Category: Approach

Addressing the Relational Impact of Mental Illness

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

While it can be isolating, mental illness is not an isolated experience. It affects more than just the individual: it impacts friends, family, spouses, significant others, and co-workers. I recall working with a married man who developed Major Depressive Disorder around the time his wife had their second child. He became emotionally distant, socially isolated, lethargic, couldn’t focus, took time off work to the point of being fired, and lost interest in sex. His wife struggled bitterly. She felt completely overwhelmed with the care of two young children. Her husband, on whom she once depended, was no longer contributing. She felt like she had to care for him as well and try to keep the family financially afloat since she was the only one working. Despite the challenging circumstances, she tried to keep their intimacy intact, but he had no interest in sex, going out, connecting with their friends, and he struggled to track during conversations. As you can imagine, this put a strain on their relationship, which they eventually ended. Neither one of them wanted the divorce, but the wife hit her breaking point, and her husband couldn’t find the energy to fight for the relationship. This is a sad story that is reflective of how mental illness impacts a marriage, a career, parenting, and personal finances.

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When working with clients, I try to keep in mind the relational impact of mental illness in all its facets. Mental illnesses, like depression, affect the individual in every sphere of their life, including the social/relational. The above example illustrates how lonely the man felt, and how inexpressible his psychological and physical experience was to his wife. There were no words that existed in his mind or in their relationship for him to utilize. He and she were left in a wretched state of ambiguity. And despite her best efforts, she could not intimately access the depths of his depression. She, too, had no words. She couldn’t prevent feeling shut-out, as if she had been barred from his heart. Her dream was to feel unimaginable connection and joy at the birth of their child, but what she got was facing single-parenting while married.

Needless to say, there is a ripple effect of depression. The man’s relationship with his child will forever be changed. Certainly, it is within his grasp to foster a loving and connected relationship with his child, but he will have to do so with additional barriers due to the divorce, physical distance, child support, navigating co-parenting, and potential co-step parenting.

From my perspective as a clinician, problems are compounded when family and friends don’t understand the nature of mental illness, however, this is not always obvious to my clients and their loved ones. When trying their best to understand their loved one’s struggle, some may conclude that they aren’t trying hard enough, that they don’t care, or that they are seeking attention. Without information, without a sufficient explanation, bad interpretations fill the void, which only lead to judgment and alienation. As a clinician, I step into that void with accurate and compassion-filled information. My aim is to coach clients who are struggling with mental illness as well as their family members and explain that they may be tempted to personalize or create a negative attribution for their loved one’s behavior. It is tempting, natural, and understandable why they would do this, and yet, it is often a mistake in judgment. I try to explain that if their loved one had cancer, they wouldn’t take it personally or judge. Certainly they might have big feelings of sadness or anger at God or the universe, but there would be no assignment of blame to the diagnosed individual. They wouldn’t think, “Why did she choose to have cancer? They must want attention.” That would be absurd, and the vast majority of people would never think this.

So why would a wife, husband, partner, child, friend, or family member personalize a loved one’s depression, anxiety disorder, or phobia? I encourage my clients and their social network to make a genuine effort at understanding mental health disorders. It is natural to want to know as much as possible about a disease when a loved one may be diagnosed with a medical disease. As a clinician, I encourage clients to take that same impulse and learn as much as possible about their loved one’s mental health diagnoses. Ignorance only creates barriers to relationships, and my hope is to remove any barriers to social connection in my client’s way, as well as within their social network. A client is only as healthy as their community. Therefore, I want to empower clients to empower their communities, to mobilize those around them to seek out information and more deeply understand the psychological realities they are dealing with. And to find that middle ground of embracing the mental illness of your loved one but resisting the urge to define them by it.

***

Thinking back to my client mentioned earlier, I wonder how things would have been different if both the husband and wife had more awareness about depression. I wonder how the two of them may have pulled together, rather than apart, if they had known earlier on that the husband was being affected by a mental health disorder. If they had only had the words and concepts to understand not only the husband’s experience of depression, but also the relational impact that depression brought to their marriage and family. The wife was just as much a sufferer of depression as was the husband. This new understanding could have been a catalyst for collaboration, support, mutual understanding, and shared problem-solving.

A Behavior Treatment Plan as a Psychological MRI

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

As a psychotherapist providing services in nursing facilities, I am accustomed to using a variety of forms, including initial assessment, progress notes, and treatment plans. I have come to appreciate that the behavioral treatment plan may be the most powerful, yet the most overlooked or avoided, clinical form.

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My clinical task is to provide direct assessment and treatment services to nursing facility residents. Yet I also have an obligation to offer insights that help the facility caregivers to better understand and more effectively manage the sometimes-troubling behaviors demonstrated by that resident. Direct care staff persons at the nursing facility might observe only the most obvious and observable element of the resident’s behavior—the unkempt appearance, the irritable defensiveness, the argumentative refusals of care, the unwelcome sexual remarks, the tearfulness, the yelling, the social avoidance, or the aggressive and abusive language aimed at them. In response, the caregiver may react in a personal manner, with expressions of indignation or criticism, or even patronizing efforts at persuasion. What I have often seen lacking is a keen awareness of the inner meanings and motives behind those behaviors; the ways they might reflect or represent symptoms of varied medical and psychological conditions and the ways that the caregivers’ responses might increase or decrease the intensity and duration of those symptomatic behaviors.

Nurses and clinical aides might occasionally notice the assessment and progress notes that I and fellow clinicians generate but at the same time never read those documents. However, the nurse or aide might not readily gain a new understanding of the resident even if they did read those forms. A behavior treatment plan, though, can provide a window into the psychological nuances that illuminate and explain the actions of the resident. The behavior treatment plan can be like a psychological MRI that provides an inside view of factors influencing a resident’s behavior.

A behavior treatment plan is effective because it does not simply get written and quietly entered in the chart. It requires review, explanation, and education so the facility staff persons can understand and implement the plan. Brief staff in-service training follows the writing of a plan so that it can be introduced and clarified. Those trainings allow for discussions that may be a first opportunity for the staff persons to readily understand the psychiatric diagnoses of the residents and how their psychiatric symptoms are behaviorally manifested.

Resident: Leslie (Identifying information has been altered from the example below.)

Diagnosis: 295.70 Schizoaffective Disorder, Bipolar Type; Epilepsy; Developmental Disability due to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome; and PTSD Associated with Childhood Sexual Abuse.

Presenting Problem/Target Behavior: Leslie demonstrates unstable affect with frequent bouts of crying or expressions of anger; fluctuating levels of alertness and mental clarity; and apparent passive-aggressive and/or attention-seeking behaviors such as self-admittedly putting herself on the floor and crawling towards the bathroom to express her anger over perceived delay in staff response to her need to use the toilet. In general, Leslie sometimes displays a child-like manner with inconsistent cooperation with care and treatment and a tendency to over-dramatize daily upsets in ways that elicit comforting and extra involvement of staff persons.

Description of Resident & History of Problem: Leslie is a 51-year-old single woman with epilepsy and major mental illness, developmental problems, and past trauma. Considering the above diagnoses, it is to be anticipated that she might demonstrate problems with her social behaviors and critical thinking skills. It is important to remember that her actions reflect serious problems with brain development and functioning and do not simply represent “bad behavior.” Behavior and cognition can be significantly affected for persons with epilepsy as well as by unwanted effects of antiepileptic drugs. Also, a person with the above diagnoses can be burdened by painful feelings of social stigma and by difficulties establishing and sustaining trusting relationships with others.

Clinical Assessment of Behavior & Resident: Leslie experienced developmental disability due to effects of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. She later developed Schizoaffective Disorder, Bipolar Type. Her psychosocial development was further undermined by sexual abuse by her father, the forced termination of a resulting pregnancy, and associated traumatic consequences.

It is well known that consequent to long-term institutional care, some persons can develop dysfunctional patterns of behavior referred to as “learned helplessness.” These factors provide a background context in which to view and understand the behavior problems demonstrated by Leslie. The resident is not to be blamed or negatively judged for having acquired a child-like, passive-aggressive, and dependent style of coping and problem solving. At the same time, Leslie cannot be expected to simply snap out of it and immediately display a fully adaptive adult style of coping with daily stresses. Over time and with consistent encouragement and reinforcement, Leslie can be helped to learn and practice dealing with problems and expressing emotions in more reasonable and mature and independent ways. Presently, she is effective in soliciting emotional support and the close and helpful attentions of others by displaying emotional distress (tears or anger) or by taking risks, such as placing herself on the floor in defiance, that draw others closer to her.

Behavioral Interventions: The main purpose or intent of this behavior plan is to foster, encourage, and reward small progressive steps towards more self-reliant adult ways of meeting her needs. Leslie directly contributed to the development of this behavior plan. I shared with her the feedback and observations and stated concerns of staff persons and elicited from Leslie her own ideas for ways to address those concerns.

Leslie offered the following points: “I will not express anger by doing unsafe things like putting myself on the floor; I learned my lesson good.” “I will try to show good emotional self-control.” In the event that she was to again lower herself to the floor, Leslie suggested that staff persons should stand safely nearby and “let me try to pull myself up.” Leslie said, “Let me do more on my own.” “If I am crying or angry, let me alone for a while and I’ll calm myself down.”

Staff persons interacting with Leslie should keep in mind the general principle of promoting her growing maturity and improved ability to soothe her own upset emotions and to work constructively and cooperatively with staff to meet her needs. Avoid correcting her with scolding or display of annoyance, as that could trigger withdrawal or passive-aggression or tearful emotional collapse. Invite Leslie to brainstorm ideas for ways to correct problems, resolve dissatisfactions, compromise with others, or be more compliant with needed care and treatment. Encourage Leslie to take deep breaths and to collect herself emotionally before engaging in such brainstorming or came back later if she needs more time to soothe her emotions. Expect Leslie to adopt a more measured and sensible sets of problem-solving skills, but do not become frustrated or annoyed by the unavoidable delays and lapses she will continue to display along the way. Use your words and actions as ways to invite her into more mutually rewarding adult ways of coping. Guide her toward the acquisition of genuinely adult skills and viewpoints while remaining patiently aware of the deep and longstanding obstacles that interfere with her having already learned those methods.

***

I met with the unit nurses and aides to review and discuss this treatment plan. Some had not been aware of Leslie’s history of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, of her hearing voices, or of her history of sexual assault. Some were surprised by the discussion of epilepsy and psychological and behavioral symptoms. Yet a renewed sense of compassion and of helpful mission were awakened by the conversation about ways they might aid her development—even during their ordinary and routine tasks. The workers now applied the new insights and asked thoughtful questions about her specific behaviors. They felt less reactive in a personalized sense, and better prepared to shape their actions so as to improve hers.

A Path Towards Healing Generational Trauma

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Jaza is a client who suffers from generational trauma rooted in the genocide of Native American people, ancestral trauma from theft of their land and livelihood, and the ongoing cumulative impacts of Indian Residential schooling. Colonization, the active process of settling and taking control over the indigenous people, reverberates as ancestral trauma in Jaza’s day-to-day life. She has used her therapy time with me to examine messages passed down to her from family about the way she should live and breathe as a descendant and recipient of these experiences. She asked an important question when we were talking about ancestral resilience and wisdom as an antidote to ancestral trauma: “Is it really ‘resilience’ if so many of my people are still suffering?”

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Historical trauma is a cumulative experience. It doesn’t simply disappear because the event or events have passed. I have seen the impact of slavery on Black clients, the residual, multigenerational effects on Asian clients of the Chinese Exclusion Act and Japanese internment camps, and the destructive legacy of Holocaust concentration camps on Jews, the Roma, and those with disabilities. In therapy sessions with Jaza, we acknowledge the trauma, hurt, pain, and suffering her family has experienced and work to heal her wounds from the genocide of Indigenous people.

