What Do a Mango Tree and Child Therapy Have in Common?

I am from Brooklyn. While a tree might have grown there for someone else, it certainly did not do so for me. A few shrubs here and there, some weeds poking up in the cement cracks perhaps, but nothing more verdant than that. I was thrilled, upon moving to my current home in Florida to have a mango tree on my property.

Everything I ever needed to know about therapy I’ve learned from that mango tree…but more about that in a bit. Each year like clockwork, the tree blooms, fruits, sheds and ultimately yields. And each year like clockwork, I worry that for a variety of reasons, it will not actualize its mission. And each harvest season, I must remind myself that this magnificent living thing has its own rhythm, its own wisdom and needs me there simply as a witness, unassuming caretaker and gentle guide.

In similar cyclical fashion, right around this time for the last two years, I received a call from Jamie’s parents. “Hi Larry”, says Tom, Jamie’s dad, “Jamie just finished 4th grade and asked to see you; he misses you.” Tom went on to describe how his creative, playful and precociously intelligent and self-aware child had flourished and evolved despite the challenging climate of public school. Now, a rising fifth-grader, Jamie was again expressing anxiety over leaving the familiar landscape of fourth grade.

I first met Jamie when a mere sprig of a second-grader, who at the time was nervous at home and at school, fearful of making mistakes, prone to clashes with his parents and the occasional classmate as well as very sensitive to criticism. Our therapeutic play was at his pleasure, not my design, as I believed a client-centered approach best fit his growing needs. I trusted that through his drawing, role-plays, arts-and-crafting as well as popular culture-based story telling that he would play out exactly what he needed to express; and that my non-directive feedback would provide whatever additional insight he might have needed.

It was now two and-a-half years later, and there stood Jamie in the middle of my therapeutic playroom, surveying all the possibilities before him. Without flinching, he quickly went to work; reminding the bobo doll who was boss, animating a group of hand puppets in lively conversation about fears, worries and confidence, and finally turning to me saying “I’m done, let’s go talk to my parents about why they brought me here.”

And so it was! This little mango tree named Jamie told me exactly what he wanted and needed, reminding me of my role and its limitations while imparting a simple lesson that applies to mango trees and child therapy alike. Trust in their wisdom, potential to grow and ability to tell you exactly what they need. The measure of the bounty will be its own reward.  

Allen Frances on the DSM-5, Mental Illness and Humane Treatment

Where DSM-5 Went Wrong

Lawrence Rubin: I first became familiar with your work around five years ago when I was teaching abnormal psychology. So, I’ll start off by saying that you’ve had a very interesting professional evolution. You were involved in the preparation of the DSM-III series, chaired the DSM-IV task force, but then became a strident critic of its successor, the DSM-5. Were you as critical of the DSM-III and IV, as you were of 5?
Allen Frances, MD: Well, I worked on the DSM-III, and I was one of the conservative voices trying to restrict the enthusiasm for expanding diagnoses beyond what I thought would be reasonable. I did my best, mostly unsuccessfully to provide the check on what seemed to me to be an ever-expanding diagnostic system. For DSM-IV, we established very high thresholds for making changes. And it turned out that we included only two diagnoses from the 94 that had been submitted to us as suggestions. We told the people working on DSM-IV that they would have to prove with very careful literature, if you used data reanalysis in the field trials, that any change would do more harm than good. And when you have high standards, very few new innovations get included.So, my concern about DSM-5 was that the experts doing it were given just the opposite instructions; to take the diagnostic system more as a blank slate and to be creative.

And if I’ve learned anything during these 40 years I’ve worked on DSM’s, it’s that if anything can be misused, it will be misused, especially if there’s a financial incentive.

And pharma, the big drug companies, have a tremendous financial incentive in making sure that every DSM decision is misused by expansion, so that people who are basically checked well are treated as if they’re sick. They become the best customers for pills. And drug companies have become experts in selling the ill to peddle the pill. So, I was very concerned the DSM-5 would have the negative effect of opening the floodgates even further to what seems to me to be fairly wild diagnosing, excessive use of medication, especially in kids, but also in adults and geriatric populations.

LR: So get as many new diagnoses out there as we can; make money, comport with the drug companies.
AF: I think that’s a misunderstanding. The people doing this were not doing this as an effort to curry favor among the drug companies, although many of them had some connection, a financial connection with pharma. I don’t think that that’s the motivation that lead to the DSM-5 expansions. I think intellectual conflicts of interest are much more important, and much more difficult to control than financial. And the experts in the field are always in the direction of expanding their pet diagnosis. They can always imagine a patient they’ve seen, who couldn’t fit into the existing criteria, and they worried very little about false positives.They were much more concerned about missing a patient, than mislabeling someone who shouldn’t be diagnosed. I think the people working on DSM-5 were honest. I don’t think that they had any inclination to help the drug companies, but their own experiences as experts in the field don’t generalize well to average practice.So, if you’re working as a research psychiatrist on a very exotic condition at a university clinic seeing highly selected patients, having lots of time with every patient, using careful diagnostic instruments, you get an idea about what might make sense. That’s completely inappropriate for primary care practice, where most of the diagnosis is done, and most of the medication is prescribed. I think experts were making decisions that might be reasonable in their own hands, but that would be absolutely dreadful once used widely in general practice.

LR: So, just a seeming disconnect between the researchers in these rarefied atmospheres and those frontline folks seeing people day to day!
AF: Exactly. And I think that this goes for all manifestations; what we see in psychiatry is not at all special to it. That every single branch of medicine has an inherent systematic bias towards overdiagnosis. Recently, the new guidelines on hypertension resulted in something like 40 million additional people being called hypertensive.Guidelines should not be left in the hands of professional associations. They should be done by people who are neutral. And use experts, but don’t allow them to call the final shots

A Diagnosis Should be Written in Pencil

LR: Have you seen any discernible impact of your anti DSM-5 sentiments in the last five years since its publication? Has the field shifted back to listening to some of the concerns that you and others have had in terms of overdiagnosis and lowering thresholds?
AF: Yeah. And again, it’s not just psychiatry. This has been a problem in every single medical and surgical specialty. And there is an increasing chorus of Davids fighting the huge Goliaths. The huge Goliaths in this case are the drug companies and the professional specialty organizations who have vested interest. The medical industrial complex is now a $3 trillion-dollar industry. And it is most profitable when people who are basically well, feel sick, and get treatments they don’t need. And so, its tremendous budgets are expanded by the demand of all medicine in the direction of increasing patienthood and recommending ever more expensive treatments.The Davids fighting this are just a small group of people with very limited budgets, but sometimes right does make for might. And the medical journals in general have become much more aware of overdiagnosis. I’ll be at two meetings this summer, one in Helsinki, and one in Copenhagen, both focused not just on psychiatry, but across medicine and surgery on the topic of overdiagnosis. There’s an institute called the Lown Institute that’s working very hard to promote right care rather than excessive care. And there’s a wonderful initiative called Choosing Wisely, in which the various medical specialties are identifying those areas, where there’s excessive diagnoses and treatment.And I think in psychiatry and psychology, there’s been an increased realization that there are risks to diagnoses as well as benefits. And seeing any individual patient, it’s very important to adapt the general guidelines to that person’s specific situation, and to ensure that a diagnosis will be more helpful than harmful. It’s the easiest thing in the world to give a diagnosis. It only takes a few mindless minutes, and very often diagnoses are given precisely that way. Eighty percent of medication is dispensed in primary care practice, often after visits of less than ten minutes. A diagnosis once given, can have terrible consequences that haunt and last a lifetime.

And so, from my perspective, a diagnosis should be a very particular moment in a patient’s life. It should be, when done well, a very important positive moment.

A good diagnosis leads to feeling understood, to no longer having a sense of confusion and uncertainty about the future.  It helps the patient develop, with the doctor or the psychologist a treatment plan that may have a tremendous positive influence on their future. An inaccurate diagnosis carries unnecessary stigma and the likelihood of medication that will do more harm than good. And again, that haunting inability to ever get it erased. Because things evolve over time and people change from week to week, people usually come for help at their worst moment, and how they look at that moment may not be characteristic of their past or predictive of their future. I think it’s crucially important to take diagnosis seriously. A great way of putting this is a diagnosis should be written in pencil.

LR: I like that.
AF: Especially in kids.

On the Diagnosis of Children

LR: It seems that what you’re saying is that there’s this overt and covert attempt to enfeeble consumers. And you’ve written a lot online recently and seem really upset about what’s going on with children. Research seems to say that one in five are diagnosable, and one in 68 is on the autism spectrum. And you talked about stigma lasting a lifetime. Do you see that this is particularly the case when we hand out diagnoses to kids at very tender ages?
AF: First of all, never believe survey results that say one in X number of kids has the diagnosis. There’s an enormous systematic bias in all epidemiological studies. These are usually done by telephone, or by self-report, and they can never judge clinical significance. So, they’re only screeners that would at best provide an upper limit on the regular diagnosis, never a true rate but they’re not reported that way. And once it gets out, you know, it used to be that 1 in 2,000 or fewer kids had a diagnosis of autism. We changed that. One of the changes in DSM-IV was adding Asperger’s, which did dramatically increase the rate. But we expected the rate to increase by three times, not to go from 1 in 2,000 to 1 in 50, which has happened over the period of these last 20 years.And I think that some of that is identification of people who previously didn’t get the diagnosis and needed it, but a lot of it has to do with wild generalist diagnoses, and survey methods that are very misleading. I think that kids are very changeable, from week to week, and month to month. There are changes in development that are responsive to family stress and school stress, peer pressure. And what happens instead is we have wild overdiagnosis in attention deficit disorder and autism and this is done in a way that doesn’t respect the fact that these are young brains.We don’t know the impact of long term medication on the developing brain. It’s like a public health experiment that’s being done without informed consent. And all the indications for ADHD is that the beneficial results are short term. That academic performance over the long term is not positively impacted. That we should be a lot more cautious, both in diagnosis and in treatment, especially with young kids where diagnosis is so difficult, and where treatment may have negative as well as positive impacts. The most dramatic example of this is attention deficit disorder. There are five studies in different countries with millions of patients – not millions of patients, but millions of kids –and these have found that the best predictor of getting a diagnosis of ADHD and being treated for it with medication is whether you’re the youngest kid in the class. The youngest in the class is almost twice as likely to be diagnosed and treated than the oldest kid, which is clear cut proof positive, slam-bang evidence of overdiagnosis. Their immaturity is being turned into a disease, and kids are being treated with medication for basically just their immaturity. And the fact that the classrooms they’re in are too chaotic, and don’t have enough gym time, and don’t have enough individual attention.

LR: A woman wrote a chapter for one of my books, Mental Illness in Popular Media, on the use of adenoidectomies and tonsillectomies in the early part of the 20th century to deal with the seeming epidemic of kids who would today be diagnosed with ADHD. There seems to be this history of medicalization of childhood that you’re alluding to, and this perverse need we seem to have to enfeeble kids. And if anything, it seems that it will keep them more dependent, less productive, and less competent than ever before-an unintended side effect.
AF: I was one of the kids, who might have gotten the tonsillectomy.
LR: Me too.
AF: I remember that well. My father said “no, we’re not going to do that,” but the doctor recommended it, and all the kids on the block had gotten tonsillectomies. Medical diagnosis and treatment tends to run in fads. Over the course of history, there have been diagnoses and treatments that have sudden runs of popularity that now seem absurd. And some of our practices today will seem very troubling when looked at in the coming decades.
LR: Do you see Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder (DMDD) as being part of this fad bandwagon? And even though it’s got this fancy name, it’s still considered child bipolar disorder, and that’s really damming.
AF: What happened here was really nuts. There had been suggestions by psychiatrists heavily funded by the drug industry to include the child version of bipolar disorder in DSM-IV. And we rejected those suggestions, fearing that it would lead to a tremendous overdiagnosis of bipolar disorder in kids. Despite our rejection, the diagnosis suddenly became popular, partly because the drug companies finance these guys to go around the country giving conferences and partly because child psychiatrists can sometimes be very gullible. And very young children, even infants were getting antipsychotics for a fake bipolar disorder diagnosed in the early years of life. The field of child psychiatry became concerned about this and wanted to correct it, but the fix in DSM-5 was exactly wrongheaded. What should have been done is a black box, a warning in DSM-5 about the overdiagnosis of childhood bipolar disorder. And the caution that the kids should be seen carefully and over long periods of time, and that they should meet criteria before a diagnosis of bipolar was made.
LR: A black box warning?
AF: There should have been a warning about the dangerous fad. Instead, they substituted a new diagnosis that essentially is childhood temper tantrums, hoping the kids who previously had been mislabeled bipolar would get this lesser diagnosis instead, lesser because it wouldn’t imply the need for mood disorder medications that would imply a lifelong course. But why substitute a new diagnosis for temper tantrums that can be so easily misused.The system tends to accrete, rather than to sunset diagnoses. It tends to always be adding new things, rather than warning about, or eliminating things that are already in the system that may be dangerous. So, parents have to be very well-informed about their kids.

LR: And they’re not.
AF: And the concern often is, if I don’t get my kid a diagnosis, say of ADHD and medication, he’ll be behind in school. I think parents have to have the opposite concern, as well that the medications are being given out way too loosely, and they need to protect their kids from medication that may not be needed.That said, I get more criticism, from people who feel I defend medication too much. I’m absolutely convinced that medication is useful, when given carefully to the few. That it becomes harmful only when it’s handed out carelessly to the many. And the people who go in either direction, either blindly supporting the use of medication, or blindly opposing it, I think of both as extremist, and they do harm to the real needs of the people. But there will be, and are, a large number of people who need medication and can’t get it, either because of inadequate resources or problems with financing treatment. And we have to worry about the people who are neglected very much. At the same time, we have to be mindful of the fact that we have the paradox of over-treating people, who are basically well, while we’re neglecting those who are really in need and desperately unable to get the treatment that would be helpful for them.
LR: You wrote a blog post titled, “Please empathize with me, doctor!” And from what you’re describing Allen, it seems that we are struggling with a societal empathy deficit disorder. There seems to be a preference for scientizing our relationship with kids and with our patients at the expense of understanding, at the expense of taking the requisite time. And at the really painful expense of not empathizing with these people, who are just going to be tossed into the system with labels and scripts. Empathy deficit disorder, maybe it will be in DSM-VI, or DSM-2.0.
AF: We could use it for our president.
LR: We’ll save that for later.
AF: Actually, the issue goes all the way back to Hippocrates, the father of medicine 2,500 years ago.

