blueprints in our genes and by various physiological processes. As heard in TED Talks and on YouTube, everybody now thinks that what’s going on in our minds is actually an expression of what’s going on in our brains and bodies. People now assume that when we are stressed out, something has gone wrong within the neural circuitry of our brains. When someone is too excited, for example, it is explained as an overactive amygdala, a deficient regulation of the prefrontal cortex, and abnormal hippocampus mediation. Faulty neurotransmitter messages explain what makes us fearful or sad. Action potentials and neural circuits have become more appealing than analyzing free associations. In the world of psychology today, there should be some kind of biological correlate of every mental occurrence. Psychotherapy should be informed by neurobiology and become neuropsychotherapy.

Perhaps the brain has become so popular because, as a physical organ, it can store data and process thoughts just like a computer? It’s even more powerful than a computer. It can also regulate emotions, modify the neuroendocrine and autonomic nervous systems, and enhance our overall brain functioning by engaging the temporal, frontal, parietal, cerebellar, and limbic structures. This is impressive stuff. As a result, we are no longer categorized as pessimists or optimists. Instead, Elaine Fox suggested we have “rainy” or “sunny” brains. Since brain cells are merely responding to electrochemical signals, Daniel Dennett called consciousness a user-illusion. As a result of these assumptions, Daniel Amen recommended that if we only change our brains, we will also change our lives.

Such neuro-talk is highly appealing to us because we have always had a problem with words such as the soul, spirit, consciousness, self, and personality. Neuronal circuits, on the other hand, or specific parts of the brain, can be observed and investigated. It is, therefore, easier for us to accept that they may in fact regulate what we do, think, and feel. This new language has been extended to everything that is happening in psychotherapy. As a substitute for talking about unconscious childhood trauma that causes later emotional problems, we now search for the various long-term biological effects of early life stress. Instead of talking about the id, ego, and superego, we now regard them as functions of the amygdala, the hippocampus, and the prefrontal cortex. Instead of suggesting that the unconscious is running our lives, we now investigate how the autonomic nervous system, the endocrine system, and the neural circuits in various parts of our brains are affecting us. Freud’s recommendation of putting the ego in the place of the id is now replaced with advocating a better homeostatic balance within all physiological systems. To remain relevant, neuro-psychoanalysis has assimilated this new language into its work.

As a result of this embracing of the brain, more hands-on avenues of healing are now called for when people feel down; psychopharmacological solutions, transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS), or neurosurgical interventions, to name a few. Anything might work that takes the mind out of the equation. If classical psychotherapy is nevertheless recommended, the goal is no longer to achieve an open mind, but a well-regulated body in balance with environmental stress. It should be firmly based on a medical model of diagnosis, with a focused treatment plan and a follow-up outcome evaluation. Only evidence-based approaches that have been scientifically proven to be effective for specific disorders are recommended. Psychotherapy should be brief, focused, and goal-directed. Even the names of the recommended methods are abbreviated with only a few acronyms (e.g. ACT, CBT, DBT, EMDR, NLP, PE, PT, or SIT). They require following a strict protocol in which the therapist is implementing specific interventions to achieve the desired neurobiological results. If consciousness is at all endorsed, it is achieved through the manipulation of neurotransmitters (e.g. serotonin, norepinephrine, dopamine, and glutamate), rather than by gaining more personal insights. Everything should work quickly, efficiently, and…mindlessly. Therapists have no patience with a prolonged process of analyzing abstract dreams or unconscious fantasies. When the word “head-shrinking” is at all mentioned today, it refers to a reduction of brain cells and the decrease of synaptic connections in aging. It has even been suggested that a neuroscience-based diagnostic approach would be more useful than the present descriptive approach.

Personal memories, which were regarded as the most important parts of our minds, remain relevant only insofar as they can be neuroanatomically located. Such memories have been reduced to engrams: the electrochemical nerve-endings that store and deliver messages between one another. They are now studied as either explicit or implicit and in terms of their affiliation to the old reptilian brain, the limbic system, or the neo-cortex. Rather than talking about past traumatic experiences, episodic memories of fear are assumed to be located in the hippocampus. Nothing escapes such neuroscientific investigations. Even the location of consciousness itself has been sought. Contradicting Descartes’ view that it was situated in the pineal gland, some researchers have suggested that it may be found within the posterior cortical hot zone.

Whereas classical psychology was separated from the physiology of the nervous system, it now seeks to explain how the brain makes us behave, think, and feel. As a result, “neuroscience has also become dominant in academic psychology”. The hard science of the brain is where the grant money is, and it’s the only thing that truly matters. Research on genetic and environmental interactions has replaced studies in social psychology. Brain imaging has replaced dynamic psychiatry. Cognitive neuroscience has replaced cognitive psychology, and social neuroscience is searching for the neural basis for social interactions. The shift in focus to a biological and/or evolutionary bias is apparent among the 50 most influential living psychologists in the world today.

In our overstimulated world, we are not even asked to keep things on our minds anymore. It’s all stored in our computers and smartphones, before disappearing into the “cloud.” As our lives have become less mindful (and less meaningful), many have turned to mindfulness training. But as long as it is practiced as a quick fix within a biological and “evidence-based” framework, its effectiveness will be more doubtful than mindful.

Humanistic psychology, group therapy, and family therapy have been out of fashion for a long time. The interpersonal feedback promoted in these approaches has been replaced by bio-feedback, such as brainwaves, skin conductance, and heart rate monitors. This feedback is now regarded as more reliable than a compilation of biased human beings.

All of this is, of course driven, by technological progress. Sophisticated machines, such as large computers, optogenetics, electron microscopy, and fMRI, can uncover parts of our minds that were previously hidden. Neuroscientists all over the world are searching vigorously for the neural correlates of all mental phenomena and publish their findings in neuroscience journals such as Psychoneuroendocrinology or Cerebral Cortex, where they later become popularized through the online access of neuroscience blogs.

In today’s cynical world of disillusionments, we have downgraded our minds and our common-sense understanding of humankind because we have realized that our minds can be so easily manipulated. We have been told to stop trusting our own minds, to the extent that we sometimes doubt that they exist at all. At this time and age, some may even recommend getting rid of our minds altogether. It’s almost a relief, since the mind has created so much trouble for us in our lives. Without it, we would be able to cease remembering the past (an end to depression) and stop worrying about the future (an end to anxiety). Perhaps that’s why the power of now has become so appealing?

If we can completely lose our minds, we will be able to celebrate the creation of a true bionic human-machine: a mindless zombie without any complex human spirit. We’ve heard this before. In Vance Packard’s 1959 The Hidden Persuaders, he predicted that eventually, the depth of manipulation of the psychological variety will seem amusingly old-fashioned, and the biophysicists will take over with “biocontrol,” the new science of controlling mental processes by bio-electrical signals.

Reclaiming the Mind

At this point, predictions of the end of the mind have not materialized. Despite all the recent signs of humankind losing their minds, the mind is still very much alive and kicking (even if it is not always doing well).

Researchers couldn’t find the source of Einstein’s genius by analyzing his brain. Nor have they been able to diagnose or treat the personal beliefs, feelings, and thoughts of people by analyzing their brains. While a brain scan (or any other biomedical assessment procedure) may detect electrical currents and anatomical irregularities, they don’t necessarily add much additional information about our subjective vital force.

With all neuroscience research’s progress, we would assume that it could significantly improve the diagnosis and therapy of various mental disorders. However, at least until now, the data gathered from neuroscience have not made a substantial contribution to psychiatry¹. Most psychiatric disorders cannot be validated by laboratory tests, and diagnostic biomarkers are absent from psychiatry.

I had my own neuro-mance for a couple of years. But the honeymoon ended when I realized that there could be no definite biomarkers of Holocaust traumatization². As long as neuroscience cannot answer the “hard question”³of what it’s like to be conscious and experience something, neuroscience will remain neuroscience-fiction for mental health professionals. And since neurobiology cannot directly investigate mental events without reducing them to “something else,” our personal minds remain beyond its reach. Psychotherapists who justify what they do with presently available neuroscientific findings are speaking pseudoscientific neurobabble, similar to what we used to call psychobabble. To my ears, they sound like faith healers preaching gospels wrapped up in abstract medical jargon. Describing people as being “hard-wired” for a specific behavior or dominated by one side of their brains, remains a neuro-myth until these statements can be proven with reliable and valid devices and shown to be manifested in specific individuals.

The mind and body are probably interconnected and interdependent. And even though neuroscience cannot prove the existence of consciousness itself, it has presented valuable data on how our brains function. But at the end of the day, psychotherapists still need a more integrative bio-psycho-social explanatory model in their efforts to understand their clients.

References

1. Schmidt, U., Vermetten, E. (2017). Integrating NIMH Research Domain Criteria (RDoC) into PTSD Research. Current Topics in Behavioral Neurosciences, 38, 69-91. doi:10.1007/7854_2017_1

2. Kellermann, N.P.F. (2018). The search for biomarkers of Holocaust trauma. Journal of Traumatic Stress Disorders and Treatment, 7(1), 1-13.

3. Chalmers, D. (1995). Facing up to the problem of consciousness. Journal of Consciousness Studies, 2(3), 200-219.

Judith Grisel on Addiction, Neuroscience and Choice

The Age of Neurophilia

Lawrence Rubin: Hi Dr. Grisel. I first became aware of you when Terry Gross interviewed you on her NPR show, Fresh Air, about your book, Never Enough. You mentioned that after that interview, they led you through a room where they store the hundreds of books they receive each week for consideration. I’m wondering, why did they pick yours from that pile?
Judith Grisel: Three things I guess. One is that we are really in a time in history where we’re very interested in the brain and in science. So, seventh graders appreciate things about the brain that we didn’t even know 30 years ago, and
I think there’s a neurophilia going on
I think there’s a neurophilia going on. Second, addiction is so widespread, practically everybody is touched by it. And third, I also think on my part, being at a liberal arts university and having to speak to students about complex ideas on a daily basis, I must be able to mine the minutiae of scientific inquiry and translate and explain its general principles in a way that people can understand.
LR: That reminds me of Stephen Hawking’s tiny volume, A Brief History of Time. Bringing it to the people, so to speak. What do you hope your slender volume will do that others haven’t in this conversation around the neuroscience of addiction?
JG: My hope is that the readers who aren’t scientists will learn about and be able to appreciate the core principles of brain adaptation—how it adapts to every single drug-related repeated experience that alters the way we feel. Seatbelts and sunscreen were not considered life-saving before the research taught us differently. Now, we understand the risks of not wearing seatbelts or using sunscreen, and both are seemingly simple, but most definitely life-saving practices. I want people to develop that kind of understanding about the brain’s adaptive capacity and drug use. My secondary hope is that scientists who read it will come closer to appreciating what it’s like to be an addict. My hope is that I was able to explain that in a way that made sense to both audiences.

Our Brain on Drugs

LR: You use this term, “neurophilia.” The folks who are going to read this interview may have some neuroscience interest, background or even training. Some may be neurophobic, but many, I suspect are armchair neuroscientists using trendy brain-based buzzwords, but who don’t know how to integrate the fruits of neuroscience into their psychotherapy. How can your book and your work around the neuroscience of addiction help neurophobic psychotherapists?
JG: Well, the first thing I would say—even though I’m not a therapist (and neuroscientists don’t understand it all that well, themselves) is that
there’s a difference between understanding the implications for people suffering with addictions and simply collecting piles of data
there’s a difference between understanding the implications for people suffering with addictions and simply collecting piles of data. I think that there’s definitely a place for all voices and insights to come together and try to work on this problem. It’s certainly not as if neuroscientists have made any great strides. So, that should alleviate some fear.

I also think that scientists like me who are working at a chemistry bench top or with laboratory mice, are looking at little trees or even particular leaves on particular trees. In contrast, I think clinicians are more trained to see the big picture—the psychological and social factors beyond the brain chemistry. I think we need a lot more communication and interaction between the neuroscientists and social scientists and the clinicians actually working day to day with addicts. 
LR: I interviewed Jose Rey, a psychopharmacologist, a while back and he spoke similarly of the importance of communication between disciplines, especially behavioral scientists like therapists. But you are both neuroscientists and I worry that our psychotherapist audience needs a bit of a primer—addiction neuroscience 101, if you will.
JG: I’d first define addiction, even though there is some controversy over that, and the definition changes quite frequently as anybody who looks at the DSM would know. I would say that there are five characteristics of addiction: Tolerance, dependence, craving, the drug use or the activity needs to be detrimental to the person and to their community, and denial. Those five things coming together are what I’m interested in understanding better. And the tolerance, dependence and craving are due to the brain’s adaptive capacity.