We reframe the harmful messages that have been passed down to her which include:
“You look like your great-grandmother with your hair styled that way. Don’t wear it like that to work. It’s unprofessional!”
“We don’t speak our native languages anymore. We should write in proper English and not reveal our roots.”
“You look too Indian in that—you are more likely to get in trouble with the law.”

For ancestral, cumulative, and generational trauma with Jaza and clients with similar legacies, I have used narrative building to reframe harmful histories and messages passed on through lineage and reorganize them within the client’s mental schema as survival techniques from living in oppression. Why did your grandmother pass on that message to you? What was she trying to protect you from? How does it hurt you today? Can we acknowledge her attempts at survival in colonization, and can we release them? These messages are meant to help but have caused pain and confusion for Jaza.

We spend time processing and then releasing the messages. We don’t talk about it as redemptive resilience, but more like expired wisdom. Wisdom that is necessary for her to have in her mind, but then packed up and stored away only to be revisited when she wants to reconnect to her ancestry. It does not apply to her current time period and life experience. There are occasions in which we celebrate the passed-down wisdoms and look for ways to incorporate them into present day life. There are other moments in which we look to reduce the impact of the messages and the memories associated with them.

As a clinician, it is important for me to remember that this type of resilience is not like that of a plant growing despite difficult weather conditions. Instead, it is akin to a plant’s maintaining and struggling to survive despite pesticides and unnecessary attempts to kill it while nearby plants perish. This is resilience in spite of the historical trauma. It is watching family members and friends succumb to colonization. It is a reaction to forced assimilation, assimilation for survival, and assimilation for respectability. This is about the need to have assimilated to a colonizer’s dominant culture and about keeping wisdom in a box, being grateful for a little more freedom than her ancestors had, and reconnecting to her roots with intentionality. This reconnection can be healing.

As Jaza puts some of those messages in storage, she learns more about how this historical trauma impacts her day to day. She learns about rituals her family developed over time and incorporates them into her life. Jaza learns about the foods her family ate, the scents they valued, the seeds they planted, all in an attempt to reduce the colonization she experiences to this day, and in so doing, feel more connected to her ancestors.

***

Jaza has taught me that a redemptive story can be a strategy a descendant holds onto as they begin to heal the painful and enduring wounds of ancestral trauma. The question of resilience in and its relationship to oppression is an examination I have to do continuously for my own ancestral history. My birth country of Haiti is often deemed a resilient nation after incessant political disasters and catastrophic climate impacts. I look at the historical facts, the systems of oppression, the harmful messages my lineage shared with me, and treasure the wisdom and resilience I can bring into my life with intention. 

Setbacks in Psychotherapy

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Introduction

When I was in graduate school learning about psychotherapy, I read a lot about how to do therapy, but I found myself yearning to see clinicians doing the work as models to emulate or reject. Now that I am a university professor training graduate students in clinical psychology, I expose my students to as many clinical video recording demos as I reasonably can. In my first-year interview and psychotherapy courses and in my second-year practicum, my grad students watch hours of clinicians doing psychotherapy. In turn, they seem to really benefit from watching the work and seeing the full range of styles, techniques, and theoretical approaches. We all agree that seeing clinicians in video demonstrations makes our readings on assessment and psychotherapy come to life as we appreciate and critique excerpts from my library of videos. Like me, they find it helpful to see models of how this kind of work is done. Moreover, they also have a yearning—like I had in graduate school—to actually see work that does not go well, in order to discern how clinicians react and recover when there are setbacks in the course of psychotherapy.

To this end, as the creator of the Collaborative Assessment and Management of Suicidality (CAMS), an evidence-based framework for effectively engaging and treating suicidal risk, I can now satisfy and promote my early yearnings to see and understand what to do when faced with a clinical setback. However, this particular article is not about extolling the virtues of CAMS or its extensive supportive evidence base (including nine published clinical trials, five published randomized controlled trials, and a rigorous and convincing meta-analysis of nine CAMS trials). Rather, my emphasis here is focused on an aspect of a training video that has been offered for several years by our training company, CAMS-care, LLC.

The Setback Session

Over the course of my career, I have routinely done live roleplay demonstrations, recruiting someone out of the audience to roleplay a case they know well. Obviously as an unscripted and spontaneous demonstration, it always puts a bit of pressure on me to “perform” with a variety of different roleplay “clients” that I encountered. There have been many times over the years when a volunteer audience member plays an especially difficult or provocative case, and everyone then gets to watch me squirm and struggle—just like what happens in real life! Beyond my early yearnings to see clinical demonstrations, I also wanted to see demonstrations of things not going perfectly as well—just as in real life. Overwhelmingly, most clinicians at my workshops have appreciated these live roleplay demonstrations and my taking the risk to demo techniques even when they do not go perfectly. It follows that when CAMS-care moved to scale up our training of CAMS, we shot a 12-session role play video in a studio with a former grad student—now colleague—named Dr. Kevin Crowley, who played a difficult client he saw during his VA internship.

Over two days in the studio, we shot unscripted segments of the first session of CAMS, portions of the second session, a latter interim session, a rather provocative setback session (where the patient has a major suicidal crisis), and the final outcome disposition session of CAMS. This online course has proven to be quite popular and has held up quite well over the years since we shot it. It has now been viewed by thousands of clinical providers being trained in CAMS around the world. Moreover, we know from an unpublished doctoral dissertation project defended last year that this three-hour online course has a notable and meaningful impact on clinicians learning to use CAMS within our integrated training model.

But, getting to the point of this article, what has been most popular—and contentious—about this online course has been Session 9, the “setback session.” I would say overall that 80-90% of those we train praise, appreciate, and feel quite positively about the setback. In contrast, there is a small minority who emphatically do not like the setback demo and share critical comments, with some even feeling offended by it! In any case, the setback session evokes a lot of strong reactions. I have often reflected on why this might be.

The online course provides overview portions of me talking about the model, but most of the course features various demo excerpts of Sessions 1-12, depicting a successful course of CAMS-guided care. My “client” Kevin plays a tricky case—he behaves peculiarly and is extremely wary of being in therapy at all. What emerges is a significant trauma history and a lifelong preoccupation with suicide. More to the point, he does not generally trust people, as he has experienced extensive interpersonal betrayal, one of his “drivers” of suicide (in CAMS parlance) and thus a major focus of his treatment. After making steady clinical progress, depicted in the video training over the first eight sessions, Kevin comes into the ninth session of CAMS angry and belligerent after a series of disappointments since his previous session that evoked an acute suicidal crisis. Clearly upset, Kevin immediately goes on the attack, accusing me of “lying” to him, “letting him down,” and “not having his back.” At first, I patiently hear his accusations but gently observe that he did not follow his CAMS Stabilization Plan, which involves engaging in predetermined coping strategies and ultimately contacting me on my cell phone. But as he repeatedly accuses me of lying to him and betraying him, I became increasingly angry myself. As my voice raises, I point out that he did not even give me the chance to have his back—a critical therapeutic issue within his suicide-focused treatment.

There is an awkward pause in a kind of “gotcha” moment, and his head drops in shame as he sees that we are experiencing a re-creation of a dynamic that he has experienced repeatedly. Seeing this clear shame response, I immediately drop and soften my voice, regroup, and apologize and endeavor to clarify the therapeutic moment: that we can do this differently and it could be a corrective experience! The session quickly settles down, eye contact is regained, and we both discuss and learn about what did and did not happen. I also quote my research mentor, Marsha Linehan, who famously would say in such situations, “The patient never fails the treatment, only the treatment fails the patient!” I have to work hard to move Kevin from a position of embarrassment and shame following this contentious exchange. By the end of the session, we clearly do come back together with smiles and an obviously increased bond for having weathered the intensity of our intense exchange. In our final outcome-disposition session (Session 12), when asked what made the difference, without hesitation Kevin notes the breakthrough in Session 9 and the insights gained in that setback session.

Takeaways

So what exactly are viewers reacting to when they see our setback demo? Many say they like how real it is and that my anger shows how much I care. Others are relieved to see an expert lose their cool because it has happened to them, and still others appreciate my recovery and reasserting of the model in a therapeutic manner. Detractors of the setback are not happy with my getting angry at the patient and raising my voice and shaming the client. There are sometimes comments about my being a privileged white male who is asserting my power in a paternalistic way. There are some native cultures in Australia and the United States who find my approach offensive towards a vulnerable client. My UK colleague and friend Dr. Zaffer Iqbal reviewed the setback in isolation (not having seen the previous sessions) and noted, “Oh, the Brits will never go for that!” Incidentally, while we have heard some negative feedback from our UK colleagues, the overall take has been quite positive (also, seeing the setback within the context of a demo of a full course of care is very important). Still others object to my personalizing the crisis and focusing on Kevin’s not calling me on my cell—and notably many clinicians are not comfortable sharing their personal cell phone number. And some say it is never okay to let the client see the clinician get upset.

Recently for suicide prevention month (September 2020), our training company posted a new video on our website of the same setback session, with Dr. Crowley reprising his role of Kevin. But this time the clinician is Dr. Blaire Ehret, who is a VA Staff Psychologist (Dr. Ehret got her Ph.D. at Catholic U and worked in my lab and is now a CAMS-care consultant). The goal was to show that within this same provocative session, a different clinician could handle the same situation quite differently and still adhere to the CAMS model. Dr. Ehret did an outstanding job; she never once lost her cool. She was empathic to Kevin’s anger and validated his feelings of betrayal with no particular pushback. Kevin the client eventually comes around and responds to her earnest appeals to look more closely at what has happened. I watched it and marveled at how reactive I still felt towards Kevin’s pointed attacks of the clinician, and I appreciated her composure and patience. We have received very positive feedback about this redo of the setback session, and it shows there is more than one way to do this kind of work and the model still prevails in both versions. And unlike my version, it is hard to imagine anyone being offended by the way Dr. Ehret does the same session!

So what is the point? The setback clearly evokes a lot in those who see it. Do I regret having reacted so strongly in the original rendition? Yeah, a bit; I wish I had not raised my voice quite as much as I did. But then again, no, because it is me—warts and all—and who among us is perfect at doing this? I certainly know that I am not perfect! How about you? What is plain to me is that being real, earnest, honest, and responsible matters a lot. My reaction was real, my attempts to apologize were earnest and honest, and I calmed down and recovered. I gently pushed to achieve a therapeutic breakthrough, and, in the end, I think I was quite responsible, owning my imperfection but still endeavoring to achieve a “teachable moment” which my client ultimately appreciated as the turning point within this demo of using CAMS.

*****

Who among us is perfect at doing something as complex as psychotherapy? Is it better to train by showing relative perfection, or is it better to be real in showing a setback and then recovering? Clearly, I favor the latter. But I respect those who disagree and have strong opinions otherwise. Perhaps it is useful to reflect on the evolution of psychoanalysis during the 20th century. Early analysts saw clinicians’ reactions (like becoming emotional) as countertransference and evidence of poor training (i.e., time to go back into analysis to rid oneself of such reactions). Then there was a notable shift as drive theory psychoanalysis split off into various relational models (e.g., the British School of Object Relations and Self Psychology).

I am a fan of these relational models, particularly as they relate to the evolving notion of countertransference, as increasingly such reactions have been seen as data about the client. What the client evokes in the therapist can be helpfully used to directly inform and shape interventions. Rather than being admonished as an imperfect clinician in need of further psychoanalysis, the relational models emphasize using the clinician’s own reactions as a valuable part of the therapeutic exchange. Perhaps not surprisingly, I love Kohut’s argument that invariably there will always be empathic failures; the key is how one handles such failures in order to create a therapeutic moment. Believe me, such a view is music to the ears of beginning clinicians. And for my part, I want the people I train to see that while all of us are imperfect, there are appropriate ways to work within our imperfections for therapeutic good. Should beginning clinicians and even seasoned clinicians actually see a setback and consider the range of ways of responding? There is no doubt in my mind. And until I finally master being perfect, I will continue to show struggles in my trainings and how such struggles can ultimately be made into therapeutic gold!