But First, Do No Harm

LR: Do no harm.
AF: Do no harm. He also said that it’s more important to know the patient who has the disease, than the disease the patient has. I don’t trust clinicians who only do DSM check lists. They don’t know the patient. I don’t trust clinicians who don’t know DSM and do free-floating evaluations that don’t take into account the ways that the individual may have a problem that’s been well described and has a set of guidelines that will be very helpful. I think that every clinical encounter needs to be a combination of close person-to-person collaboration, that the DSM guideline should never be applied blindly to each individual because they vary within themselves. It has to be customized for that particular person’s own situation. At the same time, not knowing the DSM diagnoses is likely to result in missing things that would be crucially important in treatment planning.
LR: False negatives.
AF: Good interviewers are people who are able to form great relationships with their patients, work collaboratively in understanding the diagnosis and planning a treatment and able to use the DSM without worshiping it.
LR: It seems that what’s needed, as you say is more time, a deeper understanding and a reluctance to jump into a diagnosis. This seems antithetical to the way that psychiatry and even psychology are practiced today. And clinicians are under more and more pressure to assign a rapid diagnosis and develop a treatment plan within the first session or two. What advice do you have for clinicians who are under this type of pressure, and may not have the luxury of flexibility and time that we know is necessary?
AF: Well, first-off, the system is crazy. Insurance companies do this because they think it will restrict costs, but it has the perverse effect of forcing people to make premature decisions that often will result in more costly treatment. Giving a person a medication is likely to create a commitment to see that patient over a long period of time. Diagnosis can increase the lifelong cost of taking care of that person. If the insurance companies gave more time for evaluation, many, many of the problems that get a diagnosis and long-term treatment would pretty much go away on their own with time and simple advice.The system is counterproductive; the more time we spend upfront with people in the evaluation process, before diagnosis and before treatment, the fewer diagnoses will be necessary, the less lifetime treatment will be needed. And it will actually be much more cost effective to give people time to get to know the situation at the beginning. I think for practitioners, it’s important always to underdiagnose. That it’s crucial to first of all rule out the possible role of medication and symptoms. You know, very often, hundreds and hundreds of times in my career, new symptoms have been due to medication.
LR: Iatrogenic?
AF: The average person over 60 to 65 is taking five, six, seven pills. Recent studies showed how many of them have depression and anxiety as side effects. And the older people particularly are less able to clear medications. So, you have a combination of a bunch of medications that can cause side effects, and a person not being able to clear those medications. And new symptoms are often treated with yet another medication, rather than realizing it’s a side effect. I think that it’s important to rule out medications. It’s important to rule out substances. It’s important to rule out medical problems. That has to be done during the first sessions. I think that’s crucial. But beyond that, I think it’s important not to jump to lifelong diagnoses based on very limited information. And to tend, at the beginning at least, to normalize, rather than to pathologize the situation.We see people on the worst days of their lives and tend to draw conclusions about them. And their futures are often inaccurate. They look very different days and weeks later.

Mind, Body or Both

LR: How can the average psychotherapist develop a healthier relationship with the biopsychosocial model? I know you said, you have to look for substance abuse. You have to look at the iatrogenic effects of medication. You have to look at the psychotropics that they’re on. So, how does the average psychotherapist, who is not particularly savvy when it comes to psychotropics, really have a full biopsychosocial understanding of these complex organisms that are people?
AF: I think one of the great losses over time has been the biopsychosocial model, particularly because of the mindless warring between people who have narrow views that are biological, or just psychological, or just social. I think that it’s impossible to understand the complexities of human nature and of how we function and dysfunction without taking into account the biological, the psychological, and the social, and sometimes there’s spiritual issues that people come with. And I think it’s just as important that psychiatrists be good psychotherapists and understand the way that social pressures result in symptoms. And it’s equally important that psychologists understand diagnosis and also the use of medication. Even if you’re not prescribing it, it’s very important to understand when to and when not to use medication. If for no other reason, to make sure the patient’s not getting too much medication, as well as knowing when to refer. I think every clinician needs to be complete. I don’t think that training in one discipline gives permission not to be aware of the tools that are available more widely across disciplines.
LR: Do you think there’s such a thing as a psychosocial reductionism? I know there’s biomedical reductionism. Do you see a danger at the other end of the extreme, of psychosocial reductionism?
AF: Oh, definitely. Psychosocial reductionism, yeah, it’s alive and well, particularly in Britain where there’s an ongoing back and forth. An active segment of British psychologists has taken a pretty radical view that psychosis is on a continuum with normal. That biological elements have been way over-emphasized in schizophrenia. And that most of the problems patients present have to do with childhood trauma. And again, every point of view has value, but no one point of view is necessary and sufficient.
LR: There are many truths. There’s just as much psychosocial reductionism as there is biological reductionism in many of these debates. You know, talking about biomedical and psychosocial reductionism, I remember when, around the time that DSM-5 came out, NIMH really took a stand and said, “Yeah, nice work boys and girls, but we’re going to pretty much move to the RDoC.” A lot of psychotherapists practicing day to day, who don’t work in academia, don’t read a lot of the scholarly journals, don’t have the bloodiest idea of what the Research Domain Criteria is. Do you see that system as useful or valid? Specifically, how useful do you see it in alleviating some of these ills of overdiagnosis and wrongheaded treatment?
AF: Well, the DSM had tremendous promise as a research tool, but it’s failed in that the complexities of brain functioning, of genetics, have been so enormous, the more we learn, the more we realize how little we understand.The brain is the most complicated thing in the known universe. It reveals it secrets very slowly.  And it turns out that there are hundreds of genes involved in schizophrenia and every other psychiatric disorder, not just a few. And all of the neuroscience research has been remarkably productive. One of the great intellectual adventures of our time is the research that’s been done on how the brain works; however it hasn’t helped a single patient!

I think we have to be aware of the fact that there are no low-hanging fruits. That we’re not going to have breakthroughs that will explain schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. That each of these conditions is probably hundreds of thousands of different conditions that share some clinical features, but probably have very different biological underpinnings. And we shouldn’t be so dazzled by the science that we lose track of taking care of real patients in the present. I think there’s so much promise, so many high promises in the future, and our NIMH budget is being spent almost exclusively on basic science research, almost not at all on clinical research, that we’re ignoring the needs of patient today.

To me, it’s a tragedy that we have 350,000 patients in prisons, and 250,000 homeless on the street that we’re taking minimal care of, we’re neglecting people desperately in need. And that most of the research has its head in the air trying to find out things that maybe are going to be helpful to a tiny percentage of patients in the future. Meanwhile, we know how to take care of people now, we’re just not doing it.

We’re not making the investment in community treatment, housing, recovery programs, that would be necessary to eliminate the shame on our country. Almost every other developed country takes much better care of their mentally ill than we do. The U.S. is the worst place in the country to be severely ill. And it’s not a matter of neuroscience or science in general, it’s just the common sense, practical taking care of people and treating them as citizens, not neglecting them. And what we do in this country is provide almost no funding for community treatment and support

LR: It goes back to this idea of empathy deficit disorder. You talk about science, I like the point you make about the RDoC. That it’s a magnificent academic tool, but maybe in the year 2635, we’ll find a gene for some component of bipolar disorder, but how many people are going to struggle and lose their lives before that?
AF: And I don’t think we will find the gene. I think what we’ll find, it’s like breast cancer, we’ll find that there are certain genes predisposed in a very small percentage of the people who have the disorder. And that’s the complexity. There’s a paper that came out that had 250 authors that found 105 genes for schizophrenia, each of them a tiny bit different than normal. And the permutations and combinations of those genes would be astronomical. What that says is that the complexity of these disorders is so great that there will be no simple answers. In the meantime, we shouldn’t be allowing people to not have treatment and not have housing and to wind up in jail. And the resources, the techniques, the ways of preventing this, of making our country less of a shameful outlier in how we treat the mentally ill are perfectly obvious, it’s just a matter of funding and political will. And the severely mentally ill are the most disadvantaged, the most vulnerable population in our country.

It is the Relationship That Heals

LR: I find a bizarre paradox in all this. When I think of psychosocial treatment, I think of the amount of money, time, resources, the human capital, that’s being spent to develop these empirically supported treatments, and ultimately you end up with cognitive behavior therapy at the top of the heap. There seems to be this manic pull in psychology and psychotherapy to develop empirically supported treatments, which many argue take the heart and soul out of the human connection, out of psychotherapy. Do you have any thoughts about this scientific perversion and how it’s affected the field of, and the practice of psychotherapy?
AF: I don’t think it’s so much scientific perversion. I think it’s economic pressures; that every therapy wants to gain a list of insurance companies who will pay for it. And this leads to a kind of competition to prove that your work is validated. I’ve been following this field now for 40 years. I was on the NIMH committee that used to fund psychotherapy projects that no longer exist, of course, because of NIMH’s current focus on the brain. But the overwhelming finding in the literature is that all of – this is a paper that was published 40 years ago by Lester Luborsky – all have run, all have won, and all deserve prizes. That all psychotherapies can be helpful. More of the outcome, of the variance in outcomes is returned by the therapist through a client relationship, than it is by specific techniques. That it’s kind of silly to have a competition amongst therapy techniques because all are necessary.I think to be a therapist, you should be well-versed in every single type of therapy, because patients vary between, and also even within themselves and what they need in a given moment. And it’s not as if one, as if cognitive techniques are inherently better than techniques that focus on psychology or the social situation. Different techniques are going to be different at different moments. And the technique in general is useful only in the context of a relationship that’s nurturing and healing. And the most important thing in the healing of psychotherapy is probably the nature of the relationship, and the need for a personal match between the two people. I think that it’s been an unfortunate – there’s been an unfortunate tendency to develop competitions. Competitions between medications versus psychosocial approaches. Competitions among the various psychotherapy techniques.A really well-rounded clinician has to be good at everything, and especially has to be good at relating to the people that they’re trying to treat.

LR: I have to tell you Allen, it’s refreshing to hear a medical man, a psychiatrist in particular, especially one who is that connected to the history of the DSM know about the Dodo effect, and to really appreciate that. So, you have the average therapist working in the average practice in a community mental health center, maybe even in a homeless shelter, recognizing that the technique is not nearly as important as the relationship. And then they come across a client, who seems psychotic in the moment, or seems to have a history from limited information of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia, and their knee-jerk reaction may be “I have to get this person to a psychiatrist. I have to find out what’s medically wrong with them.” What does that average line worker do, knowing in their heart that their relationship is critical, but that they have this biomedical pressure to refer to a psychiatrist, or even a primary care physician?
AF: Well, I think everything is important. You mentioned primary care physicians. People with schizophrenia die 20 years earlier than the rest of the population. And that gulf has increased in recent years and is much higher in the U.S. than it is in other country, because we neglect the people so much. There isn’t one answer.

Taking it to the Streets

There’s not one size fits all. And there isn’t one answer to people who have tremendous problems at every level. I mean, the first thing with a homeless person might be sharing some orange juice. It’s forming a relationship. It’s finding out a way where they can have housing. It’s not as if the answer to our blanket neglect is going to be getting an appointment once a month with the psychiatrist and getting a pill. That may be a necessary part of the plan, but certainly won’t be sufficient.

Los Angeles is now embarking on what may be the most encouraging experiment in taking care of the severely mentally ill that I’ve seen in this country in the least 40 years. It will be an approach that will be actually a combination of getting out to where the people are who need help, figuring out what they want, and helping them get it. You know, maybe the first step is providing showers, and a welcoming environment, and a place to have lunch. And the housing is going to be probably more important than treatment.

If you can’t get someone a decent place to live, the rest of the treatment is going to be very hard to carry out.

We have to figure out a way of getting the patients out of prisons and getting the people on the street into decent places to live. We had all of this until the Reagan Administration in 1980. The community mental health centers and housing were an increasing and exciting part of the care. We led the world in the ‘60s and ‘70s, in trying to devise community treatments. And now we are at the very bottom of the pack, one of the most heartless places in the world. One of the worst places in the world if you’re mentally ill. It’s not going to be a solution that takes into account just one need. It’s going to have to be a kind of total approach that includes the police, the sheriffs, the prisons, the district attorneys, the judges and the politicians. And that’s exactly what’s happening now in Los Angeles, and that may serve hopefully as a model for the rest of the country.

LR: As a psychotherapist, I listen to the inflections and the changing tone in your voice. And there’s such enthusiasm and energy when you talk about all that can be. And there’s a discernible lilt in your voice, almost a down-turning in your overall demeanor when you talk about the way things are.
AF: I think one of the things that’s crucially important to understand is that the symptoms we see in the very ill aren’t necessarily inherent to their condition, but rather maybe a reaction to the social context in which they’re living. The example 60 years ago was we kept people warehoused in terrible snake pit state hospitals. And the observation was that the hospitals were making them sicker, because of the social neglect within in. What’s happening now in the United States is that by neglecting people and leaving them without treatment and without housing on the street, we see much sicker patients here than in other countries that provide better care.So, the paradigm of good care here is Trieste. And I’ve heard over many years, how wonderful the Trieste system was in treating the severely ill, without hospitals, without restraint, and with minimal medication, but not the high doses and multiple medicines that are given in the United States. And I never believed it until I visited. And now I’ve been there three times over the last five years, and it’s an absolute miracle. Trieste takes good care of the people with severe mental illness and treats them like citizens. It has social clubs for them and a career path. The Trieste Mental Health System runs two hotels, five cafes, a car service, and a landscaping business, so that people who start out as patients, wind up working in the system. They have housing. They take good care, and they treat people with respect. And their patients are a lot less sick than ours.They just don’t get to the levels of psychopathology that we see in this country because there’s such neglect along the way. And the message in this is, treating the casualties, the train wrecks, is a lot more expensive and heart breaking than doing the right thing at the right time, earlier in the course before the illness progresses. I think there is a tremendous shame as a civilization that what we’ve done is fail to provide.

Ever since the Reagan Administration, we’ve failed to provide community housing and community treatment, rehab, and recovery. And instead we hospitalize hundreds of thousands of individuals in prison.  We’ve imprisoned hundreds of thousands of individuals, who should be in community programs, and maybe very occasional inpatient stays. We see them on the street every day and I just pass them by. My hope is that Los Angeles will be a beacon that things can be different.

LR: Is the Trieste system similar to L’Arche?
AF: It actually started in the ‘60s, with the closing of the large mental hospitals in Italy. And the system is based on the idea that everyone can be helped, everyone’s a citizen, everyone deserves respect, and that the community funds adequate social programs and treatment programs, and housing programs, and job programs. And they make the assumption that each person can be a useful citizen in the community. And when people get sick, instead of throwing them in a hospital and keeping them there for a long time or throwing them into prison which is what we do, or instead of keeping them on the street, there is tremendous concern for them and individual attention for them in figuring out a way back to health. And it just works. It’s miraculous. And people don’t ever get as sick as the people we see on the streets and in our prisons and our emergency rooms, because they’re treated with respect and care.

Reaganomics and Mental Health Care

LR: What do you think happened back in the Reagan era that directed us away from compassion, and away from potential? What happened?
AF: I mean, it’s very clear, this history couldn’t be more explicit and disheartening. The Kennedy Family, because they had mistreated one of their family members, had a huge personal interest in this themselves. In the ‘60s, there was the first use of medications to help people who were previously hospitalized to live in the community. And there was a bill, the Community Mental Health Center Bill that established all across America, the notion that we could help the individuals better in the community than by warehousing them in state hospitals. The money was meant to come from the state hospitals, so it seemed like and was a tremendously cost-effective transformation that we would close the state hospitals, and instead spend the money on community services and housing. And with the provision the medication people could be managed, creating for them to live much better lives outside of hospitals than within, and it would be cheaper.All of this was working. I worked in places in the ‘60s and early ‘70s that were quite remarkable in helping people find new lives outside the hospital. What Reagan did in the ‘80s was to send block grants, and this should sound familiar because it’s exactly what Trump wants to be doing now. Instead of providing federal support for these programs, Reagan said we’ll take this money and send it back to the states and them let them spend it the way they want to spend it. And what the states did almost uniformly was either use the money to reduce taxes, or use the money for other priorities or general funds. And the community mental health centers were gradually defunded and privatized. And private systems will never take care of the severely ill, because they’re expensive to take care of. So, the community mental health centers that survived, did so by restricting themselves to healthier patients, who had more money and fewer needs.And some went out of business altogether, some switched into behavioral health centers, treating people who were much healthier and neglecting those who were really ill. So, what we did in the ‘80s was destroy what in the ‘60s and ‘70s was the most innovative and one of the most effective [community mental health] systems in the world. The rest of the world continued to care for the mentally ill in a much more humane way, and it gets much, much better results. And the paradox in the states was that with the closing of the community mental health centers, many of the individuals untreated on the street committed petty crimes and sometimes not so petty crimes that resulted in their being in prison. And we’ve had this tremendous increase in the number of prison beds so that the LA County Jail is the biggest psychiatric facility in America. And in many states, the biggest psychiatric facility is now a prison. That the money that should have been spent on community treatment that had been spent on snake pit hospitals is now spent on prisons, and there’s kind of prison industrial complex that keeps that going.