Any experience or drug that alters our neutral or baseline affective state—and this is a little different for each person, forces the brain to adapt to try to bring the chemistry in the brain, and associated behavior, back to that neutral baseline. Some people are naturally lighthearted and happy and some are naturally a little depressive and melancholy. Whatever their particular neutral is, it is the brain’s business to try to figure that out and return to its neutral position. The pathology arises when that neutral baseline is going up and down like wild all the time because of constant ingestion of drugs, because, in part, the brain is unable to sort what’s happening and do something about it.

I drink coffee every day, and what is going on in my brain is a good example. I am completely addicted to coffee. The only good news is it doesn’t cause any problems for me, so you can say maybe I’m not addicted; I’m just dependent. When I wake up in the morning, I am unable to really think or communicate until I get the coffee. I don’t wake up like my 16-year-old does, hopping out of bed and ready to go. I wake up like I’m in a coma. I get a big cup of coffee, and then I feel normal. That is true for every drug. If you take benzodiazepines regularly to deal with anxiety, your brain produces tension and anxiety so that now the benzos make you feel okay and without them you’re a wreck. The brain does something similar, but in the other direction with opiates.

Opiates affect our neutral or baseline affective state. They make us feel great. The brain makes us feel crappy to counteract that and bring us back to an affective neutral. When we take away the opiates, then we just feel bad and miserable. And that’s true for any drug: alcohol, stimulants, marijuana. I think, if I were
working with clients, I would want them to understand that their using has diminishing returns as the brain adapts
working with clients, I would want them to understand that their using has diminishing returns as the brain adapts. 
LR: The brain is always trying to pull the body and affect back to neutral?
JG: That’s right. It’s necessary for survival.
LR: Can you quickly run through the different classes of drugs and how they affect the brain and behavior differently?
JG: Let's start with the most complicated drug, which is also the smallest molecule—alcohol. Because it's so small and can go anywhere, it diffuses easily through membranes, and acts very promiscuously throughout the brain, including making us sedated, euphoric and less anxious.

At the other end of the spectrum are the stimulants; the class of drugs that includes methamphetamine, amphetamine, MDMA. They act in particular spots in the brain to enhance the amount of monoamines—dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin—in the synaptic spaces. By acting locally that way, they do two things. They make you more active behaviorally, so that's why they're stimulants, and they also make you euphoric, because dopamine works more directly in the mesolimbic system.

THC also acts all over the brain, like alcohol, but unlike stimulants it has a unique mechanism of action. THC mimics the endocannabinoids which can swim upstream across a synapse—it's a really unique pharmacology. The presynaptic cell sends a message to the postsynaptic cell, which on occasion makes these endocannabinoids tell the presynaptic cell, "What you just told me was really important." It can do that all over the brain, because we never know which circuits are going to be responsible for keeping track of important things. And when it does that with THC, then the whole brain thinks things are important, which is why Rice-A-Roni is delicious when you’re stoned.

And then there is LSD and the psychedelics—mescaline, peyote, and DMT, or the stuff in ayahuasca; and those four chemicals are unbelievably selective. They're agonists, so they mimic serotonin at the serotonin 2A receptor, and that action causes the serotonin filter to turn off. So, we can think of serotonin normally as kind of dampening or inhibiting most of the neural activity in the cortex. It's like a widespread filter. And when the filter comes off, things go wild. And so, there's it's kind of unfiltered cortical activation.

The benzodiazepines and the barbiturates are basically alcohol in a pill. The difference between benzos and barbiturates is that the barbiturates can be lethal, and the benzodiazepines cannot, although they both make a mean dependence.
LR: Is this new craze around cannabidiol (CBD) products potentially problematic, because they're touted as non-addictive and non-pharmacological, but useful for everything—like pharmacological duct tape, I guess.
JG: Placebos work for everything, though it's very hard to sort the science from the hype, and I think people are completely lost. On the other hand,
CBD is not dangerous, as far as we know, and if anything, it inhibits the effects of THC
CBD is not dangerous, as far as we know, and if anything, it inhibits the effects of THC, which has been linked to psychosis. There is also some evidence that CBD can inhibit psychosis. So, CBD is not addictive and it's an antagonist to THC. There is great evidence that CBD blocks certain seizures in children. I think overall that the evidence for THC is 10 times messier than for CBD. And one important way it's messy is that we can see that acutely, it helps somebody sleep or it helps anxiety. But because you develop tolerance, my strong prediction is that those returns are going to diminish with time and, in fact, the drug will create anxiety and insomnia, which is what regular users say. They cannot sleep without it. They cannot get through a day without it.

Self-Regulation

LR: When I teach abnormal psychology to my graduate students, I discuss addictions, eating disorders, gambling and even obsessive-compulsive disorders under the broad umbrella of disturbances of self-regulation. Our society seems so hellbent on opposing the body’s natural need to regulate itself into a neutral state.
JG: I first want to point out that this is a terrific example of what we were just saying—that we need both sides. We need the information that neuroscience provides at the molecular level but also the broader perspective that your observation implies. Your broad perspective suggests that all addictive disorders can fall under the umbrella of obsessive-compulsive disorders. Maybe obsessive-compulsive disorders, in turn, are under the umbrella of self-regulation. So, I really think it’s helpful because we’re focusing on some little, tiny detail and missing the big landscape.

I do want to say that we’re absolutely clear in neuroscience that everybody’s innate capacity for self-regulation is not the same. So, some people are fortunate with metabolism of monoamines, for instance, in a way that makes them a little more cautious and less impulsive. Impulsivity certainly counteracts self-regulation. So does frontal-lobe capacity. If you have a large frontal lobe, you’re better able to do it. I think community support and teaching can contribute to that, so I think everybody’s capable of it. I’m still working on it, myself. It’s not easy for me.

I’m somebody who tends toward extremes right away. I think, just to point out another big-picture view of this, it makes sense from an evolutionary perspective that some of us would be tending toward self-regulation and conscientiousness and careful thought and consideration before acting, and some of us would be more likely to swim to the other shore right away without even considering the implications—whether it’s good for the population—because you need both extremes. So, I think if everybody were reserved or everybody was impulsive, it would be detrimental for the whole group.

I do think in certain conditions, like the ones that you alluded to now of our current social institutions, we definitely value more highly the ability to pause, and you’ll do better if you’re not too impulsive, especially with all these drugs widely available. They are high potency and easy to administer. It’s not a good time and place for people who are poor at self-regulation, that’s for sure. 
LR: You say opiates are popular because they are the perfect antidote to suffering. Are we allergic to suffering in this society? We rush to mask it. We rush to medicate it. We rush to therapize it. What is it about suffering that is so abhorrent that it drives millions to drugs and other addictions?
JG: I really love that question. It’s really out of my expertise, so it’s going to be my opinion that I give here, and I can do that best from my own experience. I really did suffer for no good reason as a child. I think I was overly sensitive and tuned in to other people’s plights and confused by the values that seemed to be expressed around me. I don’t know, but I think if I had had an opportunity to talk about this kind of existential confusion, maybe I wouldn’t have found marijuana and alcohol such a sell.

It’s almost a knee-jerk reaction among otherwise sober, sane people to suppress and deny and minimize and escape any feelings of discomfort. Maybe I’m too heavy handed here, but as someone who couldn’t afford to do that anymore, I really think my suffering was the very thing that led to the not so much happy, as the well person.
I think it’s impossible to be well if you can’t face darkness
I think it’s impossible to be well if you can’t face darkness. We don’t have a lot of ways—I know I didn’t find any—to help people face the darkness. If you’re not taking medicinal alcohol, you’re taking medical marijuana. And if you’re not taking either of those, you’re taking prescriptions. If we look at the percentage of people in western societies who are medicating their existence, we are not talking about a physical malady, so much as a psychological malady. I think it’s hard to find people who are models for walking through it. I think that might be a dead end. I have gotten a lot of notes and letters from young people who say, “This is so hypocritical. My parents say, ‘Don’t smoke weed’, My parents say, ‘Don’t do this,’ but they do these things.” I even had a therapist the other day tell me, “Well, alcohol’s not really a drug.” I think that we’re all in denial, I guess. Not maybe you, but many of us. 
LR: Well, it seems that—and I know you’ve studied evolution—that an anesthetized and a medicated society does not build a stronger society.
JG: So true. If there was ever a time not to check out, maybe you could say this at any time, but I’m saying it now.
This is not the time to escape our reality.
This is not the time to escape our reality.

Choice Versus Addiction

LR: In the latter part of your book, you say the opposite of addiction is choice. Some would argue that’s a bit on the simplistic side; especially those who say it’s a disease.   
JG: I’ve gotten a fair amount of pushback about that. We were so bad at solving addiction and the NIH and NSF were funding all this research on addiction and Congress, probably about 15 or 20 years ago, said, “What’s wrong with you guys? Fix it.” At that time, we didn’t understand how the brain works. Like the “No Child Left Behind,” they thought if they made an edict, it would solve the problem.

So, scientists realized, “Well, we’re not going to fix it if our criterion is that people are well.” So, we’ve said, now, that you can minimize the harm—reduce the harm—and that’s partly strategic to say, “Look. We are being successful.” Suboxone is better than overdosing on fentanyl. I completely agree. So, I’m not dualistic about this; that you’re either clean or you’re not and too bad. I really think every single strategy should be employed.

I think we’re diminishing our potential by capitulating to this quasi-existence where we’re not really engaged with reality but we’re also not dying. So, I think short-term strategies are terrific, but I object to giving someone a prescription for a substitute drug and sending them on their way. The causes of their excessive use, I think, need to be looked at. For me, it was a really hard, multipronged effort on my part and on the part of a fair number of professionals before I was willing to take responsibility.

This may sound trite, but
in order to be free, you have to take responsibility
in order to be free, you have to take responsibility. I think, in some cases, people don’t want that. Initially, I sure didn’t want that. I’m so grateful for it today, because sometimes I have a really rough period or day and it does occur to me, “Oh, my gosh. I would just like a brief—” 
LR: Escape.
JG: Escape. I go to the movies or take a hot bath. That’s my option. I think that surviving that, awake, looking at the factors in me that contributed to that discontent, or those things I can’t control, I think that’s powerful.
LR: Can we get back to the notion of choice as a path away from addiction. The choice between addiction and what? What did you mean?
JG: What I meant comes from my experience. When I was using, occasionally I would think, "Mm, it's probably not a good idea to use today." Like, I was going to my grandfather's funeral or I was going to be traveling on a plane, or I had a final exam, or something pretty big, you know. So, the thought would come to my head, "I should not do this." And then I would compulsively steer right for it, recognizing for a moment that it was going to be bad. It was going to hurt, cost me, but I couldn't stop.
So, I think the obsession to use is still occasionally in my brain
So, I think the obsession to use is still occasionally in my brain. But what's different is I have some space now between the thought and the act. And I guess what I meant was that having that space is the opposite, because addicts often don't want to use but it’s just inevitable because they don’t have that space.
LR: So, it's a matter of expanding that space that's left if you confront the impulse, if you wait 5 seconds, although I know it's not as easy as counting to 10 to break an addiction.
JG: Are you kidding? No, I counted to 10 many, many times, and also walked around the block and, you know, chewed on spaghetti sticks and just kind of disconnect that habit part of my brain, the striatal part, which
by the time you become an addict, you might as well be a rat in a cage, because it's just press the bar, press the bar, press the bar
by the time you become an addict, you might as well be a rat in a cage, because it's just press the bar, press the bar, press the bar. Even if nothing is coming out.
LR: Like you said, helping build a tolerance to those spaces that feel like crap or those existential spaces where life doesn't have any meaning and life is still not going to have meaning after you stop using. It's how to deal with that lack of meaning.
JG: Yeah, or disappointment, which is a huge trigger for people like me, because disappointment is sort of low dopamine, you know? But I think that a therapist can have a great role here. Instead of trying to avoid the obsessions, to experience the obsessions with somebody who helps us get that distance would be useful. I remember it slowly dawning on me, wow, just because it occurs to me doesn't mean I have to do it, and that was a novel thought.
LR: Where do you land on the debate between those who advocate abstinence versus controlled use, and how can you help therapists understand that distinction?
JG:
I am not against drug use. I am really against addiction
I am not against drug use. I am really against addiction. I don’t think there’s good evidence that people who are addicted can manage a controlled use, ever. Sometimes, they grow out of it, if they’re young enough, so that can happen if they get stopped really early like before they’re 20. The way I think of controlled use is being on a perpetual diet at a holiday party. It’s just miserable because—and for me, it really would be. How can I control myself? There are all these tasty things. So, it’s just the cost—I think the goal should be freedom. I think that’s hard for most people like me to imagine if I was trying to manage my drug use. I’ve heard a million creative ways of doing it and they all look miserable.
LR: What about the difference between those who have a bone fide addiction and those who are midway down a punitive trajectory?
JG: I guess I would ask you a question about that. When I was in abnormal psychology—and this is in the ‘80s—I thought that my teacher told me that the understanding of pathology was qualitative. So, you’re either sick or you’re well, basically. I thought that seemed surprising, but it was a great relief because I was among the well, I thought, for most things. My understanding of the way it is now is that we see most disorders as spectra and at some point, normal functioning becomes pathological.