Confessions of a Student Counsellor

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Both Sides Now

At the time of this writing, I have one semester to go before completing my Master of Counselling degree, and I am sixty-five hours into the one hundred required hours of counselling contact hours of my student placement. I am still unsure as to who has received the lion’s share of therapy during these sixty-five hours, my clients or me?

This has not been my first exposure to the rudiments of counselling, however—I had some years of experience in addictions counselling and case management and no shortage of support work in various fields to ease me into the relative displacement of a professional counselling placement. At forty-seven years of age, I have undergone many transitions and life experiences.

Nevertheless, the Masters has been quite a proficient primer and prodder of the all-too-many things I didn’t (and still don’t) know about counselling practice, and of the myriad of things that I need to know in order to provide effective and ethical therapy for a range of concerns and to a broad demographic.

Having had experience in various counselling settings—and being quite familiar with both sides of the counsellor’s chair—together with the fact that I consider myself an avid collector of knowledge, particularly in this field, I still felt a strange cognitive dissonance of both excited preparedness and complete inadequacy to the task at hand at the commencement of my placement. But that was then. At sixty-five hours in, I am a worldly veteran!

The first thing that stood out to me about my placement experience was how pretty much every session turned into a countertransference case study from my ethics class, except that I was the subject. I knew about countertransference. I had studied it. Experienced it. Was consciously aware of it. Prepared, I thought. But I never really had that meta-cognition before that one develops, both while counselling and in the post-session self-flagellation…ahem, reflective practice.

Almost every session seemed like a mirroring of the personal life struggles I had faced, parallel processes of my current situations, relatables that were bone deep. The client I was sitting with was recounting the very relationship issues I had struggled with. Of course I was batting for him! My heart was filled with sympathy, my responses were, albeit textbook, empathetic, while my mind was firing off mostly Andrew-shaped responses ready for delivery. Often, I would catch myself before essentially counselling myself instead of my client. Sometimes I was too late and would realise, embarrassingly, later that day or week. More often than not, in supervision. Or because of past supervisions.

Or I could be sitting in front of the horrifying ghost of my mother-self. That is, this particularly triggering, discomforting, and disquieting quality that my mother possessed which I painfully one day realised I had inherited, now (mostly) exorcised out of me (thank you therapists circa 2000-2004, 2008-2009, 2012-2013 and 2020-2021; you know who you are). Noticing the life force draining from my being, I would sometimes sit across from the ghost-client in a sorrowful-seething state of frustration, compassion, bewilderment, intrigue, and hopelessness. I could swing between feeling annoyed and way out of my depths to such misguided compassion that I would feel the urge to take them home and care for them.

Going it Alone

Something I knew before but re-experienced in a fresh new light during my placement is that a significant part of learning to be a counsellor is essentially done alone. There is generally no direct supervision. There is no one in the room to monitor the minutiae of one’s work. There is no direct feedback loop. It is not as if your supervisor has a document to proofread. There is no material structure to assess for imperfections or to correct. No one is surveying clients at the end of sessions to establish trainee performance. No one is there to say, “Hmmm, maybe when you froze for a minute and a half with silence…” or “Perhaps Texas Hold ’em Poker isn’t the most appropriate game to play in a session with a six-year-old…” Of course, there are opportunities to be observed by colleagues and supervisors or to record sessions and review them. But this is limited in its scope and practicability. And daunting as hell! Or as daunting as having my own personal therapy sessions broadcast to the world, perhaps. Being utterly exposed. Vulnerable.

Sitting with clients who have just expressed something, there are a plethora of potential responses in any given moment of a therapy session. Sometimes they flow readily and easily. At other times they feel forced. And in some cases, when a response hasn’t felt right, an also potential plethora of self-reflective doubt and questioning can follow: “Did I say the right thing?”; “How am I going with this client? Doesn’t seem to be any progress being made”; “What is the correct intervention to use here?”; “They have been coming for three sessions now, why won’t they volunteer something… anything?!” Being left to one’s own devices (well, me to mine) can leave one unsure at times about particular interventions to use, ways of progressing through impasse, whether or not to refer, whether I am beyond my professional competence, and one’s capacity to be a counsellor, which can undermine self-trust and even self-worth.

And then at other times, when I am feeling in my flow, when I have recognised counselling greatness in myself—you know, when a client has expressed eternal gratitude or you witness a breakthrough or an insight emerges—then I can quite easily develop that very shiny, bulletproof sheen of self-satisfaction and self-congratulation, feeling like the king of the counselling castle! Either polarity can be both misguided and unhelpful to me, I have discovered, and, left alone with such musings, can be a potentially missed opportunity to see beyond my own perspectives and to develop my practice.

Thank goodness we are not completely alone during this, at times, trial by fire. Having practicing colleagues around is such a comforting and valuable scaffold of support. I am fortunate to be doing my placement in a medium-size clinic providing both psychology and counselling services, so there are usually at least a few others to talk to or debrief to if needed. I am aware, however, that others’ placements are more isolated and devoid of such support, and I have witnessed the emotional and psychological strain that this can take. I am very grateful to be developing in the kind of environment where I feel supported and not alone. Hmmmm, maybe there’s a market for a Tinder-like app for counsellors in isolation?

I think there is a limit, however, to how far collegial support can go. There are certainly limits to my own (and I am guessing other humans’) capacity to expose oneself in the workplace. Especially as an up-and-coming trainee counsellor, wanting to exude competence and confidence at every opportunity (I am willing to admit that could just be me, but I suspect not). Clinical supervision during my counselling placement has been a great support and I think the site of my most focussed learning during this Masters and certainly during my placement. I am fortunate to have both group and individual clinical supervision. They are both supportive, instructive and provide opportunities to develop and learn from others’ practice. I have found that it is in individual supervision, however, that I have the greatest opportunity to be vulnerable and to shed light on the more shadowy areas of my practice. It feels a bit safer than group supervision and I like its structure, containment, consistency, and predictability.

Maybe Not Completely

I am fortunate that I was paired with an external clinical supervisor by my university placement team whom I like and respect, but, most importantly, with whom I feel safe. Safe to say (almost) anything to. Safe to expose my insecurities and doubts to, to be able to tell them what I did and said in a session, for example, without any debilitating apprehension. They provide safety and security in calling me out when needed, ensuring I understand my limits and blind spots. Kind of like a parent’s love in providing firm and consistent boundaries to an overly exuberant child. They encourage me and validate me, sharing their own stumbles and falls. But the catch is, as I recognised a while ago, I must be willing to be vulnerable and uncomfortable and wrong, again and again, to gain the most from this. I must be willing to be a beginner again and again and again if I am to grow and develop as a person and as a therapist. But this is hard to do at times. For fear of judgement (self and other), feeling inadequate and for (the generally unfounded) fear of finding out that maybe I am not cut out for this profession. The most satisfying, albeit challenging, learning I have experienced during this placement, and the Masters too, has been exposing myself in supervision.

Like when I reluctantly discussed a client I had seen once whom I suspected to be beyond my scope of competence. Reluctant because I was personally and professionally very curious and they claimed they weren’t in a position to engage in costly treatment options and so I really wanted to keep working with them. And I suspected that if I spoke about them in supervision (and to my line manager) that they would advise referral. But I did. And it was right. And I referred. It was frustrating and challenging, but a great experience to have in the sandpit. And I incidentally had reflected to me my potential for a hero complex. Ouch! But yes, probably accurate. Or when I spoke about how I responded to an awkward situation with a child client and their mother, suspecting I didn’t handle it very well and wanting input. And then getting feedback that challenged as well as expanded me, reinforcing that I really do not know what I do not know as well as not knowing what I do know, too. These things can sting for a bit, but I am a better counsellor for it.

Just like when I have been in therapy myself, the more I am willing to be vulnerable and uncomfortable and reveal those shadowy parts of myself, so too in my counselling role (especially as a trainee), the more I allow this, the more space I make within myself to expand. I make the space for learning and growth and development and career and life satisfaction and ideally to be a more effective therapist and, of course, to do no harm.

***

I recall a brief conversation I had with a university lecturer this year, a seasoned counselling psychologist and academic. I was reflecting on the challenges of not knowing it all and bemoaning if I would ever feel competent as a counsellor. Their response was heartening to me, then and now. They related to this feeling, stating that they still occasionally felt this way. But they also knew that they are a damn good therapist and a valuable resource for their clients. Nice.

Successful Intervention with a Family Impacted by Treatment-Resistant BPD

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is one of the most difficult psychiatric disorders to treat, the main reason being that it affects the entire family. Thus, effective treatment requires working with as much of the family as possible in a coordinated effort. Multiple professionals are also often involved, which adds to the need for coordination of resources. Further adding to the complexity of intervening with families impacted by this disorder is the fact that there is usually significant resistance to the treatment by one or more parties.

Treating families impacted by BPD also requires specialized therapeutic skills. I have found that many techniques that are effective with other diagnostic groups are not only ineffective with BPD, but may actually make the disorder worse. This is why most of the families who present themselves to me have already been exposed to numerous therapists and treatment modalities by the time we meet, leaving them exhausted and disappointed. In many cases, large amounts of money and other resources have already been spent, also leaving them jaded and skeptical. These families are very often on the brink of their breaking point.

Am I expected to produce a Hail Mary, or am I just another soon-to-be-discarded and/or disappointing clinician in their minds? This is a very high-pressure situation for a clinician, and for this reason I suggest that colleagues only take on such situations if they have specialized skill in treating this disorder or other debilitating personality disorders. A full illustration of all of the specialized skills needed to work with these families is beyond the scope of this paper. For expediency, I will focus first on four tools that I have crafted and found to be highly useful in treating families impacted by this disorder. These tools are described below and will be illustrated in a case study that follows.

Useful Tools

Manage Expectations

This applies to the patient, the family, the other professionals, and yourself. Healing and growth are processes and not singular, disconnected events. All participants in the intervention should be told overtly that this process will take months, if not years, to reach an optimal outcome. I generally tell patients and their families, “Things will most likely get worse before they get better.” This prepares everyone for the inevitable resistance while creating a future milestone measured by increased cooperation.

Protect, Protect, Protect

You must protect the patient, the family, the process, and yourself. A key, and possibly the most disruptive, feature of BPD is the client’s lashing out at others when frustrated. Many families allow this behavior to provoke them into participating in disruptive behavior by shouting back or threatening. The therapist must provide some basic level of safety to the process and all who are involved in order to avoid disruption of the therapeutic work, often manifested by one or more parties’ walking out.

As a therapist in this situation, you are at very high risk for being triangulated into the family dysfunction, in which case this lashing out may be directed at you. Your chair should be the closest to the door, and you need to prepare to split up the group if you cannot deescalate conflicts with all present.

Modeling

You have to teach the family how to cope with disruptive behaviors such as lashing out, triangulation, codependency, and self-mutilation that are common with BPD and rare in other disorders. This is where the specialized skills come in. Each of these disruptive behaviors requires its own set of coping mechanisms. This is where conventional methods can backfire. For example, healthier families can share diverse opinions without the divisive effects of triangulation. In families with BPD, encouraging sharing of diverse opinions is likely to lead to further polarization and increased conflict, thereby worsening rather than improving the situation.

Starve, Do Not Feed, the Monster

The monster is the disorder, the BPD, not the sufferer. The family must bond together with the sufferer and the professional team to fight it. While traditional therapeutic methods encourage compromise and flexibility as solutions to conflict, these methods may feed the monster or make the disruptive and disturbing nature of the disorder worse in families with BPD. The emotional dysregulation caused by the BPD often escalates into rapid, impulsive acting out towards self and others. Introducing compromise, flexibility, or, worse, compliance, reinforces that lashing out will get at least some of what you want. This will increase the frequency and intensity of the lashing out. Conversely, withholding all possibility of acquiescence because of the lashing out starves the monster and sets the stage for the introduction of more socialized, and hence more successful, strategies. This is consistent with basic behavioral principles.

Case Study

The following is based on a real case, but with many details changed in order to protect identity.