LR: So, it’s a reactionary swing back to the early part of the 20th Century, when criminals and the mentally ill were merged. And a misappropriation of funds.The Republican agenda to decentralize the federal government, combined with various historical, sociological and financial factors, and these poor people were and are just caught in the crosshairs.
AF: Yeah, until the early 1800s, psychiatric patients were criminalized, along with prisoners and the poor in horrible facilities. The father of psychiatry is Pinel. And in the early 1800s, he freed the patients from the chains, treated them like decent human beings and citizens, and got remarkable results. And that led to the state hospital movement which was originally a positive movement…
LR: A community.
AF: Yeah, gave people a place to live and work. And they usually had farms, they had workshops. And it was only if these became overcrowded in the early parts of the 20th Century, that they turned into snake pits and asylums. That led to the deinstitutionalization movement that began in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. And it led to a community mental health center movement that was really quite encouraging and effective in the ‘60s, ‘70s, and early ‘80s. And that was pretty much destroyed from the mid ‘80s on. And at this point, we have very few effective community mental health center initiatives in our country, and we have lots of prisons treating the mentally ill, and the mentally ill on street corners in all the major cities.
LR: A reactionary swing back to the past.
AF: Privatization doesn’t work. I mean, if we’ve learned anything about healthcare, mental healthcare, and healthcare in general, it is that a for-profit system will result in way too much treatment for people who don’t need it, and way too little treatment for the people who do.
LR: So, we need psychotherapists out there as social workers more or less. Maybe more training at the graduate level, at least in psychology and counseling in the direction of community mental health and social advocacy.
AF: In all of the mental health fields, there’s been way too much attention to treating the easy patient and the well-paying patient, and way too little of taking care of the people, who really need our help. And I think that the most wonderful experiences of my life have been the saves of people who seem to be beyond saving. And anyone can treat someone who doesn’t really need treatment.
LR: Right.
AF: We should be trying to focus our attention on those who really need us.

The Twilight of American Sanity

LR: We’re sort of winding down and I wanted to ask about this irrepressible current in you…about the impetus for writing Twilight of American Sanity: A Psychiatrist Analyzes the Age of Trump, and what you think is going on in government and in our society? I see Trump as a symptom rather than the disease, but would you mind talking about what you think is going on, from a psychiatric, psychological point of view?
AF: I started writing the book well before Trump began running for office. I’m concerned for my children and grandchildren, and the future generations more generally, about the fact that our society was delusional in ignoring global warming, overpopulation and resource depletion. And a bunch of other problems that are so obvious and common sense just sliding right by, as if we can hand on to the next generation a world that’s degraded and dangerous. And so that was before Trump. Trump is a mirror to our soul and the reflection ain’t pretty.And he is a symptom, not the cause, but he’s certainly making the disease much worse. I think there has never been a threat to American democracy like this one since 1860. And this election, this midterm election is to me the third most consequential election in the history of our country, the other two being 1860 with Lincoln’s election, and 1932 with Roosevelt. I think that Trump is a direct danger to our democracy. His attack on the free press, on the court systems, on the institutional checks and balances is not a joke. And that at this point, the sides are fixed. I don’t think either side is going to give into the others. And I think the crucial thing will be the vote, getting out the vote. And anyone who cares about this country, and cares about – I think that Trump could be responsible for more deaths in the next century than Hitler or Stalin and Mao combined. I think global warming is an existential threat to our species. And that we don’t know where the tipping point is, but we’re likely approaching it without taking out an insurance policy.People in their individual lives have insurance policies even though they don’t expect to die tomorrow, or have a fire, or an accident, you just protect the future. And we’re tripping over the cliff of global warming without taking an insurance policy for our kids and grandkids, that the world will be livable for them. I feel a sense of despair if our country is not able to right itself. And it was a wonderful thing that we were able to elect a black president ten years ago. It will be a much worse horrible terrifying future if at this point we re-elect the people who have been willing to give Trump such a wide leeway in destroying our country and our world.

LR: Well said. I think that we have a responsibility as therapists, as mental health clinicians to be aware of what’s going on because many of our clients are the day-to-day recipients of some of the changes in policy that are being created. I think psychologist, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, need to be politically aware without becoming politically depressed.
AF: I think it’s important not to be psychologically name-calling Trump. Thinking of Trump as crazy, tremendously underestimates his evil and cunning. We have to fight Trump with political tools, not with psychological tools. I think as therapists, we need to help most of our patients – I think you can’t politicize treatment.And so, a good therapist should be able to treat someone who is a Trumpists and should not try to get into political discussions with their clients and patients. I think as citizens, it’s an important thing for every therapist who cares about the social safety net of our country. The biggest factors with mental illness don’t come from within psychology and psychiatry. The biggest factors of mental illness come from social forces.Inequality or poverty are tremendous drivers of mental illness. I think it’s a responsibility for therapists to be political, not in calling Trump names but rather in getting out the vote. There’s the Kansas thing and getting their friends to register, getting their family members to register. Because I think everything has to do at this point with the numbers of people who show up in November. And I think there may be some therapists who support Trump, it’s hard to imagine, but by and large, most therapists and most people they know will be on the side of trying to protect democracy and protect our environment. And so, I think the most important thing a therapist can do at this point is to help get out the vote.

LR: Do you think mental health treatment and funding for mental health at the community level is in danger, with this and similar administrations?
AF: Oh, yeah, Trump recently, yesterday, there was a news report that what the Republicans are going to try to do to cut Obamacare is to cut out the [mental health] parity elements in plans.
LR: All that work! All that work!
AF: And the Medicaid funding of the original Trumpcare bills was to do block grants, rather than to be supporting mental health, which is exactly what Reagan did.Our patients are being targeted by the irresponsible GOP Congress and by Trump.

LR: We don’t want to end this conversation on a depressing note.
AF: Well, the good news is that things are flexible, and that ten years ago we elected a black president, two years ago we elected a black-hearted president. And the country is fickle, and things are very much in the balance. And it is conceivable to me that we’re heading down the drain to a fascist autocracy. And billions of people dying in global warming in the next century. It’s also conceivable to me that there are fixers, and that this is a temporary worst moment and things have to look better. And really, I think it’s in the hands of who votes in November.

The Relationship is All

LR: I guess this is sort of a summary question – if you were to look back and advise a younger Allen Frances, what advice would you have given him early on his career that might have changed his direction, or are you pretty content the way it’s played out?
AF: It played out mostly by accident, and then it’s just doing your job. I don’t think that there’s – I think, there’s actually one advice to people; it’s listening to the clients/patients you’re working with and learn from them.
LR: They’re our best teachers if we let them.
AF: And be yourself. You can learn everything, but also be yourself.
LR: It’s refreshing, again coming from a psychiatrist, just on a personal note, my brother is a psychiatrist, retiring at the end of this month after 40 years. He’s cleaning up his slate of 350 patients. And I wonder what it will be like for him as he looks back on his career. How many did he help, and which ones stand out. Do you have any one particular client story that inspires you?
AF: I think this is the most telling thing, and this might be helpful to people. That I’ve treated people for 14 years and had no impact on their lives. I’ve worked in emergency rooms my whole career. And I’ve seen people for five minutes and they’d come back years later and said, you said that and it changed my life. You never know when what you say may have a tremendous impact on someone. And so, every contact with every person you see, at every moment, you should be thinking about what can I say that may make a difference. And if you treat people as humans, then every moment can be potentially impactful, not every pill, not every symptom, not every diagnosis. I guess the core message in our conversation has been that you really have to focus on the person.I mean, the two words that have had the most impact on people that I remember over the years is “do it,” because people would come in concerned, should I do this, or should I do that? I just say “do it.” And somehow at that moment it crystallized their energy and their motivation to do something that they wanted to do. We shouldn’t be shy in trying to figure out what it is that might help someone do something they couldn’t do.The relationship is all.

Burning Out After Jumping In: Reflections From the F

Some days, I question why I became a social worker. Other days, I wonder why I chose to work at an inpatient psychiatric facility for the past two years of my life. Coincidentally, these last two years were my first years in the field post graduate school. The reason I find myself working at an inpatient facility is a much less dynamic mystery—I was hired straight out of grad school by the hospital I did my first-year internship with. I remember it vividly. I was nearing graduation with a mountain of student loan debt, armed with an Ivy League education and ambition to help others. Secretly, I was crippled with anxiety about exiting the comfort that being in school provided. So, like most people, I jumped at the first job I was offered. Mystery solved.

However, wondering why I became a clinician is a recurring thought. Sometimes I find myself pondering the motivation behind my entire career path. On other more hectic days, I gravitate towards the more stress-fueled variety of that question: Why the (expletive) did I choose to dedicate my life to helping others who, more often than not, don’t want my help?! Why am I swimming in debt to provide services to patients who would rather do literally anything than attend my groups?

It occurred to me recently—can this be burnout so early in my chosen career? Is it possible to be burned out after two years of practice? Apparently so. Okay, so, we’ve established that I’m burned out. The question now evolves to—what do I do about it? I engage in self-care daily. I have a beautiful horse that I ride as much as possible; I have a wonderful husband who supports me in every way; I journal; I participate in mindfulness; I play with my dogs, I don’t take work home with me. But, on the worst, most chaotic days—that’s not enough.

If I’ve learned anything from my years on this planet—what’s right for one is not right for others. I don’t presume to have the answers for anyone but myself. Though, I know I’m not the first to wonder if it’s too late for a career change because I just can’t take anymore (just a side note—I’ve investigated essentially every profession that does not deal with other living human beings). So, I’m not sure if this is the “right” approach, but here’s what I’ve determined: burnout is eased by the days that a patient says, “thank you.” Okay, that’s ridiculously simple and people are rolling their eyes thinking, “Yeah, someone says thank you and then all your stress and compassion fatigue just vanishes?” Definitely not.

But, today a patient walked into my office. Uninvited… sure!, but “come on in” I said! He said to me, “When I first got here, you made me nervous because you are a smart woman. But, I have to tell you that I’ve learned so much from your groups. You have a heart of gold and have helped me more than you know.” This person then proceeded to recite ideas that were shared in my groups and was applying them to his particular situation. He illustrated how certain topics helped him in specific ways throughout his admission. I won’t pretend that this interaction erased the layers upon layers of burnout hovering over me like an aggravating, stress filled cloud. But, I can say with confidence that this conversation reminded me why I became a social worker. This five-minute discussion is the answer to the recurring question: why did I enter this field?

Burnout remains a mystery to me. I know I haven’t introduced an unfamiliar idea into the narrative around this subject. Though, if you’re anything like me, and you feel like you’re doing as much self-care as one human can possibly do yet continue to feel dread as you pull into the parking lot at work—then gratitude is the sprinkle of motivation essential to putting the car in park and carrying on with the day. And maybe it is just enough to keep me moving forward into this new and strangely rewarding career.
 

When Your Client Dreams about You

Things were not all good between my client and me, but I had no idea. She showed up promptly and consistently, seemed to like me, at times even told me how much the therapy was helping her. Yet she often seemed uncomfortable, preferring to fill the session with detailed accounts of her life rather than engage in the directly experiential way I like to invite. My role became that of a witness, a compassionate listener for sure, but rather a passive one. I thought, okay, this is our dance-step.

Then she brought the following dream: I was cleaning her house and had done rather a cursory job of it. The house was still so incredibly unkempt she had rolled up her sleeves and was tackling the lion’s share of the job herself. Later I show up with a flashlight and am opening up rooms she never visits, illuminating darkened corners.

The metaphors here are pretty darn obvious, so I won’t belabor them. If we read the dream as a commentary on the therapeutic relationship, I am clearly getting a mixed review – leaving her to clean up her own house because I’ve done such a bad job of it, but also encouraging her to look into areas (inside herself or in her life) that she would otherwise not visit.

What I love about this example is that the dream becomes the vehicle for the client to comment on the therapy process in a way that she would never have done otherwise. I try hard to level the playing field, be open and immediate with my clients, invitational, friendly, casual – in all ways endeavor to make the therapy relationship feel safe enough for clients to say anything. But often it’s only through dreams that I hear truly honest commentary on the things that don’t sit right with them about my job as their therapist.

This argument for listening to dreams extends further. In my personal experience as a client, I have found dreams open up avenues I would otherwise not walk down. The unflinching honesty of dreams at times makes me cringe – they are like that good friend who will tell you when you have spinach in your teeth or have behaved badly.

The most profound therapy session of my life was precipitated by a dream. I was born very premature and in the germ-phobic mid-60s, so I was kept sealed off in an incubator, touched only as needed for the first six weeks of my life. I had another near-death experience as an adolescent, when, convinced I was invincible, dove under a waterfall and then got carried deep underwater by the powerful current, nearly drowning before I resurfaced.

I had a powerfully scary dream that wove these two events together, and because I was seeing a Jungian analyst at the time, naturally I brought the dream to our session. We revisited the dream material, re-entered the dream, sketched it… but all this did was underscore the profound sense of aloneness contained in the dream. Then my therapist asked me to re-enact a part of the dream where I reach out and no one is there. In that moment, he grabbed my outstretched hand firmly and looked me right in the eye, reaching back across the years to provide a firm supportive presence to that lonely baby and that teenager. It was so unexpected it sent a kind of shock wave through my body.

This profound moment had ripple effects that ultimately shifted my sense of self and relationship. Yet I would not have brought the topic up had I not had that dream. I have now been working with dreams, my own and those of others, for more than 20 years. Sadly in that time, I have seen dreamwork fall out of fashion. I am hoping the examples offered here show that dreamwork is not just some quaint antiquated practice but one that has current relevance: we all dream about things that are deeply authentic and that are too often left out of the therapeutic conversation.

Why Therapists Choose Online Therapy for Themselves

More and more fellow therapists contact me to seek online therapy (through video-conferencing) for themselves. They come from various places – rural areas or large cities, and from different continents.

What are the reasons explaining this choice?

In a survey that I ran this year with online therapy users about their rationale for choosing this setting, several practitioners happened to be among the responders. One of the reasons they named was that they already knew socially all the good local therapists. This is particularly true for smaller towns and rural areas, but it also often becomes the case after a few years of practice in larger cities.

Another reason is the broadened choice of practitioners. Therapists make sophisticated clients: they usually know what they are looking for, and want a particular approach that may not be available locally. With online therapy, the options are almost endless.

For trainees, having access to a long list of online therapists makes things more affordable, especially for those training in places like New York, California, or London, where the rates of therapists are higher.

Additionally, more and more therapists move frequently to another state, city, or even country. Mobility naturally brings people to online therapy, because when they move they don’t necessarily want to discontinue treatment and start over with a new therapist

My own experience actually combined both – mobility and training needs. When I reached out to an online therapist I was in training, with personal therapy hours to accumulate for my professional accreditation. Simultaneously, I was facing an international move, and it was causing me a great deal of emotional turmoil. It was not my first expatriation, but this time it was hitting me hard – I was feeling uprooted against my will, immensely angry at the circumstances and literally sick with anxiety. I was relocating to a country where I did not speak the language well enough to reach out to a local therapist. A therapist online, with face-to-face sessions via videoconferencing, seemed like a reasonably good option. It turned out to be a bold choice that worked for me.