For addiction, I think that, at some point, the reward pathway—this mesolimbic dopamine pathway that mediates the pleasure we get from addictive drugs–becomes altered. For some people controlled, moderate use—making other things like your children’s wellbeing, for instance, more important than your getting high—those kinds of things become impossible. I guess I see that in my own life. What happened is all I really cared about was drugs. There was nothing—no consequence—that I wasn’t willing to pay. I basically gave it all away so I could have this momentary escape. I think that is so compelling for some of us, either at birth or as a result of experience or probably both, that it’s a point of no return. I think age might influence that. 

I’m really concerned for kids. We know 80 percent of substance abusers—people who have addictions—start before they’re 18. Using moderation or avoiding excessive use before their brain is done developing around 23 or 25 might be the way for them to avoid addiction. I think it’s possible, then, to grow out of it, if you can back away.
Maybe addictions that develop in adulthood might be neurologically different than the ones that come on early
Maybe addictions that develop in adulthood might be neurologically different than the ones that come on early.

Teens and Drugs

LR: That’s interesting because a lot of therapists in our audience work with adolescents who live in a very confusing world full of stress, contradictions, widespread drug availability and increasingly pro-marijuana legislation. What must these therapists understand?
JG: The one thing I didn’t understand was: since when do adolescents worry about death? Don’t they think they’re immune to it? Isn’t their ability to self-regulate naturally and appropriately diminished? Isn’t this the time in life when they’re supposed to be taking risks?

I just want to say to the psychotherapists working with adolescents that this seems to me to be incredibly important. For children growing up today, it is, as you say, unbelievably confusing and drugs are everywhere. You can smoke pot now in school right in your seat where you’re taking your math test with no one knowing it. I think that it’s a treacherous time to try to find yourself and a place for yourself in such a confusing world. I think that our future depends on these kids.
LR: How do we convey the information of neuroscience and addiction to adolescents without their eyes rolling back and them dismissing us? Do we do it through the parents? Do we do it through the therapists? Do we teach adolescents about neuroscience and about the vulnerabilities of their brain and their neurocircuitry?
JG: I think that the kids in my town are very interested in neuroscience and I think most kids are interested in information. One of the things that’s really had a big impact, surprisingly, because they don’t worry about their own death so much or their own mortality, is this idea of the transgenerational effects from epigenetics. There was pretty alarming data piling up and we don’t understand it so well.

We understand the mechanism but it just seems incredibly inconvenient that if an adolescent is exposed to a drug like marijuana or alcohol and then grows up normally—doesn’t get any more of the drug, the offspring of that adolescent partier are prone to anxiety and depression and higher self-administration of drugs of abuse. I have to wonder if the epidemic of anxiety and depression is in part due to what our parents were doing in the 60s and ‘70s. Talk about a complicated, systemic way of understanding suffering, so that you reap what you sow. Also, most of the blame has been on the mothers, on the women who, somehow, were crappy. In fact, we know that the pathway for the sperm through the epididymis is marked by these experiences. We have a mechanism for how this can happen. Fathers to sons and grandsons is clear in the lab. Another analogy for even younger people that I talk about—and I don’t know if this will impact them or not—but it’s almost like you have a bank.
You start out with a certain amount of money in your bank and that’s your affective state. When you use a drug to feel great, you’re withdrawing from that. It is always the case that you have to pay it back; quickly or slowly.
You start out with a certain amount of money in your bank and that’s your affective state. When you use a drug to feel great, you’re withdrawing from that. It is always the case that you have to pay it back; quickly or slowly. 

So, a hangover is a little payback of the great time you had last night but there is no influx of funds coming from any place else. They have to come from us, so that’s why, if you withdraw a little bit at a time and you put money in, maybe, by learning the kinds of self-regulation and purposeful nourishing of yourself and your goals, having a little treat every now and then isn’t going to cause bankruptcy. 
LR: So, parents of adolescents might benefit from a far less restrictive approach to substance use. It might be helpful for therapists to help parents of teenagers not get so crazy about occasional or small-dose usage, rather than talk to the parents about the importance of absolute abstinence.
JG: If we had a perfect world, I would say nobody would overdo it.

I think kids don’t listen to parents making rules so that’s not a great strategy because you cannot enforce this. They do what they do. I hesitate to say, “Help them do it at home,” or, “help them learn moderation,” because, really,
any time the brain gets a big enough taste of a drug to feel great, especially in adolescence, that’s likely to have a lasting impact in the opposite direction
any time the brain gets a big enough taste of a drug to feel great, especially in adolescence, that’s likely to have a lasting impact in the opposite direction.

So, I’m quite convinced that my brain is less sensitive to pleasure and reward, so that when I got married or had my daughter or any other kind of peak experiences, which were good, they might have been even better if I hadn’t dampened my sensitivity to that. While we know this to be the case, I agree with you, though, that coming down hard and fast is a waste of time.

It’s impractical. In general, I tried to bribe my children. I said, “If you can not get wasted until you’re 21, I’ll buy you a plane ticket anywhere.” That’s what I would like. I don’t think it worked but I do think they’ve, in some way, taken it to heart. I mean, we talk about it an awful lot. 
LR: I’ll bet you do.
JG: I put different pictures of the brain impacted by drugs in the book, by the way, because I think those pictures have an impact on kids. So, seeing how chronic pot smoking decreases the number of brain receptors that respond to pot, I think that might help.
LR: Well, there’s also the irony or maybe a paradox that—as you said in the beginning—teenagers are invincible. They see themselves as unbreakable. Unless they’ve had real adverse experiences with alcohol or pot, beyond a bad hangover the next morning, they haven’t been threatened with death. They don’t see their synapses deteriorating. They don’t see brain centers shrinking. So, at a point where the most damage can be done, they’re least amenable to contradictory information. It’s tough.
JG: I have heard, though, from dozens, maybe hundreds, of kids, 15, 16, 17, 18 who completely identify with the lost, empty feeling that they cannot get enough of a drug. If these kids can stop early, their brain is much more capable of restoring things than it would be if they wait ‘till their 30. So, on the other hand, just because they have an increased risk of developing addiction, they also have an increased aptitude for recovering. Maybe this is a unique opportunity for them to begin to understand that these drugs really are so potent and so widely used, that it really is a dead end.
LR: Are you suggesting that it may be more therapeutically useful to point out to adolescents how crappy they feel when they’re not using the drug because the brain is trying to adapt, than how crappy or perhaps stupid and self-destructive they were feeling and acting when they were using the drug?
JG: Absolutely.
LR: So, the real danger is in what their body is experiencing when it’s craving or when they’re doing ridiculous and/or destructive things to acquire the drug.
JG: For me and for many pot smokers, what that looks like is that everything is just completely boring and flat and uninteresting. I mean,
I remember not caring about anything unless I was stoned
I remember not caring about anything unless I was stoned. That is profoundly painful. It’s a big deal.
LR: So, it’s helping our young to build up resistance to feelings of loneliness. To existential pain. To sadness. To injustice. Giving them the skills not so much to battle addiction but to battle the natural response to the pains of life.
JG: I’m interested that you say battle it. I guess I wouldn’t expect that. Is it that we want them to battle the pains or do we want them to negotiate the pains?
LR: Negotiate.
JG: Yeah, and one way that’s helped me a lot is to realize it’s overwhelming if I look at everything. If I just pick something that’s important to me, one thing that’s important to me, and live my life to show that, then that’s enough. I don’t have to get overwhelmed by what’s going on in Yemen or what’s going on with the rising water—these are things that are beyond my scope, but I can do a little bit and that is, I think, maybe a message that’s lost to them right now. That there’s a place for each of us.
LR: I guess the irony, also, is that because they have increased cognitive ability and they can think about thinking and think beyond their skin, the problems of the world become their problems—they have to worry about everything at once. They’re not worrying about Yemen or Syria or rising tides or climate. They’re not doing their job, but it’s in taking on the world just because they can that they forget to take on themselves and what they can control.
JG: Then, you point out the incredible irony, which is that they’re aware of all of this, and how do they deal with it? They completely erase it all by getting high, and by becoming withdrawn into themselves and their own private mental state which is being further manipulated by the drugs they are using. It’s simply not functional or adaptive.
LR: It seems from what you’re saying is that the antidote to addiction is connection.
JG: I think so. Connection! I mean, this is probably, blatantly obvious, but requires another side. Others who need us. I don’t think we can do it outside of the support of wise people. Connecting to art. Connecting to our bodies. Connecting to the earth. Connecting to mentors.
LR: Therapists can play a very powerful role, there.
JG: Absolutely.

Loose Ends

LR: May we shift gears here for a bit because I have, and I know our readers have, so many more questions, like about the recent FDA approval of esketamine nasal spray for severe depression.
JG: Every new drug, when it comes out, has all kinds of promise and no side effects and that turns out to be true for a few months, until we get some data. I think
it’s absolutely clear that the existing pharmacological treatment we have for depression is largely useless
it’s absolutely clear that the existing pharmacological treatment we have for depression is largely useless, and if nothing else, is really benefiting drug companies.
LR: Thomas Szasz’s notion of “pharmacracy,” government and control by and for the pharmaceutical industry.
JG: I don’t think we have good pharmacological interventions, going back to what you said earlier. I think we are a society always looking for a quick fix. I’m not against this. What I like about this new drug is it’s finally a novel mechanism of action. It’s also not something you take every day. The chemical esketamine, though, is a little bit of a baloney because the drug that it’s copying, ketamine, is cheap and old. What do they have to do, because the patent’s out on that? They have to develop a fancy version on that, which is no more efficacious, but it’s going to earn a lot more money.

I think people are desperate for treatment for depression. There are so many people who are pleading, “Please, let me have brain surgery to alleviate my depression.” So, we clearly need something. I don’t think that it’s going to be a magic bullet, but maybe it’s good to see some movement in that area. 
LR: We may start seeing esketamine clinics and esketamine overdoses and illicit copies of esketamine. It will be helpful to some perhaps, but will the societal consequences be far worse?
JG: You know, it’s possible. It’s a dissociative anesthetic. It’s Special K, basically, which is abused.
LR: You mentioned that women metabolize alcohol and some drugs differently than men because of the greater distribution and density of fat, as opposed to muscle. I know you’re not a therapist and I’m not asking you to be one, but you have some really good insights and you’re raising a young person. Do we have to work differently in therapy with girls and women as opposed to men and boys?
JG: Oh, my gosh. That is worth an hour in itself. I think it’s critical. We basically did 96 percent of our research until the turn of the century on white males. They are not the default population, so it turns out—especially with drugs of abuse,but much more than anybody suspected—women respond differently. That’s evident in the clinic because
women progress toward addiction and to toxic side effects much more quickly than men
women progress toward addiction and to toxic side effects much more quickly than men.

Women need lower doses. I think the reasons for using are different. I suspect—and it’s borne out by some data that’s accumulating—women use drugs more to cope and men use more to get off—to enjoy it. Those are really two different things. I think for men anger and resentment are big precipitating factors. For women, anxiety and insecurity are the precipitating factors. 
LR: So, as you said earlier in the interview, we need to address the core issues that girls and women struggle with by virtue of being girls and women in a patriarchal society. Do you have any final thoughts you’d like to share with our readers?
JG: I think the conversation was really enriching for me because I think we are both interested in the same goals but from different perspectives. I think it’s important to have these conversations, these bridges between what I know and what you know and our shared experiences from these different sides. So, I think that was really pleasant and novel for me because everybody only wants to talk about the brain molecules, evading these big, important, systemic, and social and spiritual questions.
LR: Did I betray my roots? My psychosocial roots?
JG: I hope so.
LR: You really have some powerful insights and I think your wisdom goes beyond mice and the lab. I think it also transcends neural circuitry. I think you understand the bigger issues and I hope more neuroscientists recognize the importance of the psychosocial elements of addiction and disease. I did an interview with Allen Frances a while back. He, like you, thinks that we really need to create bridges between the scientists—the behavioral scientists and the neuroscientists.
JG: Can I tell you, lastly, why I think you don’t have to worry about that? The neuroscience is not yielding answers. So, it’s going to be the data itself or the lack of data—the lack of understanding, the lack of impact—that brings us back to the wider community—to these connections outside of ourselves. As I say in the book, we thought that the brain was acting like Oz behind the curtain.
Now, we realize, “Oh, the brain is just a way that the environment influences us.”
Now, we realize, “Oh, the brain is just a way that the environment influences us.” We are coming full circle, I think, and we will, eventually, get to the same place where we realize everything’s social, psychological and biological.
LR: So, what do you say to those psychotherapists out there who are addicted to neuroscience research and who have fallen in love with the brain and who are rabid neurophiliacs?
JG: I would say they don’t understand it. I guess they’re selling something but it’s not understanding. It’s not wisdom.
LR: So, psychotherapists need, as you said, to position themselves along the spectrum somewhere between the extremes of neurophilia and neurophobia?
JG: Absolutely.
LR: On that note, Judy, thank you so much for sharing your time, research and wisdom with our readers.
JG: 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.