Mary Zohn called me about her 19-year-old daughter, Rosa. She had been referred to me by her therapist because although her daughter was in treatment with a therapist, things were getting much worse at home and the family was in crisis. I agreed to meet with her and her husband Charlie for an intake.

The Zohns showed up at my office with two thick files that documented difficulties with Rosa since the beginning of high school. Since that time, Rosa had experienced steady deterioration despite multiple treatments with several different professionals. They explained that although she was intelligent, she had ongoing difficulty functioning in a school environment. She often missed classes and rarely completed assignments on time, if at all.

In her frustration with school, Rosa began engaging in other less productive and more self-damaging activities such as sexual promiscuity, substance abuse, and excessive computer video gaming. She began staying out late, and then overnight. Her room was dirty and her hygiene was regressing.

The Zohns began confronting her about her poor school performance and unhealthy habits. They tried to set limits. This was associated with screaming conflicts that ended up with her sometimes leaving for days at a time, and often included self-destructive behavior such as cutting and going days without food and water in protest. Her parents were becoming increasingly concerned about her health.

They were also becoming increasingly concerned about her influence on her younger sister. Rosa was the middle child of three girls. Her older sister, Wilma, did very well in school and had a good job. She was self-supporting and lived in her own apartment about an hour away from the family residence. The younger sister, Bertha, was in middle school and struggling with a learning disability and social issues at school. The Zohns were very concerned about how Rosa’s behavior would affect Bertha’s struggles.

Initial Interview

What precipitated their reaching out to me was that Rosa had been arrested with her boyfriend for possession and distribution of narcotics. Following are some excerpts from my initial interview with the Zohn’s:

Dr. Lobel: What is Rosa’s current legal status?

Mary: She is out on bail.

Dr. Lobel: What is she doing with her days?

Charlie: Supposedly she is in school.

Mary: She is enrolled in college but we think that she does not attend classes.

Charlie: She leaves every night pretending to go to school but she goes to see her boyfriend instead.

Dr. Lobel: How do you know that?

Charlie: Because she is getting incompletes in all of her classes and she doesn’t come home until 4 AM.

Dr. Lobel: How does she get to school?

Mary: She drives herself.

Dr. Lobel: She has a car?

Charlie: We got her a car so that she can go to school.

Dr. Lobel: But she is not going to school, right?

Mary: We don’t know for sure.

Charlie: Yes, we do. This is the 3rd semester I am paying for, and she hasn’t even earned two credits.

Dr. Lobel: So, you pay her tuition and buy her a car to go to school. She doesn’t go to school and you continue to pay her bills?

Mary: Are you suggesting that we should cut her off?

Charlie: I can’t do that to my daughter.

Dr. Lobel: You mean stop enabling her?

Charlie: What do you mean?

Dr. Lobel: Under the guise of paying for school you are enabling her to engage in unhealthy and illegal activities with her boyfriend.

Mary: We have discussed this before, but her therapist has recommended that we try not to stress her out; that we should give in to the small stuff so that she does not get dysregulated.

Dr. Lobel: How is that working for you?

Charlie: Not good.

The Zohns left the initial consultation a bit shaken by my recommendations. Up until this point, therapists had recommended walking on eggshells around their daughter by reasoning with her, trying to be flexible and forgiving, and overlooking Rosa’s outbursts and acting out.

Second Consultation

Three months later, the Zohns contacted me again. Rosa had been arrested. This time she had been driving while intoxicated and crashed. The car was totaled, and she was charged with driving under the influence (DUI). Fortunately, she was not significantly injured.

They came in for another consultation. They explained that they had come to realize that they were indeed enabling her, feeding her monster, and that they needed guidance. They didn’t know how to say no to her and follow through consistently. We agreed that we would meet with her together in order to help them to set up some healthier boundaries. Most notably, this included the plan that resources such as money and transportation would only be available for the pursuit of healthy activities.

I asked the Zohns whether they were on the same page regarding what was right for Rosa. They shared that they often argued about whether or not to be “strict” with her and how strict to be. I told them that they must be united in the setting and reinforcement of boundaries and that I would help them with this. They agreed. I suggested that I see Rosa individually before we again met as a family so that she would not feel ganged up on. They agreed, but she did not.

First Family Meeting

When the three arrived for our first session together, I asked Rosa to come in by herself for a few minutes, and she agreed. Here is an excerpt of our meeting.

Dr. Lobel: Do you know why your parents asked you to meet with me?

Rosa: They just want to control me. They irritate me constantly.

Dr. Lobel: How do they do this?

Rosa: They are constantly on my case. I don’t do anything right. They want me to be like Wilma. They have always favored her. I can’t be Wilma so I am a disappointment to them.

Dr. Lobel: In what way do they want you to be like Wilma?

Rosa: Smart, beautiful, and successful. That is not me.

Dr. Lobel: What do you think prevents you from being successful?

Rosa: Them. They nag me all the time and then I can’t concentrate on my studies.

Dr. Lobel: That’s why you don’t go to class?

Rosa: Yes. I get so upset I just want to get high. I would rather be with my boyfriend.

Dr. Lobel: What does your therapist suggest?

Rosa: She has tried to get them to back off, but they can’t stop themselves.

Dr. Lobel: What would you do if they were not bothering you?

Rosa: I would get a job.

Dr. Lobel: Have you ever had a job?

Rosa: Yes. Several.

Dr. Lobel: How did that go?

Rosa: I usually work for a while and then they start hassling me.

Dr. Lobel: At work?

Rosa: Yes.

Dr. Lobel: Out of the blue.

Rosa: They get all upset if I am late once or twice or if I call in sick.

Dr. Lobel: And then you get fired.

Rosa: Yes. But the reason I am late or sick is because of my parents!!

We brought the parents in. We all agreed that Rosa needed to take a leave from college while she resolved her legal issues and living situation and began to more directly address her mental health challenges. We then introduced the idea that Rosa’s access to resources, such as a car and money, would be contingent on her manifesting healthy behaviors. Her parents agreed to support healthy behaviors rather than unhealthy ones. Rosa began yelling at her parents and at me, stating that this was little more than additional control and would make things worse. She stormed out of the meeting. As she came in the car with her parents, we were confident that she would not be able to go far, so we finished the hour by offering suggestions as to how to respond to her agitation. We reviewed the “form before content” tool. This basically required that Rosa speak in civil tones, or the conversation would stop.

Dealing with Resistance from Rosa’s Therapist

The following Monday morning, I received a call from Rosa’s therapist, Ms. Hartman, who wanted to know what was going on in our meetings that was so upsetting to her patient. She expressed that Rosa was “triggered” by the meeting and it was making her sicker. I was expecting this call. Here is an excerpt of our conversation:

Dr. Lobel: What about our meeting did Rosa find triggering?

Ms. Hartman: She felt ganged up on.

Dr. Lobel: Which part made her feel ganged up on.

Ms. Hartman: You and her parents trying to control her.

Dr. Lobel: Did she give you any specifics?

Ms. Hartman: No. She just said that she was so triggered she had to leave.

Dr. Lobel: She appeared to get agitated as soon as I said that her parents would support healthy activities and not support unhealthy ones. Does this contradict what she told you?

Ms. Hartman: No.

Dr. Lobel: I imagine you must be working with Rosa on increasing her tolerance for frustration and difficult situations.

Ms. Hartman: Yes. I specialize in Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT). I think she also takes medication.

Dr. Lobel: We are trying to help Rosa take responsibility for her choices and behaviors and she is having difficulty tolerating it. Can you help her accept that she has to accept responsibility for herself while giving her the confidence that she can do so in a healthy way and grow from the experience?

Therapy Begins

Several meetings with the Zohns followed, in which we created a contract through which Rosa could benefit from all of the resources her parents had to offer if she used them for healthy pursuits. She got a job and prepared to resume her studies. She agreed to maintain sobriety. The sticking point was the parents not wanting her to be alone with her boyfriend, as they felt his influence corrupted her. We agreed that he could visit her at the family residence but that the Zohns refused to have their vehicle or their financial support to be used to spend time with him. She very reluctantly agreed.

I also inquired as to the status of her pharmacotherapy. She apparently had a psychiatrist who prescribed a combination of medications that included psychostimulants for attentional difficulties, a mood stabilizer, and an antidepressant. She refused to take the mood stabilizer and antidepressant but wanted to continue with the psychostimulants. The psychiatrist refused to treat her under these circumstances, so she was getting Vyvanse prescriptions from her pediatrician. I suggested that she consult with another psychiatrist, as I thought that the stimulant alone was adding to her emotional dysregulation. She saw a psychiatrist and agreed to work with her on a more therapeutic regimen.

Rosa seemed to stabilize for a few months and was moving forward on our plan, until, that is, when the testing began. Her parents noticed that she was not always at work when she said that she was at work. They suspected that she was seeing her boyfriend. They also found evidence in her bedroom that she was vaping marijuana again.

Mary and Charlie met with me to discuss their fear, apprehension, and guilt at holding to their boundaries. They feared confronting Rosa, which they knew they needed to do, and they feared for Rosa as well. They did confront Rosa, who denied everything. Then Rosa disappeared.

She went to work one day and did not return. The Zohns contacted her employer the next day, who confirmed that she had not shown up for work. They tried to contact her via cell phone, but she “ghosted” them (refused to answer). They were pretty sure that she was with her boyfriend, most likely using drugs and engaging in other unhealthy and risky behaviors.

I met with the parents a few times over the next few days. They were very frightened and questioned our plan. They contemplated texting her and allowing her to do whatever she wanted if she just returned home. I discouraged this and explained that this would be a major setback. I told them that she and her boyfriend did not have the resources to survive on their own and that she would have to return home eventually. She had nowhere else to go.

We began preparing for her return with the understanding that the Zohns’ home was not viable as a therapeutic environment for Rosa and that she was in need of inpatient treatment. I encouraged the Zohns to research options and prepare to have her admitted promptly when she returned.

It took about a month. Rosa missed one of her court appearances and was again arrested. She called from the police station. The Zohn were prepared and let her know her options. She had no choice but to agree.

She was admitted to an inpatient facility that specialized in BPD and substance abuse. She stayed for three months and then transitioned to a sober living residence near her parents. She stayed there for six months, during which time she got a job, resolved her legal issues and embraced sobriety with the help of a Twelve-Step Program and a good sponsor. She went from sober living to the university.

Conclusions

In this case, BPD had not only metastasized throughout the family, but also infected the professionals involved. Approaching Rosa’s treatment from an individual perspective was not successful, because her disorder caused her to manipulate her environment into a codependent mess that enabled her to stay sick and get sicker. The only way for her to recover was to assemble a team that included her entire family and all providers working together and consistently.

Intervening in a system impacted by BPD, as in this case, required specialized skills and the willingness to confront all aspects of the patient’s treatment, including enabling providers. This was often like stirring up a bee’s nest. Great care had to be taken to protect these providers by not making them feel negligent or naïve while at the same time engaging them in a consistent therapeutic process. It was critical to anticipate resistance, even by the professionals who attacked me for challenging them. I didn’t take it personally and haven’t, which has proven to be an effective tactic. I explained to them my process and expectations in non-accusatory terms and showed them their value in the coordinated healing process.

In looking back over the case, I knew I was going to be seen as a snake-oil salesman, met with skepticism and doubt. I had to effect a paradigm shift. I also expected things to get worse before they get better. And they did. I reminded myself that as a clinician. I had to stick with what I knew: with the treatment plan, with the best techniques at my disposal.

I also knew that if this approach failed, there would probably not be another chance. Rosa would lose her only lifeline, and the family would all suffer. I reached the point of no return. I was fully committed and I had to see this case through, no matter what. I have treated families like this countless times over the years, but each case is different and each path its own.

If you are going to venture into this challenging treatment domain, conviction is critical, and still there will be no guarantees.