Beyond these practicalities there is a subtler psychological reason: the feeling of shame.

Marie Adams discusses therapists’ mental health in The Myth Of The Untroubled Therapist: there is a tacit expectation for us, as therapists, to be “all sorted.” But ironically enough, we are not immune to the shame associated with mental health struggles.

Reaching out to a therapist who comes from a different cultural background and lives thousands of miles away can help us overcome the “shame barrier.” Many of my clients acknowledge that online therapy allowed them to jump into it, overcoming the very natural feeling of shame associated with the exposure that any therapy requires.

Among my online clients, therapists make a very inspiring bunch. Negotiating this particular type of peer therapeutic relationship presents its own fascinating challenges. The enhanced face-to-face experience offered by the screen enables intimacy for therapists who often find it uncomfortable to be in the client’s chair or, in this case, on the other side of the screen.

The online option may also foster cross-cultural exchanges beyond borders: there is no better way of satisfying our curiosity about how colleagues work in a different culture. I remember my own excitement as I first reached out to a therapist across the Atlantic.

As with everything new, the very idea of a therapy that is not in one single room but rather through video-conferencing can be associated with some risk-taking. I hear cautious or even suspicious remarks, mainly from therapists who have not yet tried this new way of making therapy happen. This being said, are we not expecting our clients to take risks daily, venturing into new territories? Therapy, by its very nature, is about risk taking, and as our world changes we have to adapt, and possibly take on the role of explorers ourselves. 

Eliana Gil on Play Therapy and Working with Traumatized Children

What is Play Therapy

Lawrence Rubin: Eliana, you are perhaps most well-known for using art and play therapy to help traumatized children. But first let’s take a step back by opening the conversation around play therapy, because many of the people who will be reading this interview may not have had formal training or experience with this form of intervention or may work with children but still may have questions about how play therapy works. What exactly is play therapy and how can play be used therapeutically?
Eliana Gil: I think that there are so many misunderstandings about play therapy.
I have a very good friend who always says, “I can see where the play is, I just don’t get where the therapy is.”
I have a very good friend who always says, “I can see where the play is, I just don’t get where the therapy is.” In other words, I think because play is such a generic activity – a worldwide activity – and people are so used to children playing in the parks and the playgrounds, that it is very difficult for them to think that such a spontaneous behavior can have any therapeutic benefit.

So, I always say to people that play inherently has some very curative qualities, as Charlie Schaefer has discussed so well. Play gives kids the ability to solve problems, to pretend, to compensate for feelings that are very difficult to express, to have fun, and to delight in. All of those are really positive things and it’s clear that play tends to release endorphins. You’re also forming bonds with the person that you’re playing with. So, there are all kinds of inherent qualities that a child is engaged in when they’re using play.

When kids come to a therapeutic relationship there’s a relational piece that’s built in where the therapist is viewing the child’s play and interpreting that play in a different way than an untrained person. A therapist is going to look at the child’s play with a different lens and begin to interpret it as the child’s way of releasing emotions or trying to process things that are difficult for them to express because they may be worried about something or they may be feeling conflicted about something.

In other words, I think what ends up happening with kids when they come into that therapeutic environment is that there’s an expression of things that are very internalized that begin to make their way out into the open so that therapists can learn about them. I always trust that whatever is on the child’s mind will come forward – and that if we give them specific kinds of props then there are things that are really going to be much more amenable to symbolic play. What we’re trying to do is gain an understanding of something that’s internalized and that children may not have words for. So, again, the context of a play therapy environment is much more structured than free play, and the therapist is focused on the child’s play in a different way than you would be if you were simply playing with a child.
I think what ends up happening with kids when they come into that therapeutic environment is that there’s an expression of things that are very internalized that begin to make their way out into the open so that therapists can learn about them.

Free play tends to have very few goals. I think the intent when you’re doing play therapy is to advance certain goals that have to do with a child’s growth, or removing obstacles that they may be experiencing towards development, or helping them deal with traumatic events that they can’t figure out what to do with except they have big feelings or they have thoughts that they can’t really make sense of. So, the therapeutic relationship is intended to help create this environment of trust and comfort so that the child can do some of the things that they will do naturally if given the time, space, and proper context. 
LR: You talk about play therapy as such a natural outgrowth of play in the hands of someone who appreciates it, understands it and uses it intentionally with children. What do you think are some of the essential ingredients that make for a good play therapist?
EG: Yes. That’s a really good question. I think that for the most part it has to be somebody who feels really comfortable with children who can find some benefit of their own in the experience of sitting with a child. I think they have to be relationally-oriented and comfortable with connections that are emotional. It’s interesting because you meet so many different kinds of play therapists. Every now and then I say, “Wow. It’s hard to believe that they do play therapy.” When I say that it’s usually because I find a person who is a little bit more rigid in her thinking or looks a little bit physically uncomfortable or shy, and yet that same person with a child could be completely different, you know?

I think many of our play therapy colleagues are by nature very playful, maybe take more risks, and think a little bit more openly. I also think that they are oftentimes well-prepared. I think that play therapists can get a little bit defensive about the potshots that come about “it’s not a credible field,” or it’s “hocus pocus.” I think because of that we tend to be more serious about how we prepare ourselves for the job. Mostly now I see the young people wanting more and more courses, and even more and more certificates in this and that, and they really want to prepare themselves to do the best job that they can do. But the qualities that I seem to think of when I think about the play therapists I know are flexibility, and the ability to be warm, connected, emotionally present, and playful with the child.

First Play Therapy Experiences

LR: I remember the very first play therapy experience I ever had was as college psychology intern in the Child Life Program center of a New York pediatric hospital. I was mesmerized by the playroom and how the children gravitated to play during very serious moments in their medical treatments. Would you share one of your earliest experiences when you realized that play was a pretty cool thing to be able to do in a therapeutic context?
EG: Yes. I remember this very clearly. My first internship was at the Children’s Trauma Center in Oakland, California. All of those children had very severe experiences of physical abuse and neglect. One of the first kids that I got was a little boy who had been malnourished. So, he was really small, he didn’t look well, and he had been in the hospital for a few months. He was now going into a foster care placement. I remember feeling like I wanted to do the very best job that I could do. I had no idea really what I was doing or what to expect, I just had read so much about him and already had so much empathy for him. I remember that he walked into the room and just grabbed me around the knees and just wanted to hug me.

I didn’t know what to do, and was just patting him on the back. Then he grabbed my hand right and wanted to walk me around the room. I hadn’t been in the room enough to really see everything and it was interesting to see the things that he was pointing out. But eventually he got over to a little kitchen and he wanted me to sit down. Then he sat in front of that kitchen and started making soup with a spoon and then he wanted me to open my mouth and eat the soup. So, there was I was going, “wow,” I didn’t quite even have enough time to think about what was happening.

I just was so amazed by the fact that he immediately found what he needed to do, and that this was so important to him, and that he was immediately showing me the things that were on his mind and they had to do with the fact that he was malnourished, and he hadn’t been given enough food, and he was completely over-focused on food. So, for the next few months, this was his play. It was about making the food and about feeding me. Eventually, he became the person that would be fed, but it took awhile for him to allow himself to be in the position of showing that he was hungry or wanted to be fed. It was an amazing process to behold – my first experience with being led through this room with this little child who eventually just knew exactly what he needed to do and really was able to show me what he needed from me right away. From then on, I was just completely hooked.

I couldn’t wait to get back in there and started having all of these fantasies about should I bring real food in, or should we make this, or what should happen? It was very interesting because he eventually wanted to be given a bottle. So, there was a baby bottle, and then we were feeding the baby bottle to the babies, and then suddenly he started sucking on the baby bottle, and then he wanted to come into my lap and suck on the baby bottle. I remember having so many questions at that time about should I let this happen, is this okay, or is he getting regressed. It was such an amazing first case for me to have.

Luckily, I had a woman supervising me who wasn’t necessarily a play therapist, but definitely knew a lot about children’s behavior and some of the ways that they acted out some of the traumas that they had endured, and so she was completely willing to follow the child’s lead and to deal with my questions and anxiety about whether this was helping the child. She just kept saying, “Eventually, you’re going to trust that this is going to be helpful to the child.” I was in a program where they let you see the child long enough, so I worked with the child for something like two and a half years. It was so gratifying just to see this child eventually be able to receive the nurturing he needed from his foster parent who eventually adopted him, and to watch him act out all of the changes in the play that he was going through.

It was incredible, but it all came out through the play because he really was very much language-delayed given the fact that he had so much neglect in his early life, so the play was really how he spoke and how he showed me everything that was important to him. The relational aspect of play therapy was in the forefront because it was clear to me that there was a lot of countertransference that was going on. Luckily, as I said, the supervisor was able to help me navigate through all of that. That was my first and my most memorable play therapy experience.

Play Therapy as a Creative/Expressive Modality

LR: What strikes me the most is there was a beautiful parallelism between your relationship with the child and your supervisor’s relationship with you. You trusted that the child would take you where he needed to go, and your supervisor trusted that you would go where you needed to go with this child. So, the whole relationship – that three-part relationship – was this wonderful teamwork of trust and security.

Art, music, dance, drama and play therapy are described as creative/expressive modalities, but I thought that all therapies involve a certain degree of creativity and expressivity. Why the divide?
EG: I agree with you that, yes, I think we need to be creative and promote expression in almost any therapy that we do. But I think that it is the utilization of some of the creative arts that some therapists simply don’t choose to do. There are so many. For example, I got my doctorate in family therapy and I saw some of the most creative family therapists in the world. They were verbally creative. I mean, I remember Peggy Papp and some of the family therapy sessions that she would do. She would get people up and she would do family sculpting. There was so much creativity involved in that.

However, if you said to them anything about, “Well, you know, maybe we can do some artwork during the therapy,” there was less of a tendency to want to do that because the emphasis was so much more on verbal communication and people just didn’t feel as comfortable. Oftentimes, they would say, “Well, I don’t know what to do after somebody makes a piece of art.” I would watch, for example, some of those family therapists put the kids – little kids like under six – sort of in a corner, give them a paper and pencil, and ask them to draw something or just kind of be quiet while the therapy took place with the parents. If the kids were older, they were very interested. There’s so much creativity, for example, in circular questioning and different things that family therapists do, but the kids were in the corner making these pictures.
I was always interested in pictures they made. You know, let me go through that trashcan and see what they threw out.
I was always interested in pictures they made. You know, let me go through that trashcan and see what they threw out.

So, I think it really is a different focal point. It’s saying I value the artwork that people can create, I value the process of doing it, and I value the product that they come up with. I think it has therapeutic benefits to allow people to engage in those activities and then to process those activities. It’s a different kind of punctuation, as it were.

I love watching movement therapists because they get people off the seats. And then suddenly they access a different kind of energy that’s available when you start doing that. In music therapy now, there’s so much research that’s indicating that it can be really incredibly therapeutic for people. Then there’s the access issue – that a lot of people feel, “Well, I can’t do that because I’m not trained to do that.” So, there’s a little bit of that separatism with each of those fields valuing that modality so much that there’s coursework required and practicums required. For example, to become a drama therapist, which my daughter recently became, you have to really study a lot about the history and development of drama as therapy, and how it is utilized in contemporary circles, and how it is different from psychodrama.

There’s a ton of stuff there that I don’t know anything about, but I watch her do it and it’s just – it takes your breath away because it’s punctuating the therapeutic process a little bit differently and it is valuing an activity or some kind of creative process in a different way. So, we, as play therapists, tend to do that with play. One of my little pet peeves is that almost every person that I know that works with children will have toys, papers and markers in their room, but the purpose of those things in the room is so much different when you’re trained as an art or a play therapist.

So, I really encourage people to decide how they actually even say what they’re doing because I think unless you’ve been really trained to be an art therapist you should say you’re doing art or using art in a therapeutic fashion, which is true. But to be either a trained play therapist or a trained art therapist, you are privileging that activity in a different way and you think of that as where the therapy is happening, not as a mechanism to get to a therapy process. I see so many people – they’ll get kids to start a painting and then as soon as kids are like spreading the paint around, they say, “So, how are you feeling?” 
LR: Right. “How are you feeling today?”
EG: Yes. “How are you and your mom doing this week or weekend?” So, what you do is you interrupt the process that art therapists consider so valuable because it is right hemisphere of the brain activity. So, you’ve actually invited someone to be in that area of their brain where there is symbol language, metaphor, and all this really important stuff going on, and suddenly you crash in with a question and you’re asking them to shift into this cerebral activity of responding to you. Now, you’re not doing either verbal therapy well or art therapy well. The same applies in cases of play therapy.
LR: So, it’s the difference between seeing the toys, games, and materials as sort of adjunctive as opposed to being the means through which we connect with the child –
EG: Exactly.
LR: – as opposed to really seeing that those are the means of communication?
EG: You’ve got it.
LR: Have you had any thoughts about the use of play therapy with adults and even perhaps the elderly?
EG: Yes. One of the things that became very clear to me being in the family therapy field before I got into child therapy was this lack of connection between, “hey, we’re here to work with the grown-ups and the older kids,” and the people mostly in the child development field who were seeing kids individually and/or with their parents. It just felt like this real disconnect where the family therapist didn’t feel comfortable with kids and the play therapist often didn’t really want the parents in the room. So, that was one of those bridges that I really felt needed to be built between those two fields. So, I started making a concerted effort to teach family therapists how to do play therapy, how to invite younger kids into their meetings, and vice versa with the individual play therapists to consider the possibility of dyadic work with parents and kids.

I started thinking about activities that could be done in systemic work and family play activities that could be brought in to invite everyone to engage. Thus, family play therapy was one of the things that I felt really was the connecting bridge, and there were simple things that could be taught to family therapists and to play therapists that could actually engage this systemic point of view and/or the expressive point of view. So, I totally see that. In the process of doing that, of course, I always invited everyone who was living in the home and that meant some of the grandparents and other people who happened to be staying with the families. So, I worked with a lot of people that were seniors, as it were.

The one thing I haven’t done which I think would be a wonderful thing to do is to actually go into senior centers. I know that that’s being done. I know that some of the senior programs that I’ve visited with my mom do playful activities, they do bingo, and they have balls that people throw around. I’ve seen video examples of these kinds of things. I think that would be a wonderful thing to interject because laughter is really important, as we now know, for the whole system to kind of get re-energized. I think it was Patch Adams who first started talking about the healing power of laughter and play. So, I think that that’s wonderful to incorporate with seniors.

Is it Evidence-Based?

LR: I feel compelled at this point to throw in this nagging question that I know clinicians, especially those just starting out, have. The creative-expressive therapies have – and maybe especially play therapy – have struggled for scientific recognition when compared to some of the more empirically informed practices, like cognitive behavior therapy. Does this tension in the field detract from or add to the legitimacy of play therapy? Are we just trying to prove ourselves in a way that we may not have to? Or do we have to?
EG: Yes. Those are really good questions. I have seen an evolution over the last 10 to 15 years about this particular question. I was concerned about was the defensiveness that came with this debate. In other words, those of us who are in art therapy or in the expressive therapies obviously were defensive because the research hadn’t been done and maybe can’t be done as well. I mean, I think CBT, for example, is one of the easiest things to research because it is such an obvious protocol, you apply it, and then you see what the outcomes might be. But art and music? I mean, that’s a little bit more difficult to figure out.

Over the years, though, something interesting has happened. I think that it’s been good for us in the play therapy world because it has prioritized some of us doing research in play therapy, especially trying to figure out a way to do it when you’re not in an academic setting. So, doing some of the smaller research studies is useful and it’s valuable for us as therapists to put on that other hat and say, “We can accumulate some data.” It may not be the gold standard of a research study, but we can do something, and we can contribute something. So, that’s happened. I think there’s been a shift to incorporating the collection of data or data analysis when that is at all humanly possible.
Some of these evidence-based programs that are now on the record or are SAMHSA approved as evidence-based – these things actually incorporate play therapy.