Allan Schore on the Science of the Art of Psychotherapy

David Bullard: Allan, you are known for integrating psychological and biological models of emotional and social development across the lifespan. You’ve done a great deal of research and writing suggesting that the early developing, emotion-processing right brain represents the psychobiological substrate of the human unconscious described by Freud. Your work has been an important catalyst in the ongoing “emotional revolution” now occurring across clinical and scientific disciplines.

I’ve been watching my own process while getting ready for this interview, with a lot of left-brain work: reading, taking copious notes and thinking, and anxiously trying to figure out the structure for this interview. After all, it isn’t everyday one gets to interview a person called “the American Bowlby,” and whom the American Psychoanalytic Association has described as “a monumental figure in psychoanalytic and neuropsychoanalytic studies!” But essentially, this will be a conversation, and
I’d like to begin with a quote attributed to Jung, involving a graduate student who went to him, inquiring as to what he could do to become the best therapist possible. Jung said, —loosely translated—“Well, go to the library and read and study everything good that’s ever been written about the art and science of psychotherapy, and then forget it all before you sit down to peer into the human soul.”

It occurs to me, having followed your work for a while—most recently your writing about right brain communication in psychotherapy—that Jung’s quote may be partly what you’re writing about.
Allan Schore: Absolutely. The title of my book, The Science of the Art of Psychotherapy (2012), attempts to more clearly understand the relationship between the two, because on the one hand, as so much clinically relevant research now shows us, there is a science that underlies the clinical domain. And there is a certain amount of information and knowledge that we as clinicians must have in order to succeed in the particular area of expertise that we’re in—psychotherapeutic change processes.

Yet, at the same time it’s also an art, something that is extremely subjective and personal. For most of the last century it was thought that subjectivity was outside the purview of science. But we now understand psychotherapy changes more than overt behavior and language—it also acts on subjectivity and emotion. As you know, the left hemisphere is dominant for language and overt behavior; the right for emotion and subjectivity. This dichotomy fits nicely with left versus right brain functions. The two cerebral hemispheres process information from the outside—and inside—world in different ways: one from an objective stance, the other from a more subjective perspective. The two brains use different ways of perceiving the world and of being in the world.

Neuroscience has legitimized subjectivity in psychology and in therapy.
Neuroscience has legitimized subjectivity in psychology and in therapy. Both science and clinical theory agree that psychotherapy is basically relational and emotional, and so we now think that emotionally and intersubjectively being with the patient is more important than rationally explaining the patient’s behavior to himself. The core self system is relational and emotional, and lateralized to the right hemisphere, and not the analytical left brain. As we empathically “follow the affect” and facilitate the patient experiencing a “heightened affective moment,” we’re intuitively inhibiting the dominance of the left and “leaning right.”
DB: Can you speak more about how neuroscience is changing our understanding of the art of psychotherapy?
AS: Let me try to give a broad overview. In the critical moments of any session the patient must sense that we’re empathically with them. Research shows a difference between the left brain understanding of cognitive empathy and right brain bodily-based emotional empathy. In other words, we’re experiencing and sharing the patient’s right brain emotional subjective states, being with the patient rather than doing to the patient. In this therapeutic context we have to also be in the right brain to make therapeutic contact, and for the patient to make contact with her deeper emotions. Later we may engage our left brains to more cognitively understand the emotional state, but while we’re attempting to “listen beneath the words” in order to “reach the affect” and work with the affect we must, as Reik said, abandon “sweet reason” and “rigidly rational consciousness” and “abandon yourself” to intuitive hunches that emerge from the unconscious.

Intuition and empathy are right brain functions, and both operate at levels beneath conscious awareness. Bion said we must leave conscious expectation behind in order to really hear the whole patient. So getting back to Jung, he also said “Man’s task is to become conscious of the contents that press upward from the unconscious.”

These two different brains, the conscious mind and the unconscious mind, must work together. As my colleague Iain McGilchrist has shown, we are currently out of hemispheric balance. I think psychology has placed too great an emphasis on the conscious mind, and we are now challenging the long-held idea that reason must overcome bodily-based emotion. That the conscious mind needs to control and suppress the unconscious mind, that science and art are always in conflict, and that they would never mesh together. As I’ve written, with the ongoing interdisciplinary paradigm shift our perspective has changed, and not incidentally the gap between the practice and the theory of psychotherapy has really collapsed in the last two decades.

Getting back to your Jung citation, at the very beginning of our clinical education we’re learning techniques, and we’re learning the psychological science of psychotherapy. But as we learn our craft and gain clinical experience, ultimately the bulk of our learning comes from being with and learning from our patients—about them as well as self-knowledge. As I see it, our growing clinical expertise expands within the psychotherapeutic relationships we share with our patients. It’s what our patients are teaching us, if we are open to it. It’s not just about them and the deeper psychological realms within them. It’s at the same time becoming more familiar with the deeper core of our own self system. Being psychodynamically focused, this involves the use of both our conscious left and especially the unconscious “right mind.”

I believe that we’ve overvalued the analytic left mind. So lately I’ve looked more carefully at the neuroscience for the overt and subtle difference between the left and right brain/mind. This has shifted my clinical focus from the explicit to the implicit, from cognitive mental content to affective psychobiological process. I now see the change mechanism acting beneath the words—in process more than content. We now have a better idea what this process is about, and how relational interactions literally can change that process and thereby change character structure.

My idea about science is that we need to update ourselves about what is objectively known about the brain and what is known about the body, as well as “knowing” more about our own subjectivity. And that’s a continual journey. Fundamentally, our psychotherapeutic exploration of somebody else’s subjectivity, which is bodily-based subjectivity, is also an exploration of our own subjectivity. So, there are two types of knowledge here that really underlie psychotherapy change processes: the explicit knowledge of the broader biological and psychological scientific theories, and the “implicit relational knowledge of self and other.”
DB: Before we go any further, as a psychodynamic therapist, even a “neuropsychoanalytic” one, what might you say about your work to therapists who are using more directive methods, such as CBT and EMDR?
AS: The neurobiologically informed psychodynamic perspective that I use emphasizes a clinical focus on not only explicit conscious but implicit unconscious processes. All schools of psychotherapy are now interested in these essential functions that take place beneath awareness. And all are accessing attachment internal working models, which Bowlby said operate at unconscious levels and can be changed by therapy. So I’m interested in not only the patient’s overt behavior, but also her internal world, what cognitive scientists call internal schemas.

My work is fundamentally about how to work with affect, and so clinically I’m exploring with the patient not only conscious but unconscious cognition and, importantly, unconscious affect. The patient may have no awareness of what neuroscience is now describing as “unconscious negative emotion.” Research has now established that fear isn’t necessarily conscious; you can experience it without being aware that you’re experiencing it. So how do we detect these unconscious affects?

And then there’s the matter of the communication of emotions within the therapeutic alliance that are so rapid that they occur beneath conscious awareness. The alliance is a central mechanism in not only psychodynamic therapy but CBT, EMDR, experiential, body psychotherapy, etc. This gets to what used to be called the common factors that impact all forms of treatment. I’m interested in the change mechanisms that occur in all psychotherapeutic modalities, but especially in the right brain, which is dominant for emotional and social functions and stress regulation.
DB: But let me get in a question for the people who may not have had much exposure to the kind of neuroscience and the neuropsychoanalytic approach that you’ve written so much about over the last two decades. At basic levels, you say that right brain development is much more rapid in the newborn, or in the developing fetus even. Can you address those implications?
AS: Let me just go wide for a second and then we can kind of dive in here, because the truth of it is that the last two decades have been remarkable in terms of the changes in the field of psychology across the board. I’m thinking about the early ‘90s when there was a huge split between researchers and clinicians, where there were divisions within the different schools of psychotherapy, and where the focus was very much on verbal content of the session. Although there were breaks away from classical psychoanalytic theory, the focus was still on undoing repression, making the unconscious conscious, and with interpretations being the major vectors of the treatment. Emotion really had not come into the forefront. But that’s the key to the change.

Over the ‘70s we had been moving into a behavioral psychology and from that to a behavioral psychotherapy. Then it transitioned into a cognitive psychology where suddenly, we went beyond just overt behavior and into covert cognition, which became a legitimate field of study. Out of that came cognitive behavioral therapy and then in the ‘90s the emotional revolution, as it’s been called, began, which posited that affect is primary, as well as affect regulation. And that’s where my studies really began, in the early 1990’s.

The Reemergence of Psychoanalysis

DB: Did you have much contact with psychoanalysts Joe Weiss and Hal Sampson in San Francisco who founded a psychotherapy research group and developed Control Mastery Theory?
AS: Not contact, but I was well aware of them and I’m pretty sure they were aware of me.
DB: They were.
AS: Their work has held up, and its impact continues. There’s now an intense interest in gaining a deeper understanding of what used to be called the non-specific mechanisms of change, in all forms of psychotherapy. They were onto that really early.

My first book, Affect Regulation and the Origin of the Self, tied together the social-emotional change processes in early development and in psychotherapy. This was in 1994 and, incidentally, the term “self” was not being used that much back then. Psychodynamic people were still more or less using the term “ego” rather than “self.” As I’m sure you’re well aware, Jung had put his money on “self” and was much closer to describing the core system than Freud’s “ego.”

The early developmental models of the time were dominated by the cognitive models of Piaget.
Everyone had been attempting to try to squeeze Piaget into a psychotherapeutic mechanism. It proved to be kind of an awkward fit.
Everyone had been attempting to try to squeeze Piaget into a psychotherapeutic mechanism. It proved to be kind of an awkward fit. Emotion was the key to attachment.

And so the subtitle of my book was The Neurobiology of Early Emotional Development. That same year Antonio Damasio had come out with his book Descartes' Error, and the whole idea of emotion, which had been ignored by science, began to come out of the closet.

Twenty years later it’s well established that emotion is primary in early human development, that affect dysregulation lies at the core of psychopathology, and that affective communications are essential in all forms of psychotherapy.

The second area of basic change is the matter of the interpersonal neurobiology of attachment—a shift from the intrapsychic to the interpersonal. Many people had been looking at attachment theory, but even attachment theory was hard to anchor clinical process in. That had to be worked out: other than the “strange situation” and the AAI [Adult Attachment Interview], how were clinicians going to use Bowlby’s attachment theory and information about early development? That has been a remarkable change. Now just about every clinician has some understanding of the centrality of early development and how that interpersonal developmental mechanism plays out in the therapeutic relationship.

Indeed, early development really has come into the fore in all forms of psychotherapy, with all patient populations.
Interpersonal neurobiology—how early relationships shape the brain—has transformed attachment theory.
Interpersonal neurobiology—how early relationships shape the brain—has transformed attachment theory. This transformation from what I call “classical attachment theory” to “modern attachment theory” focuses on not only regulation but also dysregulation and ideas of psychopathogenesis, which have also been major themes of my work. My efforts have been to generate a more integrated theory of mind and body, of psychology and biology. In essence I’ve attempted to synthesize these fields in order to create a coherent psychobiological model of how the self develops, how dysregulation and disorders evolve, and then ultimately how to treat these disorders.

A couple of other things to mention: another change over the last two decades has been the reemergence of psychodynamic theory and the revitalization of psychoanalysis, the science of unconscious processes. It took a while, because as you know, classical psychoanalysis was seen as apart from science, and was cast out of academia for a long period of time.

But this reemergence has paradoxically been fostered by neuroscience, and its interest in rapid implicit processes. Neuroimaging research has established that most essential adaptive processes are so rapid that they take place beneath conscious awareness. I’ve suggested that the self system is located in the right brain, the biological substrate of the human unconscious. This differs from Freud’s dynamic unconscious, which mainly contains repressed material, banished from consciousness. At any rate there is now great interest in implicit unconscious processes, and I think we’re now coming back to a modern expression of psychodynamic theory. Indeed all forms of therapy are now looking at right brain to right brain transference and countertransference communications, and how these are expressed in the therapeutic alliance, beneath the words.
All forms of therapy are now looking at right brain to right brain transference and countertransference communications, and how these are expressed in the therapeutic alliance, beneath the words.