That Tipsy Session: The Power of Self-Disclosure

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

“This is the first time in years that I am feeling proud of myself,” Chris announces with a timid smile. His eyes are unusually bright, his pale face beaming with a new energy.
He has not been drinking for a month, his longest stretch without alcohol in almost a decade. His words trigger the memory of a year-old incident that still sends waves of shame through my body.

A Sudden Loss

That day, Paris was just opening after its very strict first lockdown, and I had lunch with a friend. We sat at the newly-created terrace of a restaurant just behind the Palais Royal. My beautiful friend had already ordered drinks. “Just one glass,” I thought to myself. We sipped the crisp white wine, a well-deserved celebration under the shining sun of that spring as she recited her lockdown poems.

Two hours later, I was back to my office, covered with sweat and dreading the session to come. With a bitter taste in my mouth, I was appreciating the particular irony of the situation: getting tipsy just before the session with Chris, my alcoholic client. As his familiar face appeared on my screen, a fleeting thought popped into my mind about one advantage of online therapy—at least he could not smell the alcohol on my breath.

“I hate being stuck in this place,” he offered immediately, skipping the usual icebreaker about the weather with which my British clients often begin their sessions.

His company had switched to remote work, and Chris had fled London for his parents’ home in Spain. They had acquired the house a couple of years earlier. Their move to Spain had been hastily decided without consulting their son; seemingly out of the blue, they had swiftly sold their home in England, along with almost every belonging that had been part of Chris’s childhood.

“Why did they have to go?” Chris had wondered many times, struggling with this sudden loss. His parents’ decision had seemed senseless at the time, inexplicable. Chris’s previously unremarkable drinking then spiralled out of control. Freshly graduated from college, unemployed, and lonely, Chris had simultaneously lost his home and his family following the crazy self-exile of his parents. At that point, his life seemed to come to a halt; his drinking slowly but surely replaced everything that he was missing—friends, career, and any challenge that could have given him an opportunity to feel good about himself.

Locked-down in Spain, Chris complained: “It is so weird to be here, locked down in this dreadful villa… it feels surreal.” Every time he spoke about his parents, he looked confused, his grey eyes wandering, slipping away from my gaze. Chris was spending all of his time with his parents, something that had not happened since he had left home for college. Outside and all around the otherwise beautiful Spanish villa-turned-prison, there was a foreign town, blindingly bright under the scolding sun, a town in which he knew no one.

“In the evening they just sit in front of the television, staring at some random Spanish talk show… I feel like an idiot. I have no clue what it is about,” he grumbled, more puzzled than ever.

“Do your parents speak Spanish?”

“No, they don’t, apart from a few basic words. This freaks me out… I simply feel like I am playing a part in a bad movie,” he shared, his eyes filled with loss.

“Is this feeling something you have experienced being around your parents before?”

“I am not sure… I don’t have much recollection of my childhood… at least not about my feelings… my parents were working a lot. I was spending most of the time at school, or at my friends’ places.”

In our previous sessions we had tried to make some sense of his confusion, but something seemed to be missing, a piece of information without which we could not move forward. We stumbled, and Chris was drinking in his usual solitary and well-controlled manner.

“I think I am fine,” he reassured me (or himself) every time I inquired about the approximate amount of alcohol he had drunk during the week.

“Fine? What do you mean by ‘fine’?” I would stubbornly ask, reminding him that at the age of thirty-two he had no close friends, no experience of romantic relationships, and no exciting career, despite his reasonably successful studies.

After a year of weekly conversations, we were stuck in a dynamic that had left us both steaming with frustration. This is when that dreadful “tipsy session” happened.

That Tipsy Session

I was sitting in front of my screen, fighting the dizziness from my drink at the Palais Royal, when Chris delivered the piece of information we had been missing: “My father spilled everything out,” he announced without noticing my discomfort.

The previous evening, his mother had been down with a migraine, and his father had brought him to a nearby recently-reopened eatery. He had ordered a bottle of wine and emptied his glass immediately. Then he explained: back in the UK, Chris’s mother had had an affair with the local pub landlord. This was the only reason for their sudden decision to expatriate. This had been his ultimatum, and the only way they felt they could keep their relationship together.

As I was doing my very best to focus on Chris’s words, his face magnified by my screen, I was painfully aware of failing him. I knew that his father’s telling this difficult truth might open a window for Chris to share his own. But could he use it? After all, shame had been keeping him silent. The window of possibility was closing quickly, as Chris’s return to London was planned for a few days later.

“How do you feel about what your father has disclosed to you?”

“I didn’t know what to say… I couldn’t imagine anything like this was going on… they are too old for that!”

“This must have been difficult for your father to open up about…”

“So awkward… We sat there, drinking and trying to avoid each other’s eyes… He never told me anything this private before,” Chris admitted, fidgeting uneasily in his chair.

“So, you were not the only one withholding something important from your family?” My own allusion to his drinking resonated with an obvious irony.

“What do you mean?” he hissed, pretending that he had no idea about what I was speaking about.

“Maybe this was an opportunity for you to talk to your father openly about your struggles with alcohol?” I made another desperate push.

Chris shook his head with resolve. He had been keeping his drinking problem for himself for years, and the shame he had accumulated in the process was an obstacle he could not overcome. Not yet.

I sighed and let him go with a certain relief. Even if I made it through the session without a major blow, by the end of it I was exhausted and, for the first time, wished to be elsewhere, not in front of my screen with Chris.

For the full week following that session, Chris stayed on my mind. To tell or not to tell? I was not sure whether a self-disclosure would break the brittle trust we had both worked hard to establish. The next time Chris appeared on my screen, I plunged in first.

“Before we start, I have to share something with you,” I announced, and his face dropped in response, preparing for bad news. “During our last session… you may have noticed that I was not fully present,” I stumbled forward, and he nodded. “I thought you were distracted for some reason… but it was ok,” he added generously.

“No, it wasn’t ok,” I sighed and stumbled further. “Just before our session, at lunch, I had a glass of wine. It was a mistake, and I have to apologize.”

“So, you were drunk?” he giggled, and I could not figure out whether there was more confusion or relief in his voice.

“Well, a little tipsy, I guess,” I nodded, trying not to avoid his eyes.
We stayed silent for a minute before he asked, perplexed, “Why are you telling me this today? You didn’t have to…”

“No, I didn’t… but I value our relationship, and owe it to you to be honest… but I was too ashamed to tell you last time,” I shared, hoping that we could capitalize on this example of self-disclosure.

“I know what you mean…” he sighed and looked sideways.
From that point on, Chris finally started opening up. Instead of endlessly complaining about his mother’s misstep and other misfortunes, he now talked honestly about himself.

“I actually know exactly when this whole ridiculous affair started… I got really drunk one evening at the pub, and the landlord had to call my parents to fetch me. My mother came, and this is when they took it off…”

Chris’s discovery that his drinking was somehow at the root of what he saw as his family’s downfall added a new dimension to the shame he was constantly feeling about his unfulfilled life. It took us much longer, of course, to realize that his mother had other reasons to cheat on her husband which had nothing to do with her son but rather with her husband’s very quiet but steady drinking, which had been going on unnoticed for years.

“This was probably his one and only way to relax…” Chris had always seen his father returning from work and pouring himself a large glass of whisky, calling it his “medicine.”

***

Through our increasingly honest conversations, Chris was slowly learning the power of vulnerability. After several months he became strong enough to tell his parents about his own struggle with alcohol. Initially, his father met his honesty with defiance. Chris’s admission put him in an uncomfortable place where he had to face his own addiction. In the weeks that followed that confrontation, from a distance I witnessed their family stumbling through an uneasy change of dynamics. They talked more openly about the drinking issue that had run in the family for a few generations, and Chris eventually opened up about his therapy work. The change was slow, but with each passing week, he felt stronger about his decision to quit alcohol and soon started experimenting with sober days, then weeks… Today he has not had a drink in a month.

“I am really proud of you today, what a journey,” I say, and then I finally ask the burning question that has been on my mind since that dreadful session: “Did my telling you about that drink I had before our session play any role in your recovery?”

“I was first shocked that you would tell me… then I felt angry about it… but somehow this helped me feel less ashamed about my own drinking… I remember thinking that if you didn’t die from shame when you told me, then I wouldn’t die either if I told my parents,” he admitted.

Through his further conversations with his mother, we have now learned that her affair had been a desperate attempt to recover the intimacy she had lost with her husband. My turning up tipsy for the session was probably a similar kind of act. That incident, or rather what we were able to make out of it, strengthened our therapeutic bond. On a more immediate level, by self-disclosing, I demonstrated to Chris in the here-and-now of the session that shame does not kill you.

Thinking back, I am still bewildered by that shameful drink, which fortunately became a step on Chris’s path towards pride.

A Path Towards Self-Compassion and Healing

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Foundations of Relationship

To be in an intimate and interdependent relationship with another person is one of the most challenging endeavors in life, which is why conflict in relationships is one of the major reasons many come to me for therapy.

Clients often reach out to me because they are in pain and struggling with a significant relationship break-up. It is particularly difficult for my clients to be in a close relationship with others if they do not have a conscious relationship to their own self. Thus, an important task in therapy is to identify what it means for them to first be in an intimate relationship with themselves. This may include learning how to sit with their feelings of emptiness, being present with their bodily sensations and emotions, and examining their past. Therapy can be challenging, but it also offers clients the opportunity to heal wounds and to reclaim the forgotten and disconnected parts of themselves that may be unconsciously re-enacted in current relationships.

Many women come into my office suffering with low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety. They feel isolated, alone, and long for a sense of purpose in their lives. They long for connection and believe that closeness with another will help them feel complete, that being in love will alleviate their emotional pain. Close contact with others in reciprocal and enduring relationships is both a biological and psychological need, which increases their urgency to be in close partnerships with others.

Many of the relationship problems I work with are fueled by the belief that another person can fill their emptiness and replace the pain with feelings of love and passion. However, as my very wise mother once said, “we fall in love to the same degree that we are lonely,” fall being the operative word. In this context, if a client falls in love out of distress, to fill a void or erase the emptiness, there is a good chance it will lead to more distress. Family therapist John Fogarty asserts that our emptiness and pain are related to our relationship to our most distant parent. If that is accurate, then healing comes when we can help clients reclaim the hurt child of the past and repair their wounds there. If not, they are at risk of getting trapped in the past and replaying their early stories in adult relationships. To help ensure that dysfunctional patterns of the past do not get re-enacted, unlocking and facing the past becomes an important goal in therapy.

The Case of Alana

Alana was referred to me by a clinician from an inpatient substance abuse program who had diagnosed her with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and a severe Cannabis Use Disorder. Her clinician explained to me that since Alana entered the program and stopped using marijuana, she had become flooded with horrific memories of child abuse. The referring therapist was concerned that Alana would be at risk of relapse if her PTSD symptoms, which included flashbacks, were not addressed. I have found that it is not uncommon for people to turn to the use of substances to manage their PTSD symptoms of flashbacks and hypervigilance.

When Alana walked into my office for our very first session, her fragility was immediately apparent. She was small in stature, five-feet tall and thin. Her head was down, her shoulders drooped, and she did not make eye contact. She talked softly, almost inaudibly, and had long pauses between sentences. She was easily startled, and when she heard the door in the waiting room close, she jumped, and her body tightened. This was certainly a shaky start for this fragile and uncertain woman.

A year into treatment, Alana entered one particular session smiling and happy. She had had a lunch date with someone she had met through a friend. During lunch they discovered they had a number of commonalities: they both loved animals and had dogs, they loved to hike and travel, they were both teachers and enjoyed working with young children. At the end of lunch, they exchanged numbers and he “promised” he would be in touch. Alana was happy, and I was happy for her. She had worked hard in therapy and was gaining a stable foundation in her life without the use of substances. I interpreted her desire to reach out and make a connection with another person as a sign that she was moving forward in her recovery. Four days after this particular session, I received a call from Alana who asked for an “emergency session” because, in her words, “I am not doing well.” During the session, Alana was shaking and could not stop crying. She said she felt she was going down a dark abyss and was fearful she would never return. She had reached out to me because she was desperately trying not to “spiral out of control.” She was afraid she was going crazy. Contacting me for that emergency session was her attempt to anchor and ground herself. Alana explained the trigger that brought her into the emergency session was that Michael, the man with whom she had been on a lunch date, had “promised” he would be in touch with her but she had not heard from him. In the four days since they had lunch, Alana texted him and tried calling him a number of times, but he was not responding. She drove to his house to check if his car was there and if he was home. The lack of contact with Michael was bewildering, and Alana began to doubt if the positive feelings she experienced during lunch were “one way” and “all in my head.”