But I think the other thing is that some play therapists really took on this whole notion of trying to get the evidence support that we as a field need. So, I feel really comfortable now that the play therapy research has really advanced a lot. So, that’s all good. I think that’s positive in the end for all of us. For example, Parent-Child Interaction Therapy has a component of psychoanalytic play therapy. Theraplay was just recognized by SAMHSA as being evidence-based and now, filial therapy looks to be evidence-based at this point because people have been doing research for quite a while.

There has been sort of a movement towards “let’s put an external stamp of approval on this,” but it legitimizes everything we do in a way. It has rippling effects into the larger play therapy field. So, I do think that we can all pretty much say now that we’re using evidence-based and practice-informed types of play therapy 
LR: Even though we may not put the emphasis on play as the carrier of change, it clearly is an important component?
EG: Well, yes. In some of those. Now, in others – I think in Theraplay, obviously play is what it is all about – play and relationship – and I think filial therapy as well. But these other two that are a little bit more recognized outside the play therapy field – the child-parent psychotherapy as a model for working with domestic violence. CBT was originally designed to work with physically abusive parents, as I remember. But those are a little bit less connected to the play therapy world, and yet they are being recognized, valued, and they have a big inclusive piece that is play therapy. So, I think that’s interesting, but here’s where we are at. I think everybody is feeling a little bit settled, a little bit more able to justify what they do, and so I think that’s all good. It worked in the right direction.Then, just as a final comment, trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy, which many people were calling the gold standard for working with sexually abused children, is now a hybrid. 
LR: Trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy
EG: I’ve heard TFCBT people say that it’s a hybrid model. So, they use art, play, narratives, etc. to make the whole program a little bit more accessible to children. I think that’s interesting, too, that you can field test something, you can research it, and there’s a protocol that was researched. I think we’re very far away from using that rigid of a protocol anymore. I think that most people who use TFCBT are using it in ways that they have found is more accessible to the clients that they work with. But nevertheless, insurance companies and counties want to pay for is anything that is evidence-based, so there has been a financial push towards getting these evidence-based programs into effect as well.

Working with Traumatized and Abused Children

LR: On the heels of these comments about trauma-focused cognitive behavior therapy, I know that you have been in the process of developing trauma-focused integrated play therapy. May I take a step back and ask a question that may be self-evident? What is it about play therapy that you have found to be particularly useful for kids and teens who have been abused and/or traumatized who may not be free, so to speak, to play?
EG: Well, it’s funny that you use the word free because I think by definition a traumatic event sort of traps the person. The person experiences helplessness, no options, and vulnerability, and young children really don’t have the cognitive ability to sort out what just happened, what meaning does it have, and what does it explain about that person, or me, or whatever it is that’s going on. Language is problematic for young children in terms of being able to both perceive and then report out what just happened sometimes because they don’t have the language skills, but other times because they sense that this isn’t something you speak about – that there’s something about it that remains sort of in secrecy and they may be encouraged or threatened to keep something secret.

So, for all of those reasons, they’re really not free. They don’t feel free to come forward to knock on someone’s door and say, “Hey, you know what just happened to me?” It’s a very complicated kind of situation, especially when it is interpersonal trauma in the family. Now, we’ve got to add to all of the things I just said the relational issues with the person you love, or the person that takes cares of you, or the person that you’re dependent on. It gets extremely complicated. So, I think what play does is allow a child to come forward to take whatever that big feeling, or that big thought, or whatever that language might be and somehow externalize it so that it’s out here and he or she can look at it and the therapist also can at least take in what the child is showing.

So, for example, one of the phrases I always use with kids is “You can tell me, or you can show me in whatever way you want.” That’s a really important little thing that goes a long way because if you just say to kids things like, “Yes, and then I’m going to just ask you some questions,” or, “And then you get to talk to me about that,” that’s inconsistent with what they’re in a position to do at that moment in time. So, to say instead, “You can just show me in whatever you want – you can draw about it, you can play about it, or any way that you want to show me,” doesn’t feel like so much pressure on the child. Just being able to give them that message that you can work at your own pace, I’m not going to ask you a bunch of questions in here, and you can show me what’s going on inside of you – that is it.
One of the phrases I always use with kids is “You can tell me, or you can show me in whatever way you want.”

Then I honestly do believe, as I said earlier, that they’ll bring to you whatever is on their mind or whatever big question or big feeling they have. I have a little kid who came in – this is just a little example, but I must have hundreds of little miniatures on shelves for doing sandtray work. This little girl had just been removed from her mother and she for some reason she zoned in on a mother kangaroo that had a joey in her pouch. What she did in the therapy – and this was a little four-year-old – what she did immediately was she took the little joey out and buried it. The rest of the session she was walking this mother kangaroo around the room going, “Where’s my baby? Where’s my baby?”

I just thought, “Oh, my gosh, this is exactly what’s on her mind.” Is she going to be found? Will her mother find her? Is her mother looking for her? How’s her mother doing? All of that separation stuff was immediate. That was this remarkable ability that toys have to speak to children and for them to speak with the toys. So, I’m just absolutely a believer that given this environment of calm and inviting kids to look around and see what they want to see – that eventually they’re going to show you whatever it is they need. I trust them to do that. 
LR: That’s that same trust that you shared around that very first case that you described and that seems to be an elemental part of your personality when it comes to kids – this sense of trust and the desire to empower children.
EG: Yep.
LR: Do you think that there are core qualities that make for a clinician who might become a competent play therapist for traumatized and abused children?
EG: It’s funny that you say that about that initial case. I now trust that process a whole lot more because I’ve seen it so many more times, but even then there was a little quality that I was trusting that something good was happening. So, I think that that’s part of it – you’ve got to believe in the value of the things that you’re offering. I take a child into a play therapy office and I feel like, “Okay, I’m doing the very best thing that I know for this child right now. I know this will be in some way beneficial. Whether he can start doing it immediately or it’ll take him some time to do it, I believe that he will pace himself, and that he needs to slowly walk towards the things that he fears, and that sometimes we push him too hard.”

Some of the programs that involve psycho-education for kids in the first few meetings to me seem like…
LR: Too much. Too much.
EG: Yes, they’re not really taking it in, and they’re probably just nodding their head, but I don’t know that they’re really getting it. I also really believe in that neuro-sequential model of therapy – the thing that Bruce Perry does where he says, “You know, you have to really think about the functioning of the brain. When you meet a kid for the first time, what are the parts of the brain that are most activated at that point?”
If you’ve got a kid who is scared to death, it’s the brain stem, right? So, it wouldn’t make any sense for me to start talking to that child. I have to first make sure that they can self-soothe or that they can somehow comfort themselves.
If you’ve got a kid who is scared to death, it’s the brain stem, right? So, it wouldn’t make any sense for me to start talking to that child. I have to first make sure that they can self-soothe or that they can somehow comfort themselves. So, I might be more willing to blow bubbles with that child than to sit there and say, “Let me tell you what we’re going to do,” because as Bruce says, “I mean, cognitive behavioral therapy is great, but you’ve got to wait until that part of their brain is online and that’s usually later.” They’re not usually online immediately.

So, that part has really kind of helped support some of what intuitively I was doing without really understanding why. It’s wonderful when work comes out that really supports everything you’ve been doing. Bruce of course values TFCBT or any kind of cognitive behavioral work. He just says that it has to be done at the right time. He says that he never starts with that. That’s something that I would say, too – that that is not my go-to. It could be a long-term goal or certainly a goal in the third phase of treatment, but not necessarily where I would start.
LR: Right. In your recent book, Post-Traumatic Play in Children, you differentiate between play therapy with traumatized children that you just described, and post-traumatic play. Can you explain that difference for people who are not even familiar with play, let alone play with kids who have been or are being traumatized or abused?
EG: Yeah. I think over the years what we’ve been able to identify is that children who have traumatic experiences oftentimes have this resource available to them which is called post-traumatic play, which is a literal acting out of the things that have occurred in a very miniaturized way. It has some very distinct features. Oftentimes, it is incredibly repetitive, so the child is initiating and completing the play in the same fashion over, and over, and over again. Sometimes you see differences in how kids are interacting in that play. There’s very little joy or spontaneity and it almost looks very structured and very rigid. Again, I think that this is the child’s desire to bring this experience out, and then to be able to start seeing it gradually, and eventually be able to feel things associated to it in a safe environment, and be able to use what is more typical in play therapy like pretend play, to incorporate some changes into the play and some new options and possibilities.

This process ends up unfreezing some of the play and helping that child move beyond the rigid memory of what happened into maybe what they wished would have happened or seeing a part of what they did as resilient or fighting back. But there’s some real opportunities here for movement for the children in this miniaturized and externalized play where they’re really projecting stuff and eventually showing that they can go beyond what happened into what is more normal for kids, which is compensatory play, or pretend play, or something where they change the end of the story just because they can and that begins then to free the child up.
There are times in therapy where you might want to “tickle the defenses,” as Carl Whitaker used to say….
So, it’s a beautiful process to behold and it is very much self-initiated. There are times in therapy where you might want to “tickle the defenses,” as Carl Whitaker used to say, and provide kids with some of the literal symbols if they’ve had a specific traumatic experience. That sometimes helps them initiate the play. I’m pretty sure there are some kids who can’t access this play for a long time, so they may look very different in a play therapy situation. They may look unresponsive or as if there’s “not much going on,” and then they may eventually be able to do post-traumatic play. So, one of my goals with kids who have been traumatized is always to facilitate the environment of the relationship so that they can eventually start doing post-traumatic play because I think it can be such a release for them. 
LR: So, not the environment of the playroom per say, but the environment of the relationship with the play therapist? –
EG: Yes, exactly.
LR: – where children come to feel free to share the unsharable, to express the inexpressible.
EG: Most of the kids who do get into the door with an interpersonal trauma – boy, have they been already interviewed by people, asked a million questions, and had to meet four or five new people. So, that’s why if you can do child-centered play therapy initially, if you can take all of that pressure off and alleviate the sense that the child has to provide immediate information, then I think then the child can begin to relax a little bit and eventually access their own healing resources.

I’m really interested how people self-repair in any catastrophe or tragedy. I’ve been interested to see how in different cultures, people pray and sometimes sing together. I remember in the streets of New York after 9/11 they started these drama therapy programs where people would come together and do these little plays. After the tsunami in Sri Lanka, I was really struck that some of the children would actually go pick the rubble up and create little villages. So, that reconstructive task of putting together that which was destroyed, I mean, that’s one of the benefits of play, right? There were the kids doing that and then sometimes they would destroy it and put it back because that was what had happened. But it’s beautiful to behold prayer meetings and just all of the different ways that people came together to draw pictures and paint things after tragedies, to both acknowledge and express all of the different ways that things had affected them and then how they had responded to it.
LR: I recently heard a TED talk with Andrew Solomon about how African healers view Western therapists who sit in a dark little room and ask sufferers to talk about the most upsetting things when for them, it’s the sunlight, and it’s dancing and movement with others that heals.
EG: There you go. There you go.
LR: So, I get it.
EG: I completely agree with that and understand that. That’s why with kids we have this great ability to just invite them into lots of different kinds of things. We just recently got our first animal assisted therapist and I can’t wait. We had been doing an equine program and to watch the kids with the horses was amazing. There’s a lot of research that shows that these are mechanisms for healing. There are going to be a lot of therapists who are going to say, “What? How is that different from having a dog at home?” I know there’s skepticism for almost everything, but we have to keep inviting people in lots of different ways because you don’t know what their way is going to be.
LR: You don’t. Well, clearly, you are a lifelong learner. Are you also a lifelong player, Eliana? Is play something that is important in your life outside of the therapy room?
EG: Yes, absolutely. My structured play activity is tennis and I play a lot of it. But I just pick up things. Like my new thing is stone art. So, I’ve been going on walks with the dog and I pick up stones and now I’m making this art with the stones and I’m really, really, really enjoying that. So, I would say, yes, playfulness and – gosh, you should see me with my grandchildren. 
LR: Oh, I can only imagine.
EG: That’s a treat for me. Then a lot of the Theraplay activities I love with the kids. Whenever I have groups of people in the house I’m always wanting to do something Theraplay-based because I just think it is so much fun. So, I love charades. I’m really good at charades. We do a lot of stuff like that when we get groups together. My kids are great that way, too. They know they are coming to play.

Teaching Clients to Meditate

A family sent their abrasive son to a monastery to learn a better path. When he came home to visit them after having been there his first year, they asked him what he learned. The son replied frustratingly, “All I learned to do was breathe.”

He returned to the monastery, and five years later, when his family asked him what he learned, he looked disheartened as he shrugged his shoulders and said, “All I learned to do was breathe.” He went away and returned again after ten years, and this time he seemed defeated as the same question was posed and he gave the same answer.

Then, many years had passed, and the young man now became a much older man, and at last, he reached enlightenment. When he was asked what he learned to become enlightened, he replied, “Finally, I learned to breathe.”

Our egos like to assure us that we “know.” “I know, I know,” we say, “I should meditate. I know it’s good for me….” But then we don’t. Talking about knowledge makes for interesting conversation, but practicing knowledge is wisdom. In 2018, we have enough evidence from the field of neuroscience to know that even five minutes of meditation a day for six weeks can create physiological changes in the brain. Meditation decreases activity in the default mode network (our constant inner chatter), it lowers blood pressure, and it helps our amygdalas send fewer false signals of danger that lead to anxiety, fear, and ultimately all-too-often, anger. In short, you know that daily meditation can significantly help you, so what’s stopping you from practicing it?

Many people tell me that they “don’t have the time,” and I certainly understand living a fast-paced life with a seemingly perpetually busy schedule; so I often tell people this: You might not have ten minutes a day, and maybe right now you’re convinced that you don’t even have five minutes to do it, but you cannot rationally come up with an reasonable excuse for not having two minutes to meditate a day. And people usually agree. I start people with two minutes a day, because 20,000 hours of clinical experience has taught me that when people start off with two minutes a day, two things happen: 1. They find that they can make the time, and 2. They eventually sit longer until it’s worth it to make five or ten minutes a priority in their everyday lives.

There are many different ways to meditate, but the most basic is to focus on your breath. I recommend people sit up, because I have seen evidence that sitting with a straight spine activates the reticular formation, which is the center of our brain’s ability to pay attention. Like the monk from the story above (and like mastering anything), learning to breathe takes effort, until it doesn’t. I teach people to sit up straight and to focus on their breath. I also recommend not trying to stop your thoughts, as trying to do so often becomes discouraging, since it’s not very realistic. Instead, I encourage people to become an observer of their thoughts—to watch their thoughts move by like watching a boat pass on a river. As the “boat carrying your thoughts” goes by, come back to your breath. A two-minute timer will likely go off sooner than you think. Eventually, so will with the five or ten minute one.

My experience has taught me that it’s foolish to wait until we’re anxious or angry to try to begin handling those tough emotions. Instead, if we can breathe with intentionality as often as possible throughout our day, as well as engage in actively having realistic self-talk, then our ability to handle things like anxiety and anger when they arise will become significantly better. You have all the tools you need to start meditating daily and practicing and role modeling the type of self-control and healthy habits for your clients that will help them see that you are living the example that you are presenting to them. After all, you already know how to breathe… or do you?