One other major change has been the rediscovery of brain lateralization, and the appreciation of the different structural organizations of the right and left brain. Each has different critical periods and growth spurts, and ultimately different specialized functions. For me the terra incognita literally has always been the early developing right brain, the unconscious. More so than the surface conscious mind my interest has been in deeper early forming nonverbal bodily-based survival processes. I became especially interested in how we could bring these survival processes into the open, and how these could be studied. As a clinician-scientist, everything that I’ve authored has had to be clinically relevant. It has to fit the way that I work with my patients, as well as scientifically grounded. My theories are heuristic, and not only open to research but able to generate experimental hypotheses that can be tested.

Hemisphericity

DB: You’ve spoken of the left brain being verbal, rational, and logical, but of the right brain actually having verbal aspects also. How would you describe the verbal capacities of the right brain?
AS: The first person to bring up the idea that all language is not only in the left hemisphere, just for the record, was Freud in 1891 in On Aphasia, which still is studied by neurologists.
Right hemispheric language creates the intimate feeling of “being with.”
But the idea that everything that is verbal has to, by definition, reside in the left brain is still held by many people. Current neuroscience shows this is not the case. The right also has language. The right stores our own names, and processes emotional words. Prosody, the emotional tone of the voice, is right lateralized, as well as novel metaphors, and making thematic inferences. So when a patient all of a sudden is in an emotional state and is using an emotional word, the right is tracking that also. Right hemispheric language creates the intimate feeling of “being with.”
DB: And humor is known to be more right brain?
AS: Absolutely!
DB: And it kind of “wakes up” our left brain with recognition?
AS: Yes. Because the processing of what is familiar is left and the processing of novelty is right. Essentially we’re looking for, not the bottom line preexisting truth, but for the ability to process novelty, especially novelty in social emotional interactions. And for many patients intimacy is novelty. So, yes, anything that is new pops into the right brain first, and you actually get bursts of noradrenaline in the right hemisphere, the hemisphere that is dominant for attention. In fact, I’m now citing studies which indicate that the highest levels of human cognition—the “aha” moment of insight, intuition, creativity, indeed love, are all expressions of the right and not left brain.
DB: It’s in the right, but we don’t know about it until it shows up in the left. The right brain lets us know what’s actually going on, especially in the body, and in the deeper core of the self.
AS: Correct. Essentially, the left has the illusion that it has just discovered something new, but the truth of it is the right has discovered it, and now the left is putting into words what the right just found out about the self, especially in relation to other self systems. My colleague Darcia Narvaez is showing that morality is also a very high right brain process. A body of research indicates that the right is dominant for affiliation, the left for power.

This gets into some of the matters that Jung and others were talking about— these very high symbolic mechanisms are in the right hemisphere. Here’s another example of how neuroscience has changed our ideas about the human experience. It used to be thought that all symbolic processes are a product of the verbal left brain, so the goal was to get the patient to use words, and once there was conscious verbalization, then the patient can understand, and then the unconscious becomes conscious and change occurs. We’re now saying that’s not quite the case. The ultimate expression of the right brain is a conscious emotion. The ultimate expression of the left brain is a conscious thought.
Becoming aware of our bodily-based emotions is more essential than becoming aware of our thoughts.
Becoming aware of our bodily-based emotions is more essential than becoming aware of our thoughts.

The right brain and the unconscious mind are more connected into the visceral body. As you know the body has been rediscovered in the last couple of decades. And that’s been an enormous change for psychology and psychiatry.

Trauma and Development

DB: Would you say that has been driven through the clinical work, research and writing on trauma?
AS: Partly that. But also the developmental work on attachment theory and attachment trauma. Clearly, modern trauma theory, which did not really exist until around the late ‘90s, has also been one of the important transformations of the last two decades—the idea that “the body keeps the score,” as Bessel van der Kolk put it. But even beyond that, I would suggest it’s the re-discovery of the autonomic nervous system that is the major player here. It’s now an accepted principle that in order to understand the human experience it’s not just the voluntary behavior of the central nervous system, but also the involuntary behavior of the autonomic nervous system—mind and body. And that’s why much of my bodily-based attachment model involves the autonomic nervous system. The mother is literally a regulator of crescendos and de-crescendos of the baby’s developing autonomic nervous system.

These same bodily-based processes are also involved in the therapist’s right brain psychobiological attunement to and regulation of the patient’s emotional states. So the body has now embedded itself into the core of models of subjectivity—an embodied subjectivity which is not just an abstraction of the left brain, but right brain processes. The body is now seen as essential to right brain to right brain intersubjectivity. In my own work I’ve argued that this conceptual advance has impacted clinical models, such as somatic countertransference—the therapists’ own bodily reactions to patients’ conscious and especially unconscious communications. Also, there is the idea that a major function of the therapist is to regulate the patient’s autonomic arousal, a clinical concept that has challenged the older idea of neutrality, and that expands the previous concept of containment. This perspective attends more to right brain unconscious process than left brain conscious content. Once again, these scientific advances have transformed our clinical models.
DB: Wouldn’t another major transformation be what I heard you saying in a recent workshop: that the very disruptions of intensive therapy allow the repressed traumatic developmental relational issues to come to the surface, and if they’re dealt with properly, there then is healing?
AS: Absolutely the case. Except not “repressed,” but dissociated. There’s also been a shift in defenses, from an earlier clinical model that emphasized insight and the undoing of repression, a model of therapeutic action based on bringing to the patient’s consciousness repressed unconscious material.
Trauma theory emphasizes working with the deadening of affective consciousness by this other bodily-based survival defense, dissociation.
Trauma theory emphasizes working with the deadening of affective consciousness by this other bodily-based survival defense, dissociation. Clinicians are learning to differentiate the two and recognize the latter.

But, yes, the idea about disruptions and repairs came out of the developmental data and was incorporated into my modern attachment theory. My writings emphasize that rupture and repair, both in the developmental and psychotherapeutic contexts, involve important opportunities for interactive regulation of dysregulated affective states.

At the most fundamental level I’m interested in the mechanisms of change, especially in the early developing right brain self system. To use an earlier language, what I’m exploring is how the object relational sequences between the mother and the infant shape emerging psychic structure. In more modern terms these are investigations of interpersonal neurobiology. An interpersonal neurobiology of human development enables us to understand that the structure and function of the mind and brain are shaped by experiences, especially those involving emotional relationships, and to understand how brains align their neural activities in social interactions.

The tie in from my developmental work to my clinical work is that the same right brain to right brain social emotional processes that are setting up between the mother and the infant later play out in the therapeutic alliance. The model links the right brain growth in early development with later changes in the social/emotional context. And as you pointed out rupture and repair are potential contexts of emotional growth. So I’ve paid attention to the work of other developmental psychoanalytic researchers like Beatrice Beebe and Ed Tronick and Karlen Lyons-Ruth, who are also studying ruptures and repairs.

In my most recent writings I’ve focused on the essential role of these repairs in re-enactments of attachment trauma, which really is at the heart of the therapeutic change mechanism. I’m describing how both patient and therapist co-construct both the rupture and the repair, and that these ruptures are not technical mistakes, but literally—
DB: —the universal disappointments that are part of human relationships, and the repairs being the paths of healing?
AS: Beautifully put. Enactments represent communications of previous ruptures that triggered negative affects so intense and so painful that they were dissociated and banished from consciousness. As the therapy progresses and the attachment bond in the therapeutic alliance strengthens, there is enough safety for the patient to dis-assemble the dissociative defenses and let the affects come online more frequently. And then, what has been buried and packed down underneath dissociation surges into bodily awareness in the presence of a regulating other, now offering a possibility of interactive repair.
What has been buried and packed down underneath dissociation surges into bodily awareness in the presence of a regulating other, now offering a possibility of interactive repair.
Jung, who studied dissociation, described how the enduring emotional impact of childhood trauma “remains hidden all along from the patient, so that not reaching consciousness, the emotion never wears itself out, it is never used up.” He also stated the trauma may suddenly return: “it forces itself tyrannically upon the conscious mind. The explosion of affect is a complete invasion of the individual. It pounces upon him like an enemy or a wild animal.”

In my model of “relational trauma” I’ve suggested that it’s not just misattunements that lead to the traumatic predisposition. It’s also the lack of the repair, and that repair and interactive regulation requires a very personal, authentic response on the part of the therapist. Attachment trauma was originally relational, and so the healing must be relational, a mutual process. In Sullivan’s words, the therapist is not neutral and detached, but a “participant observer.”

Love, Repair, and Deepening Love

DB: Okay, can you take what we are talking about and even apply it beyond therapy to other intimate relationships? Could you actually say to a couple that it’s in the very upsets that they have that, if they could approach it in the right way, they’ll have a window into learning about some of their earlier wounds or traumas, and be able to heal them?
AS: Obviously the original context of attachment trauma was a very intimate context. I mean the relationship between the mother and the infant defined an intimate context. Her ability to down regulate negative affect in rupture and repair and up-regulate positive affect in mutual play shaped the attachment bond and the infant’s developing right brain. In a secure attachment the intimate context is characterized by mutual love, and over the course of my studies I’m increasingly using the term love to describe the intensity of the emotional bond. This is more than just pleasant affect. This is intense emotion.

And that love, incidentally, between the mother and the infant also is the mother’s ability to pick up communications that are not only joy but also distress and to be able to hold and to feel that in herself, and then to regulate that and communicate back to the baby.

The idea about being able to hold the pleasure and the pain really is the key to this. In the cases of other intimate dyads, this also applies. A number of clinicians are now focusing on the same right brain psychobiological mechanisms in couple’s work. The couples’ therapist who is working with attachment is able to hold the dyad, to regulate each member of the dyad. She’s also facilitating and reading nonverbal emotional communications within the dyad, and bringing to awareness affective moments in which they are engaging and disengaging, and switching between various emotional states.

The therapeutic action with couples is to allow each member to become more aware of these rapid automatic processes, and how each is communicating or blocking transmissions from the other. As always the clinical principle is to follow the affect, especially authentic affect, whether positive or negative. And again, rupture and repair are important contexts for right brain development and emotional growth. But even beyond couples therapy, interpersonal neurobiology and affective neuroscience are now being incorporated into group psychotherapy. The focus is on what group members are communicating beneath the words, at conscious and unconscious levels, and how right brain emotional communications and regulatory transactions are occurring in the group relational context.

So, although the emotional contact between humans originates in the mother-infant dyad, it ultimately becomes the way in which individual human beings communicate with other human beings. These deeper communications and miscommunications have little to do with left-brain language functions. They have more to do with right-brain abilities to nonconsciously read the spontaneous facial expression, tone of voice, and gestures of other humans.

Self-Regulation, Co-Regulation, and Buddhism

DB: Are Buddhist ideas of the self/nonself of interest to you? Or do you get all you need from psychoanalytic thought and neuroscience?
AS: Most of my ideas about the self come from neuroscience and psychoanalysis, including Jung and others. But the idea of self/nonself and multiple self states have been a focus. In current relational psychoanalytic writings the concept that comes closest to my own is Philip Bromberg’s idea about multiplicity of self-states: that we all have a variety of self states associated with different affects and motivations. Some of these are operating on a conscious level, others of these on unconscious levels. He calls these latter states “not-me” states as opposed to “me” states (a concept he borrowed from Harry Stack Sullivan).

Depending upon context we nonconsciously switch through these states. Each of these self states is tied into a motivational system (fear, aggression, shame, depression, joy etc.). In other words, when threatened, the fear motivational system is triggered. My right brain is attending to and tracking the external threat outside. In that self state noradrenaline and adrenaline is higher, cortisol is elevated, the physiology and attentional systems are altered. The memory system is also altered. When the threat passes or I’ve regulated and coped with it, I become relieved and switch into another self state, say a quiet alert state or a positively valenced exploratory state. So due to self regulating mechanisms we switch through these self-states. Resilience and flexibility is the adaptive ability to fluidly switch depending upon what is occurring in the context and what is meaningful at that point in time.

On the matter of Buddhism’s concept of self—that self state of consciousness that is associated with meditation, as I understand the concept, aims to control and still the fluctuations of the mind. The self (mind, awareness) identifies itself with fluctuating patterns of consciousness. Yoga, for example, is a form of mastering or eliminating such fluctuations and the attainment of stable concentration of attention and non-attachment to sensory experiences. With practice a change from evaluative to non-evaluative self-monitoring occurs during meditation. That said, neuroscience studies show that “compassionate meditation” does have more of a right brain, limbic focus.

I’ve written that self regulation can take two forms: interactive regulation in affiliative interconnected contexts, and autoregulation in autonomous contexts. In yoga the meditating self is acting as an autoregulatory system. My interests in development and in psychotherapy are relational, so I’ve been more interested in interactive regulation that occurs between human beings.