Alana’s levels of fear and anxiety were high. In general, I have found that when a client’s feelings are exaggerated and seemingly out of proportion to the current situation, it is a signal that their emotional response has roots in unresolved experiences from the past. When these clients are in a highly emotional, reactive, and anxious state, a rational response actually raises their level of apprehension and serves to exacerbate the client’s sense of disconnection from the therapist. With this in mind, I asked Alana if she was willing to slow down, breathe more deeply, and focus her awareness inward on her body. We had done similar exercises in the past, and Alana was not new to this type of therapeutic inquiry. However, familiarity does not always make this journey any less challenging. It takes courage to sit with and explore the bodily sensations and feelings that are experienced as overwhelming.

I was aware of Alana’s abuse history and her terror associated with feeling abandoned and alone. As a result, I used phrases like “You are not alone—we can take a look at this together.” I could see she found these words soothing and the words helped her to self-regulate. Her face relaxed, her breathing became easier, and her words and the quality of her voice softened. The following is a segment from the session (C represents client and T represents therapist):

T: Is it okay to take a few moments to breathe and go into your body?
C: Yes.
T: What part of your body wants to talk now?
C: My stomach and throat.
T: How do you know your stomach and your throat want to talk?
C: My stomach and throat feel tight.
T: Anything else?
C: My stomach feels tight, like it wants to throw up, and my throat feels like it is hot and on fire.
T: Your stomach feels tight like it wants to throw up, and your throat feels tight like it is hot on fire—anything else?
C: No.
T: Which do you want to take a look at first—your stomach or your throat?
C: Stomach.
T: Is it okay to stay with the sensations in your stomach?
C: Yes.
T: Your stomach is tight and wants to throw up. If you could give it a feeling, what would the feeling be?
C: I don’t know.
T: Breathe… What would tight and wanting to throw up be—mad, sad, glad, or scared? Breathe into the tightness in your stomach, just for a moment. Can you give the tightness in your stomach permission to relax? Then it can tighten up again.
C: It feels scary.
T: Can you stay with scary?
C: Yes—I am alone, and it’s dark.
T: Is it okay to give room for scared and alone in the dark?
C: [With eyes closed she nods yes]
T: Breathe… I am right here with you. What might happen if you let yourself feel scared and alone in the dark?
C: I would disappear and never come back.
T: What would happen if you disappeared and never came back? Breathe and stay with the tightness in the stomach.
C: I would never be able to find my way out of the darkness.
T: What would happen if you could not find your way out of the darkness?
C: I would disappear and be lost forever—I would not know how to find my way back.
T: Can we go into the nausea?
C: [Nods. After a few moments] The tightness and nausea help keep me in my body.
T: So the tightness and the nausea in your stomach protects you and keeps you connected to your body so you do not get lost in the darkness?
C: Yes.
T: Is it okay if we go to the sensations in your throat?
C: Yes—It is tight and hot like it’s on fire.
T: If tight and hot like it's on fire could talk, what would it say?
C: There are no words—just a sound.
T: What sound would it make?
C: A long, wailing cry.
T: Can we stay there?
C: Yes—the wailing cry is the sound of all the fear and pain in my stomach.

Alana started to sob. She was finally able to put words to her visceral experience which, until this moment, was out of her awareness. As the session continued, Alana was able to explore the childhood event that was fueling her current experience with Michael.

C: For as long as I can remember, my father would beat me and pushed away my attempts to get close to him.
T: When was the first time you can remember being pushed away from your father when trying to get close to him?
C: I can remember when I was three or four years old and my father was sitting in the living room chair watching television, sipping on what I know now was a glass of scotch. I was staring at him from across the room. I knew I needed to be quiet and almost invisible so as not to get him upset. While sitting on the floor, I slowly and quietly moved closer and closer in proximity to where he was sitting. I just wanted to be near him and hear him breathing. I wanted some kind of connection. When I finally got close to him, he stood up from the chair, and without a word he kicked me and I curled up in pain. I could hear the door slam behind him as he left our apartment.

Alana was able to stay with the bodily sensations that eventually led her to this memory. As the session continued, Alana made the link between her past and the pain and fear she felt when Michael did not contact her. Over time, Alana came to understand that her relentless and arduous pursuit to contact Michael served as a protective function—to avoid the pain associated with the memory of her father’s abuse. Michael’s lack of contact triggered the despair that she struggled with in dealing with her most distant parent—her detached, angry, cold, and physically abusive father. Alana had spoken about this emptiness and pain in previous sessions. She was keenly aware that her substance use that began at the age of 11 was a way to soothe the pain of rejection and abuse from her father. At these crossroads, when the present felt like the past, Alana was at risk of relapsing and resorting to past mechanisms to self-soothe. For Alana, this included drinking alcohol and using substances.

In later sessions, Alana named this trigger as “wanting connection and being kicked by my father.” Naming the trigger allowed Alana to achieve awareness and take control of her emotions and behaviors when she perceived a disengagement from others. The awareness allowed her the space and time she needed to self-regulate, re-evaluate, and think of more appropriate and rational responses to perceived rejection.

When Alana finally heard from Michael, he explained that he had not been in contact because his father had a heart attack and Michael was called home to be with family. Michael also explained to Alana that he did not think this was a good time for him to begin a relationship, because his free time would be spent with his parents during his father’s recovery. I also assumed that Michael was overwhelmed by Alana’s frantic attempts to get in touch with him. Alana’s desperation had its origins in her early life experiences. Michael became an object of Alana’s distress, which was manifested in the barrage of compulsive texts and phone messages. This objectification contributed to the rupture in their relationship—a rupture that occurred soon after meeting one another, when the lack of a strong relational history did not promote efforts towards a possible repair.

As with most of my clients who experience trauma-related distress, Alana expressed a desire for a secure, comforting, and safe relationship. Despite this desire, Alana’s connections with others could be depicted as highly dysregulated, frantic, and fraught with friction and misunderstanding. Many of the women I have worked with who have histories of trauma are more likely to undergo autonomic nervous system (ANS) responses of fight/flight and/or shutdown/collapse. These physiological states are mechanisms that assisted them in surviving overwhelming physical and/or emotional experiences. However, over a long period of time, after the threat passed, these states no longer served a protective function. Instead, fight created more animosity, flight kept them running in fear, and collapse didn’t allow them energy to live life fully. Eventually, these protective states interfered with their ability to think clearly and make thoughtful decisions. In Alana’s situation, the lack of response from Michael put her in a hyper-aroused state, causing her to be vigilant and unable to maintain calm, think about consequences, and come up with alternative solutions. From this hyper-aroused position, Alana misinterpreted Michael’s distance as rejection and responded with a high degree of emotional intensity and pursuit behaviors. Her attempts to restore the connection was her misguided approach of trying to soothe the feelings of terror associated with being kicked and rejected by her father. Alana believed (just as her three-year old self had) that her only relief from the pain and emptiness was through reconnecting with Michael.

My goal with Alana and clients with similar challenges is to bring the unconscious to conscious awareness by remembering and examining the early experiences and emotions that fuel their current reenactments. One method I have used in many cases is exploration of core beliefs, which creates a psychic prism from which all experiences and relationships are perceived. In therapy, I explore core beliefs with my clients, the feelings attached to each belief, the origins of the belief, and how the belief and feelings are exhibited in present-day behaviors and one’s worldview. Beliefs often include, but are not limited, to such thoughts as “I am defective,” “unlovable,” “a misfit,” “alone,” or “a failure.” The associated feelings are just as varied and include feelings of grief, sadness, loneliness, shame, anger, and fear. If an individual’s core beliefs and the source of those beliefs remain out of awareness, then the person is at risk of reenacting the past in the present, always with the hope of a different and more affirming outcome. The chronic, painful, and recurring patterns of our lives can be reframed as our younger and fragmented parts of self that are calling out for attention.

The child in all of us hopes to be seen and heard, yearning to be found and reclaimed. This can be framed as a call to bring us back to ourselves. It is in reclaiming our earlier selves that our emancipation and release from the past begins, and that we can start our journey toward rebuilding lives that resonate with our authentic intentions, desires, and values.

Clients with complex and relational traumas share stories of unthinkable acts of abuse that they experienced as children. For many clients, the therapeutic process challenges what they have learned in order to defend, protect, and keep themselves safe and, for some, to stay alive. The therapeutic journey requires the client to expose their vulnerability, fragility, and imperfections. For survivors of trauma, to be vulnerable is equivalent to being weak and at risk for being hurt. Thus, to allow themselves to be vulnerable takes great courage. Courage is the place where they confront fear, anger, sadness and/or shame. However, clients also bring hope—hope that somewhere, in all the confusion, desperation, and negative internal dialogue, life can be different, and that on the other side awaits a better way of being and living in the world. When the client doesn’t have hope, the therapist can hold it for them.

***

The women I interviewed for my book on survivor moms emphatically stated that their relationships to their therapists served as the model they used to develop healthy relationships. The therapist and the therapeutic process taught them how to effectively communicate. In therapy, they learned how to listen, ask questions, talk about feelings, solve problems, tolerate strong emotions, and stay composed when engaging in difficult conversations. Their therapists offered the means to increase feelings of self-worth, enhance self-care, and create a compassionate connection to themselves. This fostered inner confidence and the capacity to develop healthy and intimate relationships with others. Their therapists’ abiding presence offered them an opportunity to sit with, feel, and explore their deepest wounds in a safe and contained relationship. The therapeutic process also afforded the opportunity to become more deeply attuned to themselves and others and enabled an understanding of both the vulnerability and resilience of being human. The knowledge, tools, and wisdom that comes from one’s own healing could then be transferred to the ways they interacted and responded in their relationships with intimate partners, family, friends, and, as importantly, with children—the next generation.

Unlocked: Online Therapy Stories

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

Laila

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Laila is very good at hiding. This is the first time we meet, and as her unveiled face appears on my screen, I can barely distinguish her features hidden by the thick darkness of the room.

From her initial email, I know that Laila is in her late 30s, unmarried and, as a result of these circumstances, is living in her parents’ house in a very conservative Middle Eastern country. She warns me straightaway that it has been a difficult and risky decision for her to engage in therapy, especially online and with a Western therapist. It is also her only option if she wants to keep it away from her family and confidential.

Privacy is an issue. Her parents’ house is vast and has many rooms, but her nine siblings come and go as they wish, following the rhythms of their prayers, meals and social obligations. Some of them are married, and their young children are constantly running around the house, untamed and loud.

Connecting with Laila for our first session, I automatically become an accomplice in her rule-breaking behaviour. Starting as partners-in-crime results in an immediate intimacy and a strange sense of kinship that usually takes time to create in therapy.

“Where are you now? Is this your room?”

“Yes, it is my room, and fortunately the door is locked.”

I overhear children’s voices and some music resonating from the bowels of the house. By contrast, her room is very quiet, and from the little I can see of it, rather spartan.

“I told them I was having a migraine and had to lie down.”

“Do you have migraines often?” She smiles sadly: “Yes, I do.”

As we would realise later, this was the only excuse she had found as a child to isolate herself and get some personal space. Nevertheless, Laila’s migraines’ ‘purpose’ does not make them any less real or painful. They can last for days, and self-isolating in a dark room has become a habit that her family accepts as another bothersome part of her character, alongside the irritating stubbornness that she displays on certain occasions. The recently installed lock on her door, which has caused many heated conversations with her father, is also the welcome consequence of her ‘condition’.