Janina Fisher on Innovations in Treating Trauma

Enduring Conditions and Animal Defenses

Ruth Wetherford: Dr. Janina Fisher, you’re a clinical psychologist and expert in the treatment of trauma, author of the book, Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors, and have worked with many of the giants in our field—Judith Herman, Bessel van der Kolk and Pat Ogden and are currently an instructor at the Trauma Center, an outpatient clinic and research center founded by Bessel van der Kolk. Since trauma is such a overused, broad term these days, can you describe how you understand trauma?
Janina Fisher: There was a time when we defined trauma as an event outside the realm of normal human experience. Remember that?
RW: I do, yes. It had to be life threatening.
JF: Boy, were we wrong. We believed it was a rare occurrence. And we now know that 70 percent of the human race will be traumatized in their lifetimes, and probably about 40 percent will develop post-traumatic issues. So it is certainly far from outside of the norm. But over the years, the term started to lose its meaning in terms of its magnitude—now people talk about having critical and rejecting parents as traumatic, so I’m a little concerned that we have found the meaning of trauma and then lost it again, but I’ll tell you the definition I use:

Trauma can be a single event, it can be a series of events, or it can be a set of enduring conditions. Slavery was a set of enduring conditions, child abuse is a set of enduring conditions, domestic violence, war, the Holocaust.

It’s actually more common for people to be traumatized in the context of enduring conditions than to have a single event and have the rest of life be easy and smooth.
It’s actually more common for people to be traumatized in the context of enduring conditions than to have a single event and have the rest of life be easy and smooth. Then, that single event, series of events or enduring conditions have to overwhelm the individual’s capacity to cope and to activate a sense of threat to life.

It doesn’t have to literally be life threatening, like a bus barreling towards you as you cross the street. The key is that we feel a sense of threat to life whether we are capable of verbalizing it or not. Small children can’t say, “I’m afraid I’m going to be killed,” but their bodies can feel it.

RW: You’re talking about the subjective experience of threat to life. Your work focuses extensively on the brain’s reaction to it and the activation of the sympathetic nervous system. It seems like many more psychotherapists are trained in this area these days, don’t you think?
JF: Unfortunately what I hear from graduate students and from young therapists who’ve just been through training is that trauma wasn’t even mentioned in their graduate programs.
RW: That’s shocking. Well perhaps you could talk a bit about this aspect of your work for our readers who may be new to it.
JF: Well, when I first became interested in trauma in 1989-90, we still thought of trauma as being something that war veterans had exposure to and victims of sexual assault. We were still putting the pieces together and hadn’t incorporated more enduring traumas like child abuse and domestic violence.
RW: Neglect.
JF: Yes. Then 9/11 brought credibility to the concept of trauma and changed the whole world’s attitude toward trauma. Pioneers in the trauma field began to make sense of why patients could recover from depression, anxiety disorders, they could manage hallucinations and delusions, but they couldn’t manage post-traumatic reactions.

Bessel van der Kolk had this insight that “the body keeps the score,” that what was different about trauma was how it encoded in the body and activated the animal defense responses that we share with all mammals. People thought he was nuts. I remember people coming up to me and saying, “Stay away from that guy. He’s a nut case.” But over the years, research has proven him to be accurate.

RW: So what are those animal defenses that we share?
JF: There are 5 animal defenses: fight, flight, freeze, feign death, or submit and cry for help. Fight is basically anger. Interestingly, animals are much better at fighting than humans—that’s why we’ve taken up weapons. Then there’s flight, and again, animals are faster at fleeing. Animals play possum and human beings say things like, “I pretended to be asleep,” which is the human equivalent of playing dead. We freeze like a deer in the headlights and we cry for help. Humans are better at crying for help than mammals because we have language, but all animals make sounds to communicate to their fellow animals that they’re in trouble.
RW: How do those get manifested in the effects of trauma?
JF:
Clients who have chronic submission responses tend to present as chronically depressed, hopeless and helpless, ashamed, feeling less than, and because we call it depression, we don’t treat it as a trauma symptom.
The average therapist sees the animal defenses every day in the office. For example, clients who have chronic submission responses tend to present as chronically depressed, hopeless and helpless, ashamed, feeling less than, and because we call it depression, we don’t treat it as a trauma symptom. People who chronically have the freeze, deer-in-the-headlights response get an anxiety disorder diagnosis. They’ll report, “I’ve been having panic attacks, I can’t leave the house, I can’t drive the car more than a few blocks.” Those who have chronic fight responses can’t stop fighting, can’t stop being angry, engage in aggressive behavior including aggression toward their own bodies. Some people with chronic fight responses tend to be violent toward others, some toward themselves, and an even smaller percentage have both. They have aggressive responses toward others and they harm themselves.
RW: So these patterns of behavior in adult life correlate with the animal responses that we have as children in response to various kinds of trauma.
JF: Right. We have come to understand—and this is the essence of the body keeps the score—that when something bad happens to us, not just our minds, but our bodies become sensitive to related cues. This is why when people have a car accident they avoid the place where the accident occurred for months or years afterwards. Or sexual abuse survivors who can’t tolerate being in the company of men of a certain age. The body gets sensitized to anything that vaguely resembles the original event.

Body Memories

RW: Can you talk about how traumatic experiences are encoded in the brain differently than normal day-to-day events?
JF: In the first brain scan studies, which were conducted in the mid-90s, a small group of trauma survivors were asked to write a script describing a traumatic experience and then hear someone reading the script back to them while undergoing a brain scan. I think that’s pretty brave in and of itself.
RW: It sure is.
JF: What the researchers found, which astounded them, is that the part of the brain that remembers normal narrative memories shut down when they were being read the traumatic event—even though they themselves had written the script. The part of the brain that became active was a part of the brain that we’ve come to understand holds emotional nonverbal memories.
RW: The amygdala?
JF: Yes, the amygdala. For some reason, the amygdala on the right hemisphere side seems to be the center for traumatic memories. What this meant was that we couldn’t work with the narrative memory of the event because post-traumatic memories are held as non-verbal feeling and physical reaction memories—what I call body memories.
RW: Body memories.
JF: Yes. It literally changed everything about our thinking on trauma.
RW: It was revolutionary. Why isn’t it being widely taught in psychotherapy training programs?
JF: I wish that that research, which has been replicated many, many, times, was taught in graduate school and training institutes, hospitals and clinics, because most therapists still practice the type of trauma treatment that we were practicing in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, which consists of asking people to remember what happened.
RW: Without a sense of what to do with it.
JF: Exactly.
The “talking cure” belief that if it’s talked about, it will resolve, unfortunately does not work with trauma.
The “talking cure” belief that if it’s talked about, it will resolve, unfortunately does not work with trauma. As patients talk about the trauma, their amygdalas and their limbic systems start to go crazy, they feel overwhelmed, and they don’t want to talk about it anymore.
RW: So they leave the session feeling very undone, and they don’t want to come back. You’ve said that you learned that the hard way, as many other trauma therapists did. So, if it’s not enough to just talk about it, what is enough?
JF: What seems to be enough is a variety of activities that help us to restructure our relationship to the memories—techniques, interventions, and experiences that help to slowly recalibrate the traumatized nervous system and animal defenses that are triggered by everyday kinds of stimuli. It’s two pieces: one is the body piece and the other is the feeling-memory piece.
RW: This gives a lot of creativity and flexibility to what the therapist does in the moment.
JF: True, but one of the difficulties, and the reason why I wrote the book, Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors, is that there’s a relatively large subset of traumatized clients who have what we call complex trauma related disorders—some of which are reflected in DSM, but many of which are not. Complex post-traumatic stress is not in the DSM. Dissociative disorders are in the DSM, but not in a very clear, usable way. And there’s a huge amount of literature that attests to the relationship between self-harm, suicidality, addiction and trauma. There’s huge correlations between them.

I happen to be a therapist who likes complexity—I like challenging cases—so I kept seeing people who, despite their best efforts, could not get sober, could not manage their suicidality, could not manage their anxiety, had treatment-resistant depression no matter what medication or what kind of therapy. I became intrigued by how to help these clients.

I had the opportunity to hear a theory proposed by Onno Van der Hart and Ellert Nijenhuis in the Netherlands called the “Structural Dissociation Theory,” which is a very well-accepted model in Europe. As soon as I heard them describe this model, the lights came on, the orchestra started playing, and I thought, this explains so much, including what we now call personality disorders, which are beautifully described by this model. It explains them as neurobiologically based, and that we all have a part of our brains, and therefore part of our personality, that keeps on going no matter what. No matter what disaster is befalling us, the left brain part of the personality just keeps on keeping on.

The “Going on With Normal Life” Self and the Traumatized Self

RW: You call this the “normal life part” or the “going on with normal life” part.
JF: Right. The authors call it the “apparently normal” part, but I didn’t like that language because it fed into my clients’ sense of having a false self. So I renamed it the “going on with normal life” self.

Repeated trauma can cause splitting in the personality such that we start to develop subparts representing the animal defenses.
And then the model says we all have a right-brain side of the personality that’s emotional, reactive, and nonverbal, which I call the traumatized part. They describe the way in which repeated trauma can cause splitting in the personality such that we start to develop subparts representing the animal defenses: a part that fights, a part that flees, a part that submits, a part that freezes, a part that cries for help.

For me, this theory makes sense of the most confusing of our clients. It makes sense of borderline personality where you see a very big cry-for-help response, but an equally big fight response. And in high-functioning individuals, a very strong going on with normal life self who’s actually quite ashamed of these big fluctuations between neediness and anger, and doesn’t understand them any more than the therapists do.

As you know, the problem often with psychotherapy is that clients want help but feel shame or defensiveness as we delve deeper into issues that they need to work on. What I found was that this language of parts helped my clients look at very difficult issues without feeling shame and defensiveness.

RW: Well there is so much pathologizing of this symptomology in our field and so much pejorative language around it. To have a language that frames the symptom as a creative solution to an early problem or trauma can be very relieving.
JF: Absolutely. It opens a door. I can talk to clients about how their fight part takes prisoners, right?
RW: Or stands up for a cause.
JF: Right. And then they’re free to say, “Yes, but it’s embarrassing because that angers drives people away.” Or I can say, “The cry for help part of you is just a little kid, and of course a little kid would cry for help.” It gives them a way to be in a relationship to these reactions rather than either being mortified and ashamed or saying, “What anger? I wasn’t angry.”
RW: It’s a form of psycho-education it seems to me. Can you talk about why that is so helpful?
JF: Well, I was trained in a traditional psychodynamic way.
RW: Me too.
JF: Most therapists from our time were, and psychoeducation didn’t have any place in psychodynamic psychotherapy. But when I went Judith Herman’s clinic in 1990 as a post-doctoral fellow, it was one of the major things she was recommending for trauma. She said that we had to educate clients, that it didn’t work for trauma survivors to have an imbalance of power. Aside from all the usual ways therapy can create an imbalance of power, there’s the imbalance of the therapist knowing everything and the client knowing nothing. She said, “Your job is to educate the client to make meaning of the trauma symptoms so that the playing field is more even.”
RW: In addition to balancing the power in the interpersonal dynamic that kind of learning activates the pre-frontal left brain. You begin to have a model and words for understanding what happens to you when you are triggered.
JF: Exactly. I learned that you can activate the prefrontal cortex when it automatically shuts down in the presence of a threat by getting people to be interested and curious.
My psychodynamic training was all about asking very complicated, beautiful questions, but I realize now my poor clients didn’t have the brain power to answer these very abstract questions.
My psychodynamic training was all about asking very complicated, beautiful questions, but I realize now my poor clients didn’t have the brain power to answer these very abstract questions. But when we just help people to be interested and curious, then things start to hum in the prefrontal cortex.

RW: Can you give some examples of how you might talk with the client that would encourage their curiosity about parts of themselves that they previously were too ashamed of or too frightened of?
JF: I start in the very first interview with someone. Most clients come in saying, “I’m here because I am depressed,” “I’m here because I’m having panic attacks,” “I’m here because I hate myself,” “I’m here because my relationships aren’t working.”
RW: They’re not coming to therapy to learn about the amygdala.
JF: Right. So in that initial conversation, I ask them, “When did these issues begin? When did you start to feel depressed? When did you start to have the panic attacks? When did it become difficult to leave the house?” And I say, “My guess is that something triggered that depression.”

Triggers

RW: You start looking for the triggers right away.
JF: I do that to help them be curious. They come in saying, “There’s something wrong with me because I can’t leave the house.” And usually within the first 20 minutes I say, “Wow, you must have been really, really triggered,” and they kind of go, “Huh?” That “huh” is what I want because it means that their fixed belief that there’s something wrong with them has just been disturbed.
RW: The idea that your difficult feelings are actually in response to something rather than just in your head without connection to the real world. That’s so reassuring.

JF: Yes, it is. At the same time, I want to be careful not to do a one-to-one correspondence to a specific event because most clients are suffering as a result of enduring conditions, and if they think they have to have a single event connected to every symptom, it becomes more difficult to work with them. I try very hard to connect the current trigger—like the death of the cat, or the fight with the husband—to the enduring conditions.

“The effect of living in a world where only the cat loved you is still with you, still in your body.”
So for the client whose cat died, I asked, “What did your cat mean to you when you were growing up?” And she responded, “The cat was the only person in the family who loved me.” “Well, no wonder it was triggering to lose your cat six months ago. The effect of living in a world where only the cat loved you is still with you, still in your body.” We connect the triggers to the enduring conditions, not to single events.

The Role of Empathy

RW: So your motive is to understand the experience from his or her point of view and you call that empathy. What is the role of empathy in your work?
JF: Well, there’s empathy as most of us have learned it in school where we say, “That must have been very hard for you.” The purpose there is to connect to the client’s pain and to say, “I get that these are not just bad events, they also caused you pain.” But I find that many traumatized clients have trouble with that kind of empathy because they’re afraid of the pain that we’re trying to evoke more of.

So I tend to express empathy more in terms of why it makes sense that they have a particular symptom. I say many times a day, “Well, of course, it makes so much sense. If you’re depressed, it’s easier to be seen and not heard, isn’t it?”

I have a long-term client who I’ll call Annie—not her real name, of course—who said to me once,

“Why are therapists so interested in every gory detail of what happened to us? Why don’t they ever ask us how we survived?”
“Why are therapists so interested in every gory detail of what happened to us? Why don’t they ever ask us how we survived?”
RW: That’s such a great question.
JF: What she was saying was, “If you empathize with how I survived, that’s going to be more validating than empathizing with how victimized I was.”
RW: That appears to many to be paradoxical.
JF: If the purpose of empathy is to resonate to our clients’ feeling states, resonating to their strengths can feel very empowering, especially if you’re someone who has felt unempowered, ashamed, hopeless, weak, and your therapist says, “Wow, you were a pretty ingenious little kid to have survived that.” There’s a feeling of empowerment there as opposed to when we say, “Oh, that must have been so hard.” That pulls for the feelings of vulnerability which are connected to feeling weak, helpless, hopeless.

The Contagion of Confidence and Calm

RW: This touches on what you’ve referred to as the contagion of the confidence and the calm of the therapist. It’s related to what we think of as the placebo effect in medicine. We know that when doctors have absolute belief that their methods are going to help us get well, and they’re focusing on the self-correcting immune responses and the strengths of our bodies, it has a strong positive effect on patients.

It’s so important to think of empathy not just as for the painful negative aspects of the self, but for the positive surviving parts.