That said, the key is being able to switch between these two modes of self regulation. Both of these derive from the early interactive regulation of the attachment relationship. Going inward to control emotion is different from reaching outwards to others at moments of loss or joy. The inability to emotionally connect with others is at the core of any relational affect focused psychotherapy.
As I look at the significant problems of the larger world I’m convinced that we need more connection, not separation and autonomy.
As I look at the significant problems of the larger world I’m convinced that we need more connection, not separation and autonomy. For me, where we are in this world right now, really what we desperately need, what’s being thinned down on a daily basis, is this capacity for interactive regulation.

We also have the problem that the US and Western cultures emphasize the value of autonomous and independent personalities; they are highly valued over interdependent ones. As I mentioned, the left hemisphere is associated with power and competitiveness, the right with affiliation and pro-social motivations. So, again, that’s the reason why I’ve been more interested in the higher right hemisphere, which processes not only emotional states and higher cognitive functions, but spiritual and moral experiences. It is here in the right where the self is transcended, where the self becomes larger and expanded. In these states the grandiosity of the self literally is collapsed down and there is some understanding that one is part of a much larger organism, a much larger sense of being alive. This sounds like the Buddhist autoregulatory self state.

But let me repeat, interactive regulation is the key to the therapeutic alliance. There is now a push into the relational trend in all forms of psychotherapy. Actually in psychoanalysis the relational emphasis has always been there. I’m thinking of Ferenzci, Jung, Kohut and more recently relational intersubjective psychoanalysis. This relational trend now is coming into mainstream psychology, and is seen as the central mechanism of psychotherapy.

I point this out because psychologists on the one hand can be teaching meditative skills, but can also be accessing relational expertise in the therapeutic alliance.
DB: But they better also have those mindfulness skills themselves so they can be present to receive all of what’s coming in the interaction rather than kind of stereotypically looking through these variety of theories or thinking of what to do next or how to be.
AS: Right. But I suggested that a certain form of mindfulness, including a bodily awareness, must take place in a relational context. The idea being that there are certain parts of the self that cannot be discovered, that cannot come into awareness, unless they are being mirrored by another human being.
DB: Ah! So it’s not just that the relational trauma that gets dissociated can be healed through the relational—there’s a Yiddish term "fargin" that means, “joining someone’s joy.” I love that concept.
AS: That’s a great cultural metaphor—sharing someone’s joy as well as pain.

A Third Subjectivity

DB: So there may be feelings that you are not going to fully experience until you see them mirrored in a reciprocal emotional interaction.
AS: Exactly. One of the central concepts that I’ve written about is resonance. In physics, a property of resonance is the tendency of one resonance system to enlarge and amplify through matching the resonance frequency pattern of another resonance system.
It’s more than mirroring, it’s an intensification of positive arousal and thereby an energetic mechanism, which is a form of interactive regulation.
In psychology, a state of resonance exists when one person’s subjectivity is empathically attuned to another’s inner state, and this resonance then interactively amplifies, in both intensity and duration, the affective state in both members of the dyad. This resonance can occur rapidly at levels beneath conscious awareness, and it generates what has been called “a third subjectivity.” For example, in mutual play states dyadic resonance ultimately permits the inter-coordination of positive affective brain states, shared joy, which increase curiosity and exploration.
DB: What you just described might also be related to what my Zen friends call “one mind.” There’s a great quote sometimes attributed to e.e. cummings about this: "We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that something deep inside us is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”
AS: Yes, again, it’s more than mirroring, it’s an intensification of positive arousal and thereby an energetic mechanism, which is a form of interactive regulation.
DB: And it’s also accounting for my increasing enjoyment of this interview versus a little bit of anticipatory anxiety about talking with you in the very beginning. But it quickly became exceedingly enjoyable.

Can you discuss the variability of people in terms of quiet versus very active internal experiences—either auditory and verbal, some other form of thought, or visually active consciousness in contrast to people who have a naturally occurring or developed quiet mind?
AS: Sure. The first thing that comes to mind is what has been termed as “the quiet alert state.” This is the flexible state that the mother accesses to pick up her infant’s varying emotional expressions. It’s associated with a state of autonomic balance between the energy expending sympathetic and energy conserving parasympathetic branches of the autonomic nervous system. Within attachment communications the caregiver sets the ranges of arousal, the set points of the infant’s resting quiet alert state. It’s relationally tuned, and later affects the individual brain’s default state. In other words, regulation is the key to the quiet mind.

But I’m also thinking about right and left hemispheric balance, and individual differences in “hemisphericity.”
There are individuals for whom that chatter is always so intense, so continuous, and even so loud they cannot quietly be with themselves. They can’t tolerate internal silence, and so they can’t monitor what’s coming from the body and from deeper strata of the unconscious.
For example, in a resting state greater right hemisphericity is associated with a history of more frequent negative affect, lower self esteem and difficulties in affect regulation. Greater left hemisphericity, on the other hand, is associated with heavy inhibition of the right brain, repression of emotions, and over-regulation of disturbances. Consciousness is dominated by continuous left brain chatter, and thereby an inability to be emotionally present, to be “in the moment.” There are individuals for whom that chatter is always so intense, so continuous, and even so loud they cannot quietly be with themselves. They can’t tolerate internal silence, and so they can’t monitor what’s coming from the body and from deeper strata of the unconscious. They’re always in a state of “doing” rather than “being.”
DB: And they have difficulty experiencing their bodies and can’t even tell you what they’re sensing, or maybe even how they’re feeling because it’s just pure thought.
AS: Right. When it comes to emotion and emotion dysregulation, for a long time people were thinking only about under-regulation, that the emotions are so powerful and so strong that they interfere with the logical and rational capacities of the left hemisphere. But there is also another problematic state—where it’s over-regulated. In that case the person is habitually packing down emotions, out of awareness, and whose left hemisphere is so dominant that it’s always “in control.” They “live in the left,” and use words to move away from affect. They’re talking about rather than experiencing emotion, from the other side of the callosal divide, not actually allowing themselves to disinhibit the right and to feel what is in the body. And yet, “the body keeps the score.” In the most extreme cases they’re dissociative and alexithymic.

These are patients who use words in order not to feel; they are over-inhibited and susceptible to over-regulation disturbances. Think about overly rational, insecure, avoidant personalities who overemphasize verbal cognition and dismiss emotion. Returning to our earlier discussions of recent changes in the science of affect, dysregulation can be either under-regulation or over-regulation, an avoidance strategy versus an anxious strategy.

Imagery

DB: Coincidental with that, I’ve noticed there are people, such as myself, who are minimally or not at all visual in their memory. Aldous Huxley described this about himself in Doors of Perception. If I were trying to visualize my living room, I would say it’s like 10% clear.

Other people I know are eidetic or photographic in their imagery. People who have that kind of visual memory can also have vivid imagery intrusively interfere in the present, where a person would be walking downtown and, instead of having a thought or worry that a bus might hit a particular woman, he would see the bus hitting her. Or he would visualize a building falling down—all-intruding upon his peace of mind, as you can imagine.
AS: A few things come to mind from your observations. The classical idea of brain laterality is that the right processes visual and spatial images while the left is involved in language.

But when it comes to imagery, the truth is we forget much of the time that imagery can be in any modality. We usually think about the visual image, as in your example of someone having an image of a bus hitting a pedestrian, or a building falling. Or a patient will come up with metaphors that are loaded with visual images. Also think of visual images of faces, especially emotionally expressive faces. But imagery can also be auditory—as when our consciousness becomes aware of a song melody or olfactory images, of an emotionally evocative smell or odor.

So, for those of us who are highly auditory, like both of us, we used to think that was verbal. But as you know, there are nonverbal auditory cues. Aside from the verbal content the voice itself is communicating essential information, even more important in an intimate moment than the verbal. Most psychotherapists are highly auditory and attuned and very sensitive to even slight changes in the prosodic tone of voice of the patient. It’s at that point where we will lean in, so to speak. But we also use our voice as a regulatory tool. In a well-timed moment we intuitively and spontaneously express our calming and soothing voice, or at other times we’ll come in with a more energizing voice, or even a limit-setting voice. Or we’re expressing an auditory metaphorical image.

So I think that when we talk about imagery, especially emotional imagery, we’re usually thinking of visual images. But there also are tactile images. As in an image of what it feels like at this moment, including what it feels like in your body and in my body, because I can pick this up and put that together with another’s facial expression.

But also there’s a difference between implicit visual recognition and explicit visual recall. I may not be able to have a conscious memory of a visual representation. But if there’s a subtle change in an emotional expression on a patient’s face, I can pick it up quickly. And let’s remember that when it comes to processing the meaning of nonverbal facial and auditory expressions, this is not occurring at conscious awareness. These interpersonal cues that denote changes in affects and subjectivity are detected and tracked by the right amygdala, at levels beneath awareness. Again, we’re listening beneath the words, and these signals are triggering unconscious memory systems of various sensory modalities—auditory and tactile, as well as vision.
DB: Hmmm, it just struck me that I often say that I’m not visual. But I must be visual in my right hemisphere because I have these wonderful, clear, visual dreams.
AS: I agree. Remember with the right brain, you’re talking about not only long-term visual memory, but also ultra-short working memory, what has been called the visuo-spatial sketchpad. We hold a momentary image in consciousness long enough to see if it matches with our memory of affectively charged personally meaningful experiences. At a reunion, when you emotionally see your daughter’s face your right brain can immediately detect that there’s something wrong, or that she’s experiencing shame or joy. That right brain function is essential to our ability to be in close relationships. Someone who is mind-blind to facial expressions will have problems with intimacy.

Alone in the Presence of Another

DB: I think back to your former student and couples therapist Stan Tatkin, who has made the point that our partner often knows things about us by looking at our face before we’re aware of what we are feeling, which brings us back to the reasonableness of trying to grow with affect co-regulation versus only self-soothing and all of that through meditation. But is there a name for something that would be like co-meditating? I know we’re talking about co-regulation.
AS: Well now I’m thinking about Winnicott’s idea about being alone in the presence of the other. Remember?
DB: No!
AS: Winnicott talked about the child in the second year achieving a complex developmental advance—the adaptive ability to be alone, and the creation of true autonomy. That is, to be separate, to be processing one’s own individuality and one’s own self system in the presence of another. The other is a background presence, so it doesn’t get swept into the child. But they’re literally both individuating in their presence together. And this is a kind of silent being together without having a need to take care of the other or support the other, of literally that kind of comfort.

So, on the one hand there is the joining of joy, which would be more active so to speak. And on the other hand there is this idea about being alone in the presence of the other, which is more passive. The self-system has stability at that point in time. It can shift out of that state if it needs to, but again, I would suggest to you that comes close to what you’re talking about. And that gets into the importance of solitude, the importance of privacy, which in this day and age is being completely forgotten. The poet Rilke said so eloquently, “For one human being to love another, that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other is but preparation. I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other.”

Repair in Relationship, and Returning to the Matter of Love

DB: I wonder if you would agree with a quote from Kierkegaard when he said "perfect love is learning to love the very one that has made you unhappy.” Does that resonate with you at all?
AS: Absolutely the case.
DB: Anything that you would modify?
AS: In my recent lectures I’m describing the interpersonal neurobiological emergence of mutual love between the mother and infant. Studies on the functional neuroanatomy of maternal love document that the loving mother is capable of empathizing and feeling in her own body what the baby feels in his body, whether it be a joy state as well as a pain state. When the securely attached mother is in the fMRI scanner viewing emotional videos of her infant in a joy state or in a cry state, positive emotions such as love and motherly feeling coexisted with negative ones such as anxious feeling and worry in the mother herself.

Other studies show that insecure dismissive-avoidant mothers cannot hold the distressed baby’s painful negative states. The narcissistic mother only stays connected when the baby is mirroring back a positive state, and is unable to tolerate and repair shame states. So this ability to hold onto both positive and negative affect, and not engage in splitting is essential. In fact, in developmental studies, Ed Tronick has shown that even the secure mother is only attuned about 30 percent of the time. The key is not only the misattunement, but the interactive repair. These misattunements are common—my colleague Philip Bromberg describes frequent collisions of subjectivities within an intimate dyad.