“I am not sure therapy can help me. Something terrible is about to happen …”

Before she can finish, we are interrupted by a strong knock on the door. Shaken by its invasive forcefulness and Laila’s abrupt backing away, I do not have time to fully realise what is happening, and she is gone. My screen suddenly goes blank.

For several days, I can’t stop thinking about this aborted session, worrying for Laila and wondering whether she will ever make it back to my virtual therapy room. In the meantime, Paris empties as a result of the lockdown. Bewildered Parisians watch its deserted streets from their windows or balconies. Their screens become the only way of maintaining a connection with others. The fleeting conversation with Laila is nearly forgotten when an email from her arrives. This time she is resolved to start working with me, as soon as I am free. We arranged to reconnect the following evening.

As Laila joins the video call, her face instantly fills my screen in an unexpected close-up. She is wearing a dark purple hijab neatly framing the beautifully defined features of her face. A fierce energy emanates from her. No distance or screen dampens that down.

Laila tells me that she has been postponing therapy for years, unsure of how to proceed. It started with her parents insisting that she consult a local psychiatrist, perplexed as they were by her moodiness and unwillingness to engage in any discussions about marriage plans. Laila hated it. One of her older brothers, chosen to drive her to the appointment (as she was obviously not allowed to drive), would wait for her in the corridor. She could feel his presence behind the door and his annoyance at what was just another time-consuming task for him.

***

The psychiatrist did not unveil anything (nor did Laila unveil her face in his presence). He did not seem very interested in her concerns and promptly prescribed antidepressants and a break from work. It convinced Laila not to come back to this or any other local doctor. Taking a pill would not make her problems go away. The risk of being forced to leave her job scared her.

She works as a nurse in the maternity ward of a large hospital and, strangely enough, her work has become her most cherished space in finding some privacy. There, she is valued for her skills, away from her father’s constant scrutiny.

“How do you feel about talking with me, a Western woman living thousands of miles away?”

“I do not know if I can trust you. But I have no choice.”

I tell her that confidentiality is the very basis of therapy, but I don’t know if my words are enough to reassure her.

So here we are – two women sitting in front of their computers in two opposite parts of the world – talking with each other through a screen, in a language that is neither one’s mother tongue. Having grown up in an autocratic state, I know too well that a foreign language can turn into a space of freedom, a boundary and a safety blanket, unavailable in one’s mother tongue.

Laila has to talk in a hushed voice. Her family members are constantly passing by her room, and sometimes I clearly distinguish their voices resonating in the tiled corridors of her parents’ vast house, approaching and vanishing again.

Do they speak English? Yes, a bit, but not as well as her. Laila has been passionate about learning English since her teens. She has always felt that this language offered her a space for free thinking and privacy, which she considers unattainable to her in Arabic. Her father has always scolded her for spending too much time reading in English or watching American films, but since she has had to study English for her nursing degree and, later on, to work at the international hospital, he has grudgingly conceded her this ‘frivolousness’.

Since her late teens, Laila has been avidly using social media, where she now has the majority of her meaningful social connections, her ‘online friends,’ as she calls these virtual bonds. In this parallel world, women are able to befriend men; friends can exchange unveiled pictures of each other, discuss intimate topics and even share their religious doubts.

“Last time we spoke, you said that something terrible was about to happen. What did you mean?”

Laila shoots a quick look towards the door as if to check that nobody is there to intrude her space, but the house is silent.

“My parents received another marriage proposal for me … they know that this is maybe the last chance to get rid of me.”

“Do you know this man?”

“No, but his mother is coming tomorrow to look at me.”

Laila lowers her head and slips away from the camera, so that only a part of her forehead, covered by the hijab, stays visible.

The marriage hunt started when she was eighteen, and her parents’ attempts to find her a suitable husband have become ever more determined and desperate. First Laila could highlight the flaws in the aspiring grooms that would make good deal-breakers: lack of a respectable career, a physical defect or, even more convincing for her parents, lack of religious fervour. As time went by, the suitors grew older, their flaws became more obvious, but her parents’ desire to finally settle their insubordinate daughter also became more urgent.

This time, it is an older cousin who is already married and is now considering taking a second wife.
“I am getting too old to be a first wife … but not old enough to be left in peace.” Laila’s voice cracks and she is close to tears.

That evening I find it hard to join in the conversation over the now-traditional online aperitif with friends. The mundane topics around COVID symptoms, current government strategy and facemasks feel far removed from what I am still struggling with: the prospect of a forced marriage on Laila.

This is one of those times when I almost physically stumble on the limits of what I am able to offer to a client; therapy can be an empowering force, but certain brute realities of existence can have a stronger adverse effect. I desperately want Laila to be free, and the intensity of my yearning is only a distant pale echo of what she is probably feeling, trying to get to sleep in her lonely room. The laughter of my friends and the jazz in the background are making Laila’s isolation even more blatant in my mind.

I grew up as an only child and, at bedtime, my desolate condition would usually feel cruel. I would lie in bed for hours, fantasising about potential siblings, little doll-like brothers and sisters to dress and feed. Laila, on the contrary, has many siblings but this did not make her any less lonely; none of them understood her stubborn rebellion against the family rules or arranged marriage. I imagine her sitting on her lonely bed, scrolling through on her laptop her online friends’ intimate messages. Would she be able to act on what we had plotted, maybe foolishly, together?

That night I dream that I am lost in a strange place – maybe an abandoned hotel or a school – unable to get out of its intricate staircases, endless corridors, and vast empty rooms. I am pacing through the rooms as a lonely ghost, unable to find an exit or someone to ask for directions. Rescued by the morning alarm, I have to lie down for a few seconds, trying to distinguish the harrowing dream from the nightmarish reality of another lockdown day.

During the day I find myself checking emails between sessions, hoping to hear from Laila, but she keeps silent. Or is she kept silent? In my current monotonous reality, Laila’s story starts to resemble a television drama with weekly episodes on my computer screen. I do not need Netflix, as my clients’ real-life stories are filling the void left by the lockdown which has robbed me of many of my daily joys. Laila’s distress washes me away in a powerful emotional wave that I am unable or unwilling to control; I find myself washed out on the shore of my balcony, covered with the debris of my own frustration, hurt and with a deep feeling of loss. I stand there contemplating the grey field of Parisian rooftops with hundreds of red chimneys erected in a frozen dance; birds are swirling in the still air, oblivious to the lockdown. For the first time I regret not smoking, as a cigarette would probably have been a good kick right now. My tea has become cold and tasteless. I go to the kitchen and pour myself a large glass of crisp white Burgundy.

By the time I go to bed – later with every passing day – Laila’s email is waiting for me in my inbox: “I barricaded myself in the room as planned. Did not come out when the man’s mother came. I don’t know what happened there. Have to go now, as my father wants to talk. Will write later.”

My heart starts racing; I know I should not be checking my emails at this time, but the lockdown seems to have altered many rules. I know that I have to do something. I go to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water. I look in the mirror and dislike what I see – an ageing woman with unkempt hair and puffy eyes. Since hairdressers shut down, my usually dark curls are showing more and more grey. I open the drawer, fetch the scissors and start cutting, methodically, until the sink is filled with hair. As I cut, I think about my husband telling me that he really prefers women with long hair; all the things I could not say no to come over me like a big wave. My own anger takes me by surprise; how can I have all this inside, after all these years of therapy, trying to heal? Then I realise that this is not just about me, but also about Laila. I am outraged and rebelling on her behalf.

***

Next time we meet online, the connection takes a while to settle, like the surface of a lake disturbed by the stone thrown by a child, and her bright face appears. She looks at me in bewilderment and I start thinking that something has gone wrong. But before I can utter a word, Laila takes her hijab off in a resolute gesture. This is the first time I see her head uncovered – she looks like a little girl, and her hair is even shorter than mine, she is almost bald. We stare at each other in amazement and the mirroring effect of our screen encounter becomes even more striking. She is the first to talk.

“I cut my hair. You did too?”

“Yes, I did.”

“If my father finds out, he will be really mad.”

“Do you want him to see it?”

She keeps silent for a moment, playing with her hijab, which is lying on her lap like a little dead animal.

“In a way I do, even if I am scared he may kill me.”

“Kill you?”

“I mean … I don’t know. I never did anything like this before.”

She looks directly into the camera; in her wide-open eyes I see a mixture of excitement and defiance.

Now it is my turn to feel scared.

“But does he really need to know?”

“No, maybe not yet.”

With her naked head she looks so young and vulnerable that I want to protect her, to make sure she is safe. But I have to remind myself that she came to me in search of empowerment. Trusting me, she took a risk, and it is now my turn to trust her. I feel like the parent of a toddler who is climbing a jungle gym for the first time, realising that the child could fall and hurt themselves, but also has to learn this new skill in order to eventually master it.

“My father called me yesterday after he learnt I did not show up in the guest room. He was very upset.”

“Is this over now or will she return?”

“Anyway, not before the lockdown is over.”

“Oh, good. This gives us a few weeks to figure something out.”

“Yes. I do not want to marry, ever.”

She stares at me with her intense dark eyes and I desperately look for words to reassure her, but I stumble as I am not certain that we can fight against her father’s will, the omnipotent power over his daughter given to him by his country’s tradition and law.

“Can you talk about it with your mother?”

“I tried. She keeps repeating that I have to marry and have children, otherwise I will never be happy. She does not know any other way.”

“What about your older sisters?”

“They all wanted to get married. Now they think I should too.”

“What about your online friends?”

“Yes, they understand. We talked about the ways out. They advise me to get ill or to lose a lot of weight. Just to gain some time.”

Laila shows me her room. It looks like a prison cell, although the bare necessities for a reasonably comfortable life are there. The only objects Laila cherishes are a few books on a shelf and a television. But even those tend to attract the unwanted attention from her family – why doesn’t she watch television in the common room? Why does she need all these American books?

The electric light is always on, even though the bright Middle East sun shines outside nearly all year around.

“We are strong on privacy here,” Laila explains.

The shutters are closed all the time, to prevent neighbours getting a glimpse of the women of the house. As a result, Laila has no access to the outside world. Before the lockdown, almost her only outings consisted in commuting to her workplace in her brother’s car, with tinted windows for the same reasons of privacy, making everything outside look bleak and slightly unreal. Laila recognises that often she feels like a ghost, as the familiar world turns into an uncanny copy of what reality is supposed to be. The days go by in a sort of depleted way, a succession of small familiar tasks, starting with making coffee for her father, ending with the evening prayer. Only then, as she finally locks her door behind her, taking off her hijab, does Laila feel that she is still alive.

After our session I gasp for fresh air. The balcony is not enough; I also feel a terrible itch to be moving. I put my running shoes on and venture outside after signing the compulsory ‘attestation de déplacement dérogatoire’ (‘self-declaration form for travel’). I feel rebellious again and, as I start running, I take my mask off my face and shove it into my pocket. The prospect of a police patrol stopping me only heightens my resolve.

The riverbanks are closed, but I ignore the warning sign as I sprint down to calm and vast Seine. As I follow the river, very close to the edge, I can smell its slightly rotten water, finally free of pollution. The water carries a sense of calm power, vague possibility and quiet hope. But Laila lives in a desert. I have not run properly for weeks and the air soon starts hurting my lungs. I ignore the pain and keep pushing towards the Eiffel Tower, looking ghostly and slightly out of place in the middle of the empty city.

***

The next time I connect for the session with Laila, it is with a palpable sense of dread in my stomach. I realise that Laila is late, which is unusual. I open Telegram, our prearranged back-up option, only to find a message from her asking to chat here instead. Of course, we can. This is not the time for worrying about strict boundaries.

“My father found out that I’d cut my hair and confiscated my computer. He thinks that it is all because of the American films.”

“How did he find out?”

“I think my mother told him. She tells him everything.”

“How are you doing?”

“It does not make such a difference to me. It is just that my door is locked on the other side.”