JF: Absolutely. Certainly we want therapy to be a safe place for people to share their pain, but why shouldn’t it also be a safe place to share their pride, pleasure, excitement, curiosity? Trauma survivors can get deeply mired in the trauma the more they go for the grief and anger.
RW: And many trauma survivors don’t have a lot of sources of recognition and appreciation. They’re not coming in with stories of little triumphs through the day, so when the therapist does point it out and they see that it’s not just window dressing, that it was substantive, that’s so affirming.
JF: Exactly.
RW: Would you talk about the role of the person of the therapist?
JF: As you know, it’s a topic near and dear to my heart because what I’ve come to realize over my 37 years in this field is that we are really the instrument of psychotherapy.
Research shows that the relationship with the therapist is still the strongest variable affecting therapy outcome, regardless of the model being used.
Research shows that the relationship with the therapist is still the strongest variable affecting therapy outcome, regardless of the model being used.
RW: I believe it.
JF: We have so many models now which are wonderful, and I like most of them, but we have a tendency to assume it’s the model helping rather than us helping. But who and how we are makes a huge difference. You and I are probably both old enough to remember the blank screen approach.
RW: I hated people who were blank screens.
JF: Me, too. And now we understand that if the therapist is a blank screen and the client has suffered abuse or neglect, it is immensely triggering and even threatening. It’s not going to feel neutral. Freud’s idea was to be neutral so as not to be threatening, but that’s just not how it works, particularly with clients who’ve experienced trauma.
RW: Carl Rogers pointed out that there is no neutrality because a blank screen or silence or non-responsiveness is itself a response usually perceived by the right brain as rejecting, or at least disconnecting.
JF: It’s funny, I didn’t love Carl Rogers when I studied him in graduate school, but I’ve really come to appreciate his work because he got this idea that the therapist is the instrument, and how you play your instrument makes such a difference in the client’s receptivity.

RW: How do you think therapists can be more personally connected with clients?
JF:
We are both triggers of hope and triggers of fear
. First and foremost a willingness to be curious rather than to assume from the diagnosis or from the presenting symptoms that someone is in a certain category. The willingness to assume that every symptom represents what was once an adaptive way of coping with and surviving their circumstances, because we become who we become in a habitat, in a context. Lastly, and this is hard for therapists, but remembering that we are both triggers of hope and triggers of fear.
RW: Can you say more?
JF: If we get caught up in seeing ourselves as triggers of hope or safety only, we’re going to pathologize the client when the client gets afraid. I’ve had very few clients in 37 years who’ve actually said, “I’m afraid,” but I’ve had lots of clients who’ve been reactive and angry, defensive, resistant, suspicious—all of which are expressions of fear.

It’s very important to know that even as we are building a relationship and creating safety, we’re also triggering fear. So we do our best to notice those moments that we can hear or decipher the fear and then do what securely attached parents do, or what dog owners do: Change your body language and your voice to help change the child’s state, the dog’s state. We do it without thinking.

I watch how the client responds to what I just said, and then I vary my next remark based on the data I just got. So I say something and I see the client looking a little uncomfortable, then I’ll smile and say something light and see if the client’s body relaxes. Or I might say something that really underscores how bad they feel—“Wow, I get that this is really awful”—and see if the body relaxes. Or is this a client who feels defensive when I say, “Wow, this is really tough.”

They feel safer not because I have good boundaries and a therapeutic frame and all those good things, but because I’m scaring them less and less.
They feel safer not because I have good boundaries and a therapeutic frame and all those good things, but because I’m scaring them less and less.
RW: In my consultation with trainees where we’re going over audio or videotapes, it’s usually apparent that when the therapist says something that sounds pejorative or a little bit pathologizing, there’s a loss of empathy because of some perceived threat, and it’s often unconscious. An angry client, particularly a smart, articulate angry client, can be a trigger for the therapist. What are some things that you do to help yourself stay non-defensive? Not triggered?
JF: I sort of have a split screen. I’m very attentive to the client and to resonating to the client&rsq

PhDs in Therapy

Academics and Mental Health

My online psychotherapy practice attracts PhD candidates from around the world. Young academics are passionate people—articulate, often self-aware, intelligent, and eager to learn. But one would not guess how much this population suffers from poor mental health, how exposed and fragile they can actually be.

Research on occupational stress amongst academics indicates that it is widespread, with younger academics experiencing more mental health issues than their older counterparts. A recent Belgian study suggests that PhD students are 2.4 times more likely to develop a psychiatric disorder than the highly educated general population.

Other studies show that as much as 50 percent of doctoral students leave graduate school without finishing; it is reasonable to imagine that mental health issues play a major role in such an attrition rate.

“Young academics are often reluctant to disclose mental health problems to their universities out of fear of stigmatization and punishment in the highly competitive academic world.” PhD candidates who do their fieldwork abroad are particularly vulnerable. Not only do they feel a high pressure to achieve their fieldwork, but they also lose their social support system and have to adapt to a different culture.

Opening Doors with Online Therapy

Online therapy can be a unique opportunity for postgraduates to get support and resolve some developmental issues.

This vignette illustrates such a case.

When Jane engaged in online therapy with me, she was in the third year of her PhD program from a top American University. She was studying literary theory, and her fieldwork had just brought her to St. Petersburg, on the trail of the Russian thinker Michail Bakhtin and his main object of fascination—Dostoevsky. This city, affectionately called “Piter” by the locals, happens to be the one where I grew up before leaving Russia in my late teens. A bit of nostalgia was triggered inside me.

Jane had arrived in St. Petersburg in November. It had greeted her with gale-force winds and freezing weather, even worse than what she had imagined after reading the novels of Pushkin, Gogol, and Dostoevsky. At first she had been excited to discover its canals and lightless courtyards (kolodzi or “well-yards” in Russian) hidden in the middle of buildings, but after the first months, her fascination with the place was replaced by a lingering anxiety that she was not yet able to understand.

For our first session, Jane connected from the room that she was subletting in a big kommunalka, or shared apartment. The room was dark except for a surprisingly green wall gleaming behind her back, where she sat barely illuminated by the Russian winter’s scant natural light. Jane was slowly plunging into depression, which was draining all joy out of her research and her life. The faculty members she had met at the local university had first seemed friendly enough, but now she was avoiding any contact with anybody who could ask her questions about her research progress or about anything else for that matter.

The only window in her room was facing the plain yellowish wall of another building. If at first this grim view on the bare well-yard had reminded her of Dostoyevsky, it now felt like a metaphor for her current life prospects—long, dark Russian winter, loneliness in this foreign place, and a very uncertain outlook for a career in academia.

The day before she reached out for therapy, Jane had found herself sitting on the windowsill, looking down upon the dirty snow, and imagining her body lying in the middle of the well-yard, covered with her quickly freezing blood.

Now we were starting our first session, and she greeted me in Russian:

“Zdravstvuite.”

After a few minutes, I could sense that she was struggling, looking for words to describe the way she felt. As is often the case with bilingual individuals, we spent some time in this first session exploring Jane’s relationship with her two languages. Her Russian had developed through academic work, becoming her language of organized thought; when she wanted to describe her feelings, we had to switch to English. This going back and forth between the two languages allowed us to make better sense of her experience.

Soon we settled into our linguistic routine, using either language according to the subject. As with many emigrants, this arrangement suited us both, letting our multiple selves into the encounter.

Jane spoke Russian the way linguists often do—with unnatural care and respect for its intricate grammar. Strictly speaking, Russian was her mother tongue, but her mother had always been emotionally disconnected from her, and preferred to speak to her daughter in a limited English, without nuances but enough to give orders or rebukes. In high school, Jane then learned proper Russian, a language that she had until then perceived as unsophisticated.

Her father was a Texan estate developer. He had met his wife during one of his visits to Kazakhstan, where he had high-risk-high-reward investments. Jane’s mother was at that time young and beautiful; her secretary job was just a step towards her glorious future, where she knew she would have a shiny red car and a penthouse with views on skyscrapers gleaming in the night.

When Jane was born, her mother had already experienced deep disillusionment with life in general and her husband in particular. Texas was nothing like she had imagined, except for the consolation of owning her shiny red car; she used to drive on the endless dusty roads with fury.

As Jane grew up, she only added to her mother’s disappointments: she was neither beautiful nor particularly gifted for any girlish activities. Her academic achievements did little to change her mother’s opinion that she had been thwarted by fate in her motherly aspirations.

By the time Jane turned twelve, her father had lost most of his estate investments. She could remember him drinking whisky and grumbling about taxes and politics, only to rouse when his wife would come back home and scold him, provoking a fight. They both seemed to enjoy fighting, often loudly and in front of their daughter or other unwilling witnesses.

When Jane was accepted into a top university, her parents seemed relieved at the idea that she would finally be “out of the way.”

The First Session

In our first session Jane seemed withdrawn and extremely vulnerable. I wondered whether it was best for her to meet a therapist online. It probably was not, but she felt unable to get out of her flat and make it through the snow to the practice of one of the few English-speaking therapists available locally.

Looking through the dark window in front of her, Jane told me that she felt lonely and homesick. The homesickness felt even worse because she did not have a proper home back in the States any more. “This feeling of homesickness paradoxically associated with the experience of homelessness resonated with me.”

Her college friends were spread all around the country, busy with their own research or jobs. During her first months in Russia, she had managed to maintain the illusion of contact with some of them through Skype or WhatsApp, but now the calls were becoming rare. Maybe they had lost interest in her; maybe they never had any genuine interest at all. She had started doubting everybody and everything. Her parents had not paid her a visit.

And for several months, her academic advisor had not even been responding to her emails. Jane felt hurt and humiliated by this lack of interest from someone who had initially seemed so supportive and enthusiastic about her research. Her advisor was a middle-aged woman known for her feminist views and a difficult character.

Jane complained that her advisor’s silent ghost seemed settled at the end of her desk, at the other end of the room. Jane had been unable to sit there for days, and preferred to connect for our sessions from her sofa bed, crumbling under books and printed papers that she was unable to read or remove, even though sleeping in the middle of this improvised library—“the den,” as she called it—was becoming tricky.

As Jane was lying low in her den, the ghost was comfortably occupying her desk—an ever disapproving and punitive presence. Each time she tried to formulate a thought and write it down, she could sense, almost physically, the imaginary advisor winking in distaste at her poor efforts; simply knowing that the results would never be good enough. This room that Jane seemed to share with her imaginary advisor was suffocating, but the anxiety she felt at the thought of getting out was even worse.

As Jane described her advisor’s malefic ghost, I asked how its presence made her feel.

Alienated, confused… little.

As we explored these feelings, Jane’s usually calm face changed. She looked like a young and very upset child.

Have you ever felt like this before?

She had; it was a strangely familiar feeling when she curled up in her den, sucking her thumb at times she confessed. This is how she used to sooth herself, alone in her childhood room, when her mother was annoyed with her for some reason, or busy exercising.

As a child Jane often secretly thought that she had been born to these particular parents by mistake: she had little or no affinity with either of them. Roald Dahl’s character Matilda resonated deeply with her.

Jane had had as little choice when an academic advisor had been allocated to her, as she had had in choosing her own mother. She actually resented both of them. “The awareness of her dependence on her advisor was producing a deep anxiety—the same she used to feel when she was dependent on her mother.” This time the advisor seemed to be failing her in the same way her mother had done before, and this resonance made Jane’s anger even more overwhelming.

I knew first hand how the supervisory relationship, not unlike the therapeutic one, has the potential to repeat earlier traumatic experiences.

Shame in Academia

This incident opened a door into what would become the most important part of Jane’s therapy: working with and through her shame, towards a better sense of self and higher self-esteem.

During her first steps in academia, Jane had quickly learnt that she had to justify her every word or thought. Entry into the academic environment can trigger a feeling of shame in newcomers. It is easy to feel small and under-developed when entering a community of seasoned academics that you look up to: a dwarf in the presence of giants.

Jane would spend hours imagining how her advisor and other committee members would “laugh in her face” as she presented before them. At night, she would stay awake picturing the most humiliating scenes of her academic fall made public.

As Jane was describing how little, insignificant and defective she often felt, despite her obvious academic success, it became clear that this was a familiar emotional experience for her. She had felt this way many times before. As a little girl, she idealized her mother—a beautiful, tall, elegant, and snobbish woman. She remembered how proud she had felt of her mother as her primary school mates were admiring her beauty and expensive clothes. But as she grew up, her mother lost interest in her; Jane’s awe was replaced by disappointment. Why didn’t her adored mom like her? Did it mean that something was wrong with her? A feeling of not being good enough, not likable, had put roots in her very nature. This shame was later exacerbated by the tough rules of the academic world.

A few months into our work, Jane’s mother announced that she would be visiting her in Russia. Jane felt disorientated and anxious. She thought that her mother must have been bored with her Texan life. But I could also sense how the little girl in her craved her mom’s attention; Jane was still hoping that her mother might end up appreciating her.

She went to pick her up at the airport. The first comment her mother made brought back the past: the airport hall looked provincial and rather under-equipped for a city praised by all touristic guides for its “emperor glory.” When they reached the luxurious hotel her mother had booked and sat together in the bar, facing the straight line of the Nevsky Prospect, Jane was already dreading the days to come. Looking at the middle-aged heavily made up woman, Jane realized that, however familiar she appeared, she did not really know her. In her bright yellow jacket, her mother looked strangely foreign. When Jane tentatively switched to Russian, she did not seem to notice, and carried on talking in her consistently poor English: Jane’s hope for acknowledgement of her efforts and progress in her mother’s tongue were vanishing. A young waiter came to take their order and smiled at Jane; she could not avoid noticing how her mother’s face froze.

When Jane finally heard her mother talking in Russian to people in shops and restaurants, she was shocked by the poverty of her vocabulary and the unpleasant notes of a foreign accent—maybe consciously produced by her Americanized mother.

Later on, reflecting on our use of Russian in therapy, Jane acknowledged that communicating in her mother tongue within a warm and genuine relationship was a meaningful experience to her. For a long time she had been reading about literary characters’ feelings in Russian; to speak about her own feelings in Russian to somebody genuinely interested was new to her. “Putting her childhood experiences of loneliness and hurt into words in Russian moved something deeper inside her: she was now able to express anger towards her academic supervisor, but also acknowledge the anger she felt towards her mother.”

The Work Continues

We eventually survived the winter together. As the days got longer and the first rays of a shy April sun illuminated Jane’s room, her shame seemed to lift. She washed her sole window for the first time since she had moved in, and realized that she did not feel any desire to fall. The snow underneath was starting to melt, and she noticed a neighbor looking at her from a window on the opposite side of the yard. She had never noticed any signs of life in that window before. As their eyes briefly met, she felt strangely alive.

Spring brought its own anxieties. Jane’s academic clock was ticking, and she had only a few months left to complete her fieldwork. Even if she now saw her adviser in a much less grim light, the support she was getting from her was scarce and inconsistent. The White Nights kicked in, and Jane lost sleep again over her work. Researching contemporary Bakhtinian thought, she was trying to contact the academics who saw themselves as his followers. The risk she was taking in reaching out to this closed circle triggered familiar shame: Jane was convinced that these seasoned academics would never take her seriously, and her Russian was certainly not good enough.

We had a session just before she was due to present her research project to this group, hoping to convince them to participate. Jane kept picturing how they would look bored or even leave the room before she could finish. She was particularly intimidated by one of them. This older professor looked like Bakhtin himself—the same high forehead and the white beard. Jane was not sure whether this resemblance was a cultivated forgery or unconscious mimicry. When they first met, he had spoken so quickly and pretentiously that he made little sense to her.

Her mother’s constant absence, combined with the little interest she had shown in her daughter, had never allowed Jane to confront her.

It took us a while to reach a point where Jane felt ready to have a direct and honest conversation with her advisor. She learned that she had been grieving her husband’s recent death and was being treated for depression. After this conversation, her advisor’s ghost dwindled and eventually left her desk, making space for her own thoughts. Her research journal came back to life and Jane’s eyes sparkled again when she spoke about her work.