Returning to our earlier discussion, it’s the ability to interactively repair these collisions that allows for the strengthening of an emotional connection between an intimate couple. Clinically, it’s the emerging ability of the therapeutic dyad to co-create and co-regulate ruptures that allows us to tolerate the negative transference and strengthen the positive transference—to move together from positive to negative and back to positive affective states. That really strengthens the bond and it leads to resilience. For me that’s what Kierkegaard’s intuition is describing.
DB: Ah.
AS: But while the moments of emotional connection are important, so are the moments of shared solitude, of being alone in the presence of the other, moments of shared silence. It’s very limiting to think that everything has to be filled with words or interpretations.
For some therapists, when there’s too much silence they’ll start to fill it up with words, for their own regulatory needs.
For some therapists, when there’s too much silence they’ll start to fill it up with words, for their own regulatory needs.You know, for some therapists, when there’s too much silence they’ll start to fill it up with words, for their own regulatory needs. The matter that I’m raising here is that attachment is about the capacity for intimacy. Are intimacy and the capacity for mutual love expanded in long-term psychotherapy? Can patients use what they’ve experienced in therapy to expand the abilities for forming close and personally meaningful bonds with others, as in deep friendships and long term romantic relationships? Can they use these relationships as a source of more intense brain/mind body interactive regulation and autoregulation, and therefore have both interdependence and autonomy?

Both clinical theory and interpersonal neurobiology agree that in optimal social emotional environments the self-system evolves to more and more complexity. Not only the growth of the left brain conscious mind but also the right brain unconscious mind can be enriched and expanded in deep psychotherapy. By emotionally interacting with other right brains, a secure right brain self can continue to grow and develop to more complexity over the later Eriksonian stages of the life span. The secure self is not a static end state but a continuously expanding dynamic system that is capable of both stability and change.

Freud said that, in the end, therapy, and indeed life, was about love and work. Today we might think about that in terms of the expression of the development of the affiliative right and agentic left brains. My work has been an exploration of the primacy of the emotional development of the right brain, over the life span. In The Art of Loving, Eric Fromm described the intense emotional experience of love as “the experience of union with another being” and proposed that “beloved people can be incorporated into the self.” Here’s an example of self expansion that occurs within and between two people.
DB: Well, that’s all a lovely way to end. I’ll respect your own need for solitude by finishing up this conversation, but I would like to close with asking about your current activities. You’re still meeting in several cities with students?
AS: Yes. For almost two decades I’ve continued to meet with study groups here in Los Angeles. I also have ongoing groups in Berkeley-Alameda, as well as Boulder, and in the Northwest.
DB: In Seattle?
AS: Yes, I Skype with clinicians and researchers in Seattle, Vancouver, and Portland. I’m about to start a Skype group in Australia, also.
DB: Well, all of this time with you, at both a personal and professional level has been delightful. So, thank you so much. I’m sure people are going to enjoy what you brought to today’s discussion.
AS: Same on my side, and thanks for today, David. I also greatly enjoyed this back and forth dialogue. As you said at the beginning the key was to have a spontaneous conversation.

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

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

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

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

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

Terror and Numbness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love Sense: The Revolutionary New Science of Romantic Relationships

Editor's Note: The following is adapted from Sue Johnson's latest book, Love Sense: The Revolutionary New Science of Romantic Relationships (Little, Brown and Company, 2013).

The Rhythm of Disconnection and Reconnection

A love relationship is never static; it ebbs and flows. If we want love to last, we have to grasp this fact and get used to paying attention to and readjusting our level of emotional engagement.

“I just assumed that once you are married, you both know you are partners and you can kind of relax and take the relationship for granted,” Jeremy tells Harriet. “You can focus on the big picture. You know I love you. We aren’t mean to each other. I haven’t been unfaithful to you or anything like that. Can’t you just roll with the less romantic, less touchy-feely times?” Harriet sits up straight in her chair and declares, “No, Jeremy. I can’t. Not anymore.”

“Well, that is just very immature, then,” Jeremy replies.

He is right in a way. In a good relationship, where we feel basically secure, we can fill in the blanks left by our partner’s occasional emotional absence. We can substitute positive feelings from past encounters and accept that there may be legitimate reasons for the inattention. But only some of the time, and only if we know we can reconnect if we really need to.

Loving is a process that constantly moves from harmony to disharmony, from mutual attunement and responsiveness to misattunement and disconnection—and back again. But to really understand what happens, we have to zoom down into these interactions and atomize them. Think of Georges Seurat’s paintings: when we move in really close, we realize that the vast scenes are composed of thousands and thousands of little dots. Researchers are doing the same with love relationships. By freeze-framing videos of romantic partners talking or arguing, and of babies playing with a parent, they are discovering how love, without our being aware, is shaped, for better or worse, in micromoments and micromoves of connection and disconnection.

“Up close, this is what love looks like: I look at you with my eyes wide open, trying to capture your glance, and you catch my expression, widen your eyes, and take my arm.” Alternatively, you ignore my bid for your attention, continue talking about your thoughts, and I turn away. In the next step, we resynchronize and reconnect. I turn back to you and lean forward and touch your arm; this time, you get my cue and turn toward me, smile, and ask me how I am. This tiny, fleeting moment of repair brings a rush of positive emotion. Moments of meeting are mutually delightful. (I always think that if we stopped and verbalized our innermost thoughts at this point, we would say something like “Oh, there you are” or even “Ah, here we are together.”)

It’s important to emphasize that misattunement is not a sign of lack of love or commitment. It is inevitable and normal; in fact, it is startlingly common. Ed Tronick of Harvard Medical School, who has spent years absorbed in monitoring the interactions between mother and child, finds that even happily bonded mothers and infants miss each other’s signals fully 70 percent of the time. Adults miss their partner’s cues most of the time, too! We all send unclear signals and misread cues. We become distracted, we suddenly shift our level of emotional intensity and leave our partner behind, or we simply overload each other with too many signals and messages. Only in the movies does one poignant gaze predictably follow another and one small touch always elicit an exquisitely timed gesture in return. We are sorely mistaken if we believe that love is about always being in tune.

What matters is if we can repair tiny moments of misattunement and come back into harmony. Bonding is an eternal process of renewal. “Relationship stability depends not on healing huge rifts but on mending the constant small tears.” Indeed, says John Gottman of the University of Washington, what distinguishes master couples, the term he gives successful pairs, is not the ability to avoid fights but the ability to repair routine disconnections.

We learn about mini-misattunement and repair in our earliest interactions. Tronick and his team have detailed what happens by analyzing videos of infants and their mothers playing a game of peekaboo that grows gradually more intense. At first the infant is happy, but as the game builds, he becomes overstimulated and turns away and sucks his thumb. Mom, intent on playing, misses this cue, and loudly cries “boo” again. The baby looks down with no expression. He shuts down to avoid her signals, which are suddenly too fast and too strong for him.

There are two basic scenarios for what happens next, one positive, the other negative. In the first, Mom picks up the cue that her child is overwhelmed, and she goes quiet. She tunes in to his emotional expression. She waits until he looks up and smiles at him very slowly, and then more invitingly, lifting her eyebrows and opening her eyes. Then she starts the game again. Misattunement and momentary disconnection shift to renewed attunement and easy synchrony. All it takes is a smile or tender touch.

In the second scenario, Mom ignores or doesn’t get her baby’s signal. She moves in faster and closer, insisting her child stay engaged with her. He continues to turn away, and the mother reaches out and pushes his face back toward her. The infant closes his eyes and erupts in agitated wails. The mother, annoyed, now turns away. This is misattunement with no repair, what Tronick calls “interactive failure.” Both mother and infant feel disconnected and emotionally upset.

Over time, thousands of these micromoves accumulate until they coalesce into a pattern typical of secure or insecure bonding. Tronick notes that at just seven months of age, infants with the most positive, attuned mothers express the most joy and positive emotion, while those with the most disengaged moms show the greatest amount of crying and other protest behaviors. Those with the most intrusive moms look away the most. We learn in these earliest exchanges with our loved ones whether people are likely to respond to our cues and just how correctable moments of misattunement are.

Those of us who wind up securely attached have learned that momentary disconnection is tolerable rather than catastrophic and that another person will be there to help us regain our emotional balance and reconnect. Those who become anxiously attached have been taught a different lesson: that we cannot rely on another person to respond and reconnect, and so momentary disconnection is always potentially calamitous. Those who become avoidant have absorbed a still harsher lesson: that no one will come when needed no matter what we do, so it’s better not to bother trying to connect at all.

We carry these lessons forward into adulthood, where they color our romantic relationships. “The past is never dead,” wrote novelist William Faulkner. “It’s not even past.” Psychologist Jessica Salvatore, along with her colleagues at the University of Minnesota, studied the romantic relationships of 73 young adult men and women. They had all been enrolled since birth in a longitudinal study of attachment, and their relationship with their mother had been assessed when they were between twelve and eighteen months old. They were invited to the lab with their romantic partner, where they were interviewed separately. Then they were instructed to discuss a key conflict between them for ten minutes and then talk about areas where they were in agreement for another four “cool down” minutes.

Researchers videotaped these talks and observed how well the 73 adults could let go of their conflict and shift out of a negative emotional tone. Some made the switch quickly and easily; others persisted in talking about the conflict and brought up new issues; still others refused to talk at all. Those who were good at cool down were generally happier in their relationship, and so was their partner. And, as we might expect, those who had been rated securely attached as babies generally moved out of the conflict discussion most successfully.

But is a person’s own attachment history the key predictor of stability in a romantic relationship? Or is a partner’s ability to resolve conflict also a major factor? Salvatore assessed the 73 subjects two years later and found that even among those who had histories marked by insecurity, their romantic relationship was more likely to have endured if their partner was able to recover well from an argument and help them transition into a positive conversation.

I call this the buffer, balance, bounce effect. A more secure partner buffers your fears and helps you regain your emotional balance so you can reconnect. Then together, you both bounce back from separation distress, distance, and conflict. “We are never so secure that we do not need our partner’s help in readjusting the emotional music in our attachment dance.” Relationship distress and repair are always a two-person affair; a dance is never defined by just one person.

Some of us, however, need more structured help in finding our way back to emotional harmony. Drawing from my discoveries in thirty years of practice and research and the findings of the new science of love outlined in these pages, I and my colleagues have created a powerful model for repairing relationship bonds, Emotionally Focused Therapy. The only intervention based on attachment, EFT is redefining the field of couple therapy and education. Sixteen studies now validate its success. Couples who have had EFT show overall increased satisfaction with their relationships and in the elements of secure attachment, including intimacy, trust, and forgiveness. Moreover, the more secure emotional bond remains stable years after therapy.

One of our newest and most exciting studies demonstrates through fMRI brain scans that after couples go through EFT and become more secure, holding the hand of their partner actually dampens fear and the pain of an electric shock. Just as predicted by attachment science, contact with a loving, responsive partner is a powerful buffer against danger and threat. When we change our love relationships, we change our brains and change our world.

The science of love allows us to hone our interventions—to be on target and aim high. The goal is to create lasting lifelong bonds that offer safe-haven security to both partners. Recently we have also created a group educational program based on my earlier book Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love that helps couples take all we have learned in decades of research and use it in their own relationship.

Repairing Bonds Moment to Moment

Lasting bonds are all about emotional responsiveness. The core attachment question—“Are you there for me?”— requires a “yes” in response. A secure bond has three basic elements:

  • accessibility—you give me your attention and are emotionally open to what I am saying;
  • responsiveness—you accept my needs and fears and offer comfort and caring; and
  • engagement—you are emotionally present, absorbed, and involved with me.

When these elements are missing and alienation and disconnection take over, renewing a bond that is truly coming undone is essentially a two-step process. First, partners have to help each other slow down and contain the circular dance that keeps them emotionally off balance and hypervigilant for signs of threat or loss. Relationships begin to improve when partners can stop these runaway cycles that create emotional starvation and attachment panic.

To curb these demand-withdraw cycles, we first need to recognize that they are cycles. We get caught up in focusing on our partner’s actions and forget that we are players, too. We have to realize that we are in a feedback loop that we both contribute to. When we see that this is a dance we do together, we can stop our automatic, blaming, “You always step on my foot” response. This allows us to see the power and momentum of the dance and how we are both controlled and freaked out by it.

Prue accuses Larry of being hypercritical. “He’s always complaining about whatever I do—how I cook, how I make love. I feel picked on all the time. It’s devastating.” Larry argues that Prue always refuses to talk seriously about any problems they’re having. “She just goes distant. I can’t find her,” he says. In our sessions, they’ve now realized that they are prisoners of a pattern they call “the Pit.” “I encourage clients to give a name to their pattern to help them see it and begin to recognize that the pattern, not the partner, is the enemy.” They have both unwittingly created this enemy that is taking over their relationship, and they must work together to wrest their relationship from its clutches.

Now we can explore the triggers and emotions that shape the pattern. Prue and Larry recount a specific incident when they fell into the Pit, and we bring it into high focus and play it in slow motion, scrutinizing each detail, until its impact on each partner and their bond is clear. They were on holiday in Europe after a period when Prue had been away taking care of her dying aunt and Larry had resented her absence. They were in a station heading to catch a train when Larry suddenly realized that it had begun moving. Afraid they would miss it, he jumped on the step and yelled to Prue, who was carrying a coffee cup, “Run.” Larry shouted to the conductor to slow down and held his hand out to Prue, but she froze. Finally, she grasped his hand and struggled onto the train, out of breath. Larry turned to her and said, “You are so damn slow.” Shocked and hurt, she refused to speak to him the rest of the journey. Inside, she vacillated between rage at Larry’s reprimands and dread that she really is too “slow” and too flawed for him to love. She shut him out and, preoccupied with her own fears of inadequacy, began a downward spiral into depression.