Using a chat room adds the option of staying hidden. Laila seems comfortable with this new set up; I am less used to sudden restrictions. She is so accustomed to things being taken away from her that it does not seem to throw her out of balance.

“For how long will you be punished?”

“I don’t know. It depends on his mood.”

“Has it happened before?”

“Yes. When I was a teenager I spent a lot of time in here, but I actually liked it. It gave me some peace … this is when I studied English.”

The language that she learnt whilst imprisoned has eventually become her space of freedom. Ironically, we use English for a therapy session, both being in breach of her country’s expectations. As we are chatting with our respective doors locked, it feels like two teenagers secretly communicating behind their parents’ backs.

“As a teen, did you have friends to talk with?”

“No. Not really. I did not have social media back then.”

Laila is sounding distant. Is she typing something to her friends simultaneously?

“Can I ask you about something?”

I am glad that she asks, whatever the question may be.

“Do you think about me sometimes?”

If she only knew how much I have, she would probably feel uncomfortable.

“I do. I worry for you. And sometimes I wonder how much I am really helping you.”

“You don’t know how much you have been helping me.”

I am regretting that this conversation is taking place by chat, but again, we have to settle for what we have. I would prefer to see her eyes, even if the screen turns eye contact into a weird imagination game. Doing with less, turning things around: these are lockdown lessons that Laila has had to master well before many of us.

***

It is the sixth week of lockdown and I am lying in bed at midnight, unable to calm down the frenetic flow of my thoughts. All the little things that my life ‘before’ was made of are spinning in my mind – a coffee with a friend in the nearby café, a chat with the friendly waiter at the bistro where I stop by for lunch, a stroll to an art museum, a quick drive to the seaside for a lunch of oysters, outside under the pale Normandy sun – all things made impossible by the need to keep away from others. In the end, life’s pleasures are a lot about being with or at least near others.

As I am quietly mourning all things lost, my phone buzzes, announcing a Telegram call. Before picking up, I notice that the screen displays an international number with a prefix I cannot place.

“It’s Laila.”

Her now familiar voice is filled with a mixture of dread and excitement; I suddenly feel completely awake, with a jolt of adrenalin rushing into my blood.

“Where are you, are you ok?”

“I am in Bangkok … at the airport. I ran away.”
“Are you alone? Does your family know where you are?”

“I don’t know. I am so scared … if they find me, they will kill me.”

Her voice is that of a little girl; the kind of voice my daughter would have when waking up from a horrible nightmare in the middle of the night.

“How can I help you?”

“You cannot. It is too dangerous. My online friends are helping.”

She keeps silent for a moment; I am waiting for her to reassure me that everything is ok, that she will be fine somehow. My heart is pounding heavily in my chest.

“Laila …? Are you there?”

“I have to go now! I just wanted to say goodbye and … thank you.”

Before I am able to respond, she is gone, her voice abruptly replaced by the long beep of a dead line. As I put down the phone, I suddenly understand all that I have been missing. Everything clicks into place. Laila had been preparing her escape all along. I feel betrayed, like an object that fulfilled its purpose and can now be discarded. After a few moments the hurt gives way to anxiety: what will happen to Laila now? I pick up my phone again and start scrolling the international news. No mention of a Saudi girl on the run. Not yet.

The next time the phone comes alive in my hands, it is past midnight. Laila sounds different, she talks with a new urgency that makes me sit up in bed, alert.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your plan?”

“I couldn’t. It was too dangerous.”

I can now hear some muffled male voices and a noise as if somebody is banging on a door.

“Where are you now? What is happening there?”

“I am in a hotel room, still at the airport. Look at the news.”

Laila disconnects or maybe the call drops out.

I return to the live news page still open on my phone screen: this time Laila is there. I recognise her frail silhouette in the slightly blurred images. A short video shows her walking through a dark corridor flanked by several men in uniform – Thai police most probably. They escort her somewhere. With her black t-shirt, a red backpack and an uncovered head, Laila could easily pass for a normal teenager were it not for the policemen with watchful looks surrounding her in a tight circle. She looks vulnerable but proud.

This time I call her back; she responds in a second.

“What is your plan?”

“To ask for asylum. I am not leaving this room until I see somebody from the United Nations.”

As we talk, I can hear the banging on the door and the voices getting closer again; something smashes loudly on the floor.

“They are trying to get me to unlock the door.”

“Are you sure they cannot break in and harm you?”

“I don’t know. I barricaded it with all the furniture that I had in here.” Her voice is trembling; I can sense her terror almost physically.

“Do you want us to stay on the phone? Is this helpful?”

She keeps silent for a second; I can hear her heavy breathing.

“Yes, please.”

I grab my dressing gown and, headphones in my ears, I go to the kitchen and make some coffee. I have to keep my hands busy to keep the anxiety at bay. The futile routine of making coffee contrasts with the mayhem in a Bangkok hotel room on the other end of the line; it is surreal. But Laila’s voice confirms that this is not just a bad dream of mine.

As we sit and talk, her online friends are rushing to attract as much attention as possible to her case. After just a few hours, social media is buzzing with her story, but it is still not enough to reach a high-ranking UN official. She keeps silent for a long moment and I can hear her tapping on her phone, fast and furious. I just stay there, listening to the noises from yet one more room where she has had to lock herself in. I hope this is the last time she has to do that.

Then Laila starts talking. She tells me all about how she has planned for this since the very first day of the lockdown. Her family was scheduled to have a holiday in Turkey and when it was cancelled, she managed to keep the travel authorisation signed by her father. The household was shaken by the lockdown, and the usually steady routine was disrupted as all family members had more time on their hands. With Ramadan starting a few days before, Laila knew that this was the right time for her to attempt the escape. The impending marriage, which now seemed inescapable, had left her with no other option than to act before the end of the quarantine.

“You have helped me to feel stronger, I have had hope again.”

***

That night, those who know Laila are not sleeping. After a few hours of social media frenzy, she finally receives a message from a French journalist.

“He wants me to record a video and post it on social media. To attract more attention.”

I see his point. The only images of Laila that are circulating online are blurred and vague; her scream for help has no face yet. But I also know what showing her uncovered face to the whole world would mean for her. Her family would never get over the shame; they would be unforgiving.

“Are you prepared to do this?”

She stays silent for a long moment. I listen to her accelerated breathing; she is hyperventilating.

“Laila, let’s try to breathe more slowly, breathe with me.”

For a few minutes we are inhaling and exhaling together, finding a shared rhythm.

“I am so scared,” she whispers.

“I know you are. I am scared for you too.”

“They will kill me.”

“Let’s make sure they cannot. Do you remember the first time you showed me your face?”

“Yes …”

“You did it then, even though it was risky.”

“I did.”

A few seconds pass and I finally hear her voice, trembling but clear. Laila tells the world about who she is and why she has barricaded herself in this room. She asks for asylum. As soon as she is done, the video of her talking to the camera appears in my Twitter feed. Then we both observe how her video makes a storm; it is also taken by this storm and propelled further and further around the virtual world. To watch this happening is fascinating. There is no way back for Laila after this, we both know it.

I suddenly feel exhausted; outside the sun is coming out from behind the sleepy buildings. Paris is waking up, oblivious to what has been happening to Laila that night. I make myself another coffee and take it to the balcony. As I watch the sunrise, Laila is crying, at the other end of the world.

I use my phone again, this time to photograph the sky and the rooftops, bathing in the pink light of pale morning sunshine. As she receives my picture, both of us already know that she will make it.

“I have to go and unlock the door … There is somebody from the United Nations here. Thank you for staying with me.”

“Yes, the world is waiting for you outside.”

We hang up, and back on my computer screen I watch her march out of the room under the glare of the waiting cameras, towards a future in which she will probably still have to hide for a while. As I contemplate my city slowly returning from a deep and troubled sleep, I hope that the days of locked rooms are over for Laila.

***

Unlocked: Online Therapy Stories was published by Confer Books on 20th January 2022 and can be found online at Amazon UK, Amazon US, and Karnac Bookshop.
 

Costumed Authenticity: Building Trust in LGBTQ+ Telehealth

Posted on by Psychotherapy.net Team

He was the kind of client who liked to sneak in jokes to relieve his own anxiety. A deflector. The kind of client who is openly gay, but emotionally closed. In telehealth sessions he rarely looked at the camera, or even the screen. His thoughts were off in the distance. He had a lot to say, but it was going unsaid. Or, more accurately, he had a lot to share, but it wasn’t being verbalized.

Social camouflage can be a powerful survival mechanism. While it can lead to compartmentalizing social identities, it’s important to value a client’s need for safety. In fact, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my LGBTQ+ clients, it’s how multifaceted identities open up progressively through tiers of trust. Codeswitching is common, as is reserving whole aspects of personal identity for those who actually appreciate it. This can make it hard to trust anyone, especially a mental health professional.

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Even amongst the LGBTQ+ community there is no guarantee of acceptance, requiring camouflage just as much within the rainbow as outside of it. Pansexuals and omnisexuals may tell people they’re bi because it’s more commonly understood and socially accepted, just as bisexuals may tell people they’re gay. Genderqueer, genderfluid, and agender people may generalize themselves as queer or nonbinary rather than get into the specifics of their actual identity. Likewise, there are many nuanced facets to being a transgender person, but there’s no chance of talking about that with someone who’s unfamiliar with even the most basic Trans 101 terms. Yes, a client may talk about their sexuality or gender identity with a therapist, but at what level is the conversation? Tier one? Tier two? Tier ten?

In the back of my mind, I found myself relating to his bemused smile and his coy silence. But how could I, as his counselor, create enough safety in a telehealth session for him to share more of his unspoken authenticity? Or, at the very least, another side of himself?

I’ll be the first to say that telehealth has more than a few problems, yet having a small window into the client’s home is a game changer. I’ve had some clients proudly take me on a video tour of their house, and others who actively hid their home environment. Getting to see someone’s sanctum of comfort, or playground of self-expression, is an honor that should not be taken lightly. Yet when a client doesn’t know how to talk about themselves, a little curiosity about their external environment can go a long way.

In the background of his bedroom was a sewing mannequin. When I asked if he sewed, he laughed and said he was better with a hot glue gun. Then, when I asked what he’d been working on, there was a second of hesitation. A second of hope, mottled with the fear of rejection. The natural prelude to authenticity.

No, he wasn’t a Drag Queen. He was a Drag Cosplayer, who spent a small fortune every year transforming himself into sci-fi and fantasy characters to attend massive conventions. And he walked a fine line, in heels no less. He didn’t fit in with Drag Ball Culture, and he was sure most Queens would call him a nerd. On the flip side, not every conventioneer appreciates a cross-dressing cosplayer. Here was courage and shame in the same costume. Here was cognitive dissonance. He kept all his social media accounts private but had hundreds of people take pictures with him at every event. He was an anonymous celebrity.

This disclosure segued into a conversation about his favorite anime characters and, most importantly, why they were his favorite. People are drawn to certain fandoms for key archetypal reasons, because they resonate with a specific character, or universe, or story arc. Fortunately, I happened to grow up in the height of America’s anime revival, so I recognized not only his characters, but also his attention to detail. After that, I was updated on the status of his latest costume for the next two months. It turned out he had a soft spot for manic female antiheroes who are vibrant, loud, and completely over the top.

It takes time to build rapport. As therapists, we are outsiders, approaching each tier of privacy like a gate. It’s not enough to say friend or foe. For this client, I had to not only know the password to be let in, but I also had to speak the language. It’s because of this that I encourage therapists to take an active interest in their client’s media. Dive into their music scene, or favorite book series, or television show, or movie fandom, or video game community, because there you will learn a hidden language.

So I asked him if, in our next telehealth session, he would be willing to show up in character, and he laughed, and cringed, and said he’d have to think about it.

My next session was with Haruko Haruhara, from the spastic anime masterpiece FLCL.

My next session was with my client’s shadow, imagination, and feminine inspiration, and this time, they looked right into the camera.