I turn to Larry and we go over and over this incident moment by moment and tune in to the emotions he was feeling then and how they reflect his overall feeling about Prue and their relationship. He says he feels “agitated” when she does not keep up with him on hikes. He notes she doesn’t take her arthritis medication consistently. “I get anxious when she does not stay with me. I can’t count on her.” He recalls the image of “distance” that flooded him when the train started to move off and Prue froze. “She wasn’t running, working to be with me,” he says. He felt panicked. Larry then begins to talk about his sense of isolation when Prue stayed with her aunt for three months and his habit of dismissing, or “pushing down,” this frequent feeling. Sometimes he can’t, though, and it rises up and engulfs him, and he winds up being angry and sarcastic. He begins weeping as he realizes just how much he needs her and is afraid that she will remain “unavailable.” The slide into the Pit begins with attachment terror.

For Prue, too, the terror that freezes her and turns her away from Larry is a hopeless certainty that she is flawed and worthless, so rejection is certain. As they recognize and find their balance in these emotional moments, they can see the drama of distress as it occurs in their everyday life and then help each other halt its momentum. They can limit the extent of the rift between them and find a secure base. The next night, Larry lashes out, and Prue responds, “Is this a panic moment for you? I am not going to freeze up here, and I want you to slow down.” Each partner begins to see the other in a new light: Prue sees Larry as afraid rather than judgmental and aggressive, and he sees her as protecting herself from rejection rather than simply abandoning him and “sulking.”

Recent research by psychologist Shiri Cohen and her colleagues at Harvard Medical School confirms that partners do not suddenly have to become masters of empathy or emotional gymnasts in this kind of process. Partners, especially women, really respond to signs that their loved one is trying to tune in and actually cares about their feelings. This, in and of itself, creates a new safety zone where partners can begin to expand their dance steps and take risks with each other. New ways of dealing with emotion shape new steps in the dance, which in turn shape new chances for reattunement and repair. But this ability to keep miscues and missteps in check is not enough.

The second step in renewing bonds is much harder but more significant. This is when we move into powerful positive interactions and actually reach for each other. Specifically, withdrawn partners have to open up and engage on an emotional level, and blaming partners have to risk asking for what they need from a place of vulnerability. Partners have to tune in to the bonding channel and stay there. They find this process risky, but if they follow it through, their relationship becomes flooded with positive emotion and ascends to a whole new level. This process is not only a corrective move that kick-starts trust but also, for many, a transforming and liberating emotional experience.

These experiences are deeply emotional; partners each reach for the other in a simple and coherent way that pulls forth a tender, compassionate response. This begins a new positive bonding cycle, a reach-and-respond sequence that builds a mental model of relationships as a safe haven. It addresses each person’s most basic needs for safety, connection, and comfort. “These kinds of primal emotional moments are so significant that, as with all such “hot” moments, our brain seems to faithfully store them, filing them in our neural networks as the protocol for how to be close to others.” Our follow-up studies of EFT couples show that their ability to stay with and shape these emotional moments is the best predictor of stable relationship repair and satisfaction years later.

So what actually happens in these exchanges—I call them Hold Me Tight conversations—when real connection begins to form and a couple moves from antagonism into harmony? Until recently we have not known what specific responses in intimate exchanges make for tender loving bonds between adults. We have had, to quote psychologists Linda Roberts and Danielle Greenberg of the University of Wisconsin, “a typology of conflict . . . but no road maps for positive intimate behavior.” Years of watching couples reconnect in a therapy that deliberately builds bonds can offer us just this.

In Hold Me Tight conversations, couples have to handle a series of mini-tasks. Partners, whether pursuing and blaming or defending and withdrawing, attempt to:

  • Tune in to and stay with their own softer emotions and hold on to the hope of potential connection with the loved one.

John: “I did snap at you. But when I look inside, it’s that I find it worrying, upsetting that you go out to those clubs with your girlfriends. It somehow messes me up. It’s hard to tell you this. I am not used to talking about this kind of stuff.”

  • Regulate their emotions so they can look out at the other person with some openness and curiosity and show willingness to listen to incoming cues. They are not flooded or trying to shut down and stay numb.

John: “I feel a little silly, kind of wide open saying this. But there it is. It doesn’t work to deny it and say nothing. Then we get farther apart. Can you hear me? What do you think?” His wife, Kim, comes and hugs him.

  • Turn their emotions into clear, specific signals. Messages are not conflicted or garbled. Clear communication flows from a clear inner sense of feared danger and longed-for safety.

John: “I know I sometimes go off about you being tired after coming home late or the money you spend. But that is not it. Those are side issues. It reminds me of past relationships. I guess I am really sensitive here. I really find it difficult. It scares me. I wanted to run after you and say, ‘Don’t go.’ It’s like you are choosing them and the club scene over me, over us. That is how it feels.” His eyes widen, showing how anxious he is.

  • Tolerate fears of the other’s response enough to stay engaged and give the other a chance to respond.

John: “You aren’t saying anything. Are you mad now? I want us to talk about this kind of stuff when I get unsure of us and not push things under the rug. I want to hear how you feel right now.” Kim tells him she is confused because she feels loyal to her friends but that his feelings are important.

  • Explicitly state needs. To do this they have to recognize and accept their attachment needs.

John: “I want to know you are committed to us, to me. I want to feel like you are my partner and that nothing is more important than that. I need that reassurance that my needs matter. Then I can keep taking risks here. I am out on a limb otherwise.”

  • Hear and accept the needs of the other. Respond to these needs with empathy and honesty.

John: “I know I have been kind of controlling in the past. It’s a bit hard to hear you talk about it, but I know you need to make choices, and you have fun with your friends. I am not giving orders here. I want to know if we can work this out together.”

  • React to the other’s response, even if it is not what is hoped for, in a way that is relatively balanced and, especially if it is what is hoped for, with increased trust and positive emotion.

John: “Well, you have tickets for the concert, so I guess you will go. I can handle that. I hadn’t really shared with you openly about this. It helps if I feel included somehow, if you tell me about it afterward. And I appreciate that you are listening and telling me that you can consider how I feel about this.” Kim tells him she still feels scared to put herself in his hands completely. Her nights out are her statement that she is still holding on to her boundaries and showing she can stand up to him. But she hears his fears. She tells him that she does not flirt or drink too much on her outings, and she reminds him that she is going out less often now.

  • Explore and take into account the partner’s reality and make sense of, rather than dismiss, his or her response.

John: “I don’t want to tell you what to do. I know this upsets you. You have good reasons for this. I get that you are not trying to hurt me. I don’t want you to feel dictated to. I just get anxious about this stuff.” He reaches out for her, and she turns to him and holds him.

When this conversation goes off track, John—and hopefully Kim—can bring it back and stay with the main emotional message, the need to connect. For example, if John gets caught up ranting about the “seedy” clubs she visits, she is able to stay calm and soothe him by telling him that she is concerned that he worries about this, and this brings him back to talking about his fears. Both partners help each other keep their emotional balance and stay in the deeper emotion and bonding channel. John is attempting to repair his sense of disconnection, and he does it by exploring his own emotions and engaging with Kim. In the past he had tried criticizing his lover’s taste in friends or making deals about how many times each could go out without the other every month. Now he goes to the core dialogue in an attachment relationship, the one that matters most, where the question “Are you there for me?” is palpable. He shares and asks for her emotional support, for her help in dealing with his attachment fears.

This is very different from the way attempts at connection show up in distressed relationships and even in routine interactions in relatively happy relationships. We often bypass the attachment emotions and messages. We do not say what we need. Our signals to our loved one remain hidden, general, and ambiguous. Hal tells Lulu, “I don’t think I have ever asked you for affection. It’s not what I do. When you just give it, everything is fine. But when you get depressed . . . So then I say, ‘Want to watch a movie?’ or ‘You should go for a walk and cheer up.’ But you turn away, and in two seconds flat I am enraged. In my head, I am still thinking it’s about the movie or you not taking care of yourself. Not that you have gone missing on me.” When Hal can express his sense of loss at Lulu’s withdrawal, they can deal with it and her bout of depression differently—that is, in a way that leaves them more connected rather than less.

The most intense and attachment-focused Hold Me Tight conversations build tangible safety and connection, even in secure, happy relationships. They can occur at times when partners do not feel disconnected but simply want more intense intimacy. Lulu opens up one night and tells Hal of a moment after their lovemaking when she felt herself “sinking into a certain soft place where we just belong and belong and there is no more fear of risking.” He responds and shares his similar feelings. Each time these lovers share their “soft places” and their need for each other and respond with empathy and care, they offer their loved one reassurance that he or she is the chosen, irreplaceable one, and the bond between them deepens.

Verbal Ventilation: The highway to intimacy and the key process of therapy

I was standing in the waiting room before my first session with a new therapist some twenty years ago, when I perused a cartoon that she had displayed on her bulletin board. In panel 1 of the wordless cartoon, a woman with a dark cloud over her head is talking to a friend who has a shining sun over hers. In panel 2, as the first woman gestures in a way that indicates complaining, the cloud covers her friend’s sun. In panel 3, the cloud emits a bolt of lightning, she angrily catharts, and her friend glowers along with her. In panel 4, the cloud rains on them as they embrace, commiserating in the rain of their own tears. In panel 5, relief spreads on their faces as the cloud moves away from the sun. In panel 6, the sun shines over both of them, as they smile and slip into pleasant conversation.

I have come to call this process verbal ventilation, and I believe it is a key healing process in therapy and a key bonding process in intimacy. Verbal ventilation occurs when an attunement to our feelings guides us in choosing what we say—a powerful enactment of Jung's dictum that feelings tell us what is important to us.

In therapy, verbal ventilation is the penultimate metabolizer of emotional pain. It is speaking or writing in a manner that airs out and releases painful feelings. When we let our words spring from what we feel, language is imbued with emotion, and pain can be released through what we say or write.
When my wife and I join each other on the couch after one of us has put our son to bed, we often reconnect via some version of this process. Spontaneously taking turns checking in with our feelings to use them to tell us what is most important right now, we share and process the ups and downs of our day.

Many times like my clients, what seems to arise in each of us is the need to share about what was most difficult, before the lighter stuff naturally arises to the forefront of our consciousness. Perhaps this is a reflection of a reality that the novelist David Mitchell describes thusly: “Good moods are as fragile as eggs, bad ones as fragile as bricks.” I once had an ex-priest client who called verbal ventilating traveling through the catacombs to get to the cathedrals.

I specialize in working with clients who were extensively traumatized in their childhood families. Many of them present as developmentally arrested in their ability to relationally regulate their emotional stress through verbal ventilation. Their parents routinely attacked, shamed or abandoned them for emotional expression. Now, whenever they have the urge to verbally ventilate, the critic steps in and slaughters their self-expression with self-contempt.

Neuroscience research increasingly suggests, perhaps through the vehicle of mirror neurons, that human interaction is a powerful process for helping us work through states of hyperarousal and intensely dysphoric emotion.

A key therapy task for my traumatized clients is the practice of verbal ventilation. While the client vents, we work together to deconstruct her critic. It seems that as I compassionately respond to her painful disclosures, we are engaged in a process of co-regulating her emotional pain. Perhaps mirror neurons are also the circuitry behind the process of modeling.

The cartoon described above also reminds me of my archetypal, favorite session, which fortunately occurs increasingly with my clients. Here is an example of it: A well-practiced client begins his session lost in an emotional flashback to his painful past. He verbally ventilates about it. He is the regressed hurt child, feeling bad, and part of him is sad and part of him is mad. He has lost the experience of feeling whole and integrated, and this loss is like a death that responds well to grieving.
As he cries and angers out his pain from his right brain, he is welcomed by my right brain commiserating with his grief. Our dialog also helps him to connect his feelings with an integrating, left-brain understanding. Typically, during the hour he moves back from the past to the knowing and integration he normally has when he is not regressed or in a flashback.

And typically, this is accompanied by an authentic return of his sense of humor (Duchenne laughter*), not the sarcastic, bullying, non-Duchenne* humor of his critic, with which he prefaced the session. He laughs with the surprised relief of having been released from what moments ago felt like interminable suffering.

Finally, I also notice that in the most successful therapies, my clients move on when they have formed a primary relationship in which reciprocal verbal ventilation is well established.

*See Judith Kay Nelson’s excellent book, What Made Freud Laugh, for an excellent exploration on these two types of laughter.