One day Jane did not switch her camera on as we began our session. She wanted audio-only. When I asked her why, she said she did not feel well enough to shower or brush her hair. Or in essence, she felt too ugly and too unfit to be looked at. As she shared this with me, she cried. What Jane was painfully experiencing at that moment was a deep sense of inadequacy resulting in feelings of shame. To let me witness her shame felt unbearable to her; she was terrified to recognize in my eyes the same disgust that she used to see in her mother’s gaze.

Eventually we agreed that she had to take this risk to dispel her shame. After a few minutes, she was able to switch the camera on: her face looked puffy from crying and very young.

My natural response was to give Jane a hug, but the limitations of the online therapy added to the natural ethical concerns around touching a client. This time I was painfully aware about the physical distance between us.

Jane was close to cancelling but she did not.

The meetings of their little group were informal and usually held in the apartment of one member or another. She was kindly asked to bring a cake to go along with the tea. As she rang the doorbell, she was close to fainting. Once inside, she was greeted by a giant St. Bernard dog, which managed to lick her on the nose. The laughter reaching her from the sitting room and the familiar smell of the books lining the walls of the corridor reassured her. Bakhtin’s twin brother’s wife—a tiny woman with sparkly blue eyes (also a former ballerina as she would learn later)—accepted the expensive cake with an evident pleasure and led her into the sitting room. The place was warm and the academics looked like old friends enjoying a tea together.

After an hour, she felt an almost painful sense of belonging; for the first time she was part of a welcoming family. They listened to her presentation with genuine interest, asked questions, and ended up having a heated and mostly inspiring argument in which Jane was able to take part. She forgot about the imperfections of her Russian and was able to enjoy this simple warm connection with her senior colleagues.

The inclusion and warmth Jane experienced at that meeting gave her a new boost. On her way home, Jane bumped into the blond neighbour. He was walking his scruffy dog beneath her windows. She spontaneously invited him in for tea. In bewilderment, she found out that he was a PhD candidate too, but in physics. It was a long night; his dog turned out to be a real cuddler and accepted her as a new friend.

I continued meeting with Jane for another year or so. She moved back to the US and started writing up her dissertation. Bakhtin’s twin brother died suddenly a few months after their encounter, and she returned to St. Petersburg to attend his funeral. His ballerina widow gave Jane some of her late husband’s books, insisting that such had been his wish. Jane cried and felt like an orphan. Grieving for the friend and mentor she had found in this old Russian philosopher made her question her relationship with her father.

In the meantime, his drinking had got worse. Jane went to visit. She needed only one dinner in his company to realize that he did not seem able to listen to anything she attempted to say and was clearly craving another drink. Once she returned from this disappointing trip back home, we had to mourn her hope of having at least one “good enough” parent.

In the process she finished her thesis and started teaching. This activity brought back the familiar feelings of shame, but her genuine interest in her students and her revived passion for Russian literature helped Jane to eventually enjoy her work.

The therapeutic relationship we developed helped Jane survive the definitive separation from her parents; their absence in her life was not plunging her in despair any more. She has finally been able to thrive in other close relationships—with her friends, colleagues and, finally, with her first supervisees. In our ending session she talked a lot about how much our relationship meant to her, but also about her desire to be there for her students. This filled me with warmth and gratitude—towards her, but also towards my own supervisors who were genuinely and consistently there for me. Their presence has been a real game changer for my own academic journey.

The path towards a PhD is never easy. It takes a lot of work but also a lot of daring. As any transitional stage of life, it abounds with demons that we must tame.

Jane is actually a fictional character inspired from many stories of PhD candidates whom I work with in my online psychotherapy practice, or during the course of my own PhD. I admire their courage, hard work, and passion for knowledge. These qualities are a great asset in therapy, which is a natural and inspiring companion for such a journey.

Reaching out for therapy online can help young academics to get the much-needed support, even when they are far away from home.

References

Bozeman, B. and Gaughan, M. (2011) "Job Satisfaction among University Faculty: Individual, Work, and Institutional Determinants," The Journal of Higher Education, 82(2), pp. 154-186.

Kinman, G. (2001) "Pressure Points: A review of research on stressors and strains in UK academics," Educational Psychology, 21(4), pp. 473-492.

Kinman, G. and Jones, F. (2003) ''Running Up the Down Escalator: Stressors and strains in UK academics," Quality in Higher Education, 9(1), pp. 21-38.

Levecque, K., Anseel, F., De Beuckelaer, A., Van der Heyden, J. and Gisle, L. (2017) 'Work organization and mental health problems in PhD students," Research Policy, 46(4), pp. 868.

Lovitts, B.E. (2001) Leaving the Ivory Tower. The causes and Consequences of Departure From Doctoral Study. Rowman & Littlefield.

Shaw, C. (2015) http: //www.th eguardian.com/education /2015/ feb/13/un iversitystaff-scared- to-disclose-mental-health-problems (Accessed on 23/9/2017).

Walsh, J.P. and Lee, Y. (2015) "The bureaucratization of science," Research Policy, 44(8), pp. 1584-1600.

Are High-Risk Clients Suitable for Online Psychotherapy?

Into the Virtual Unknown

When we first began practicing online via the Skype interface, each of us felt a similar trepidation. Four or five years ago when we started, online psychotherapy was in its infancy and there were no supervisors or established authorities to guide us, so there was an understandable fear of the unknown.

We also worried about mastering the technology, as neither of us is particularly skilled in computer matters more complicated than word processing and email composition. Should we use built-in or external cameras? Should we use headsets with boom microphones? How fast of an Internet connection did we and our clients need? And perhaps unnoticed at the time but inspiring a subtle anxiety: “Would we be less skillful as therapists, less confident in our abilities, when we no longer met with a client within the authoritative confines of our own offices?”

Another source of anxiety was deciding which clients to accept for online treatment. Uncertain of our ability to work in this new format, we originally believed that we ought to confine our online practice to high-functioning clients—people who’d be able to sustain the supposedly less intimate form of contact and, with only a screen image for bonding, wouldn’t feel detached or abandoned. High-risk clients such as those who self-injured or posed a risk of suicide were definitely off limits. Today, when we discuss the subject of online therapy with some of our colleagues, we encounter similar questioning, and sometimes profound skepticism.

Over the ensuing years, we’ve both become entirely comfortable with the technical interface offered by Skype and confident in our abilities to provide quality online psychotherapy. With experience, we’ve also come to feel that the population of clients who might benefit is much larger than we first believed. There are still limits, of course, especially when there is a serious risk to life or when a client is psychotic; but based on the past five years, we’ve found that nearly all prospective clients can benefit from online psychotherapy.

Joseph first began to envision a larger scope to his potential online practice during his early work with a client who had concealed the extent of her involvement with self-injury at the beginning of treatment.

Anastasia pushed the scope of her work when an ongoing client she had started treating face-to-face in Spain for acute panic attacks had to return to Russia: Transitioning to online therapy was the only way to continue working with her.

Danielle and Olga are two clients who didn’t at first appear to be good candidates for online psychotherapy as they both displayed ongoing instability in moods and behaviors.

Danielle (Joseph’s client)


Danielle had followed my blog for a couple of years before she contacted me for treatment, not long after I began working by Skype. On her client questionnaire, she disclosed a history of self-injury but described it as minor, under control, and not life threatening. She insisted that she wasn’t suicidal. In our email exchanges prior to scheduling a first session, I told her that I couldn’t see her less than twice a week; otherwise, I didn’t feel we’d have the conditions to manage her issues. If I’d been seeing her in person, I would have required the same twice-weekly sessions.

During our first exploratory session, before we committed to working together, I made sure that she had an adequate local support system in case of emergency. Danielle assured me that, if she did at some point feel suicidal or if self-injury became a much larger issue, she had resources to contact: her pastor as well as a local therapy practice to which her prior therapist had belonged before he moved to another city. Danielle was familiar with emergency medical services and knew whom to call. Although I felt a little apprehensive about her history of self-injury, I felt that we’d established the conditions necessary to begin treatment.

From the beginning, Danielle and I developed a strong working relationship. Because she’d read every one of my blog posts, many of which are quite revealing, it didn’t feel to her as if I were a complete stranger. I found her endearing, engaging, and a pleasure to work with. In her line of work, Danielle managed a team remotely and held daily meetings by Skype, so she was even more comfortable with the medium than I was. We met twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays. It soon began to feel to me no different from meeting a client in person, as difficult as that is for professionals who haven’t worked by Skype to understand.

Although she didn’t disclose the full details of her past until much later, Danielle let me know early on that she’d been sexually molested by more than one of her stepfathers beginning when she was 7 years old. She also told me that her mother had looked the other way when a family friend began abusing Danielle later on; the mother needed the man’s help and essentially gave away her daughter in exchange for it. This arrangement went on for several years.

A month or so into treatment, it became clear that Danielle’s involvement with self-injury was far from “minor”; she admitted that she’d misrepresented how serious it was out of fear that I wouldn’t accept her as a client if she’d told the truth. In fact, “I probably would not have taken her into my practice had I known.” Relatively inexperienced in working by Skype at that point, I would have assumed that a client who self-injures needed the more immediate contact afforded by in-person therapy.

Minor hair pulling, pinching, and scratching helped Danielle to manage her emotions most of the time—she’d explained this to me at the very beginning. But as I later learned, when conflict arose with her ex-husband or work became especially difficult, she’d cut herself with razor blades to find release from emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. During that stressful period, a month or so into therapy, cutting had become a daily practice.

By that point, I’d already developed a strong connection with Danielle and didn’t feel I could simply stop working with her, although I did feel more anxious about her welfare. At the same time, I wasn’t frightened and didn’t make Danielle sign a contract binding her not to cut as a condition of treatment. I’ve worked with other women who self-injure and understand the dynamics of emotional self-regulation involved in cutting. I felt that together, given our strong working bond, we could help her find healthier ways to self-soothe.

A complicated transference relationship soon developed. While on one level, Danielle idealized me and developed some sexual fantasies about the two of us together, on an unconscious level, she also struggled with a great deal of rage toward me, displaced from all those “fathers” who should have looked after her but instead exploited her as a sexual object. The cutting also had more than one meaning. It provided emotional relief, as I’d seen with other clients, but it also gave Danielle an outlet for the rage she felt. As I put it to her during our sessions, she couldn’t hurt me directly but she could get to me by hurting my client.

To confront these emotional dynamics, along with one’s own anxieties about clients who self-injure, often makes professionals unwilling to take such people into their practice. It can be quite scary, especially when these clients often want to scare you. Sometimes it’s because they want you to come to their rescue; sometimes they want to “prove” they can be more powerfully destructive than you are creative; sometimes they need to express the rage they feel for having been helpless and exploited. Bearing with these emotions without becoming terrified or enraged yourself is a major challenge for the therapist. Most professionals understandably worry about a malpractice suit if a client actually were to kill herself. Nobody wants the guilt and regret for having “failed” a client who committed suicide.

But in my experience, the emotional dynamics and therapeutic methods for understanding and coping with those who self-injure are the same with both in-person and Skype clients. I made the same sort of interventions with Danielle as I’ve done with clients I’ve met in my consulting room. By remaining calm and engaged with her, and not retreating in fear or anxiety, I helped her over several years to find better ways to cope with her emotions.

“We survived a period of intense cutting, when severe blood loss brought on heart palpitations, and she began reaching out to me by email between sessions.” Although I don’t normally encourage email contact, I welcomed Danielle’s communications, just as I would have welcomed emails from a self-injuring client I was meeting with in person. Sometimes that extra contact during breaks is needed to support clients in their struggles to take better care of themselves. By the end of our treatment, self-injury truly had become a minor issue.

Early on in my practice by Skype, this experience with Danielle taught me that distance therapy is suitable for many more potential clients than I would have imagined. If she hadn’t concealed the extent of her self-injury at the beginning, I might never have learned this valuable lesson.

Olga (Anastasia’s Client)


When Olga reached out by email, I’d already had experience working online with complex cases. Olga had fled the war in her country and now lived in Prague as a refugee. Her existence was precarious in every possible way; she did not speak Czech and, feeling isolated, was barely able to navigate her new environment. She complained about panic attacks, depression and an “acute desire to die.” For several days previous to her “cry for help” (these were the exact words she chose for the “subject” of her first email), Olga was unable to leave her room and the only “food” she was able to consume was coffee and cigarettes.

I agreed to meet for an introductory session to see whether I would be able to help her. “While I felt an obvious sense of urgency and a natural desire to rescue her, I also secretly planned that after this first conversation, I would refer her to a local English-speaking therapist.” I usually try to avoid any rigid diagnosis, but I suspected that Olga might be labeled as “borderline” and could probably benefit from medication.

Only later, several sessions into our work, did I realize the full extent of Olga’s issues: She experienced social phobia and agoraphobia, was mildly self-harming, and felt suicidal most of the time. The level of isolation and despair she was experiencing at that point made it impossible for her to get out of her room, to struggle with an unfamiliar language or navigate foreign streets, and to engage with a local in-person therapist in her wobbly English.

There were several occasions in the early stages when I questioned my decision to welcome Olga as an online client. We were in the middle of our third session when she suddenly announced: “I need a break, just for a minute,” and she abruptly disconnected. “I sat there, in front of my painfully empty screen and thought to myself that I had lost her.” The intensity of the emotional response that she had read on my face must have made her panic. To see her own unexpressed pain reflected on somebody else’s face was too much for her.

In the chat box, I let her know that I would prefer to remain online whenever she felt overwhelmed by emotions. I was able to keep calm and stay connected without the sort of unpredictable outburst she would typically have received from her mother. Was it ok if I called back? A few minutes later, when we resumed our conversation, she was ready to reflect on what had happened.

The idiosyncrasies of an online setting allowed Olga to regulate her own risk-taking behavior and vulnerability. Temporarily logging off when she felt overwhelmed and then reconnecting once she had recovered was an empowering experience for someone who had been feeling hopeless and depressed for a long time. Such experiences, if used mindfully in the session, often provide great grist for the psychotherapy mill.

At first when we were connecting, Olga would be sitting on the floor: She felt too weak and too ashamed to hold herself upright. In a more traditional setting, the client is forced to adapt to the therapist’s environment. With clients who carry some deep psychological wounds, this can be simply impossible at the beginning of treatment. “The fact that we meet the client in his or her own environment opens a window into the client’s experience: Seeing Olga curled up on the floor of her untidy room, I could sense her shame and fragility.”

Later in treatment, on the day I saw her sitting upright in a chair, with her laptop on the desk in front of her, I knew we’d made some serious progress.

Several months later, when she had more fully recovered and was resolving her current life situation, I asked Olga to share her experience of working with a therapist online. I also informed her that I would use her account in an article. This invitation offered a therapeutic boost to her broken self-esteem: It let her know that not only was her opinion valuable for me, but it could also be of use to others who might also feel isolated and in desperate need. This is what she wrote:

“I remember that day when in the half fog, in the total despair, I plucked up the courage to write you an e-mail. After several attempts to commit suicide, after repeated uncontrollable impulses to harm myself, after feeling myself to be absolutely unfit to live, after realizing I not only can't carry on living like this but don't want to, and it would be better to die right now, what could I do? I could write an email. I didn't have anyone, anything, I wasn't even myself—that in short is how you could have described my condition. My Internet had been paid for. I talked a lot during our first conversation; you gave me this opportunity. I talked and you listened to me until I could get my breath back. I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the wall. Via Skype I could see on my familiar iPad, the calm, compassionate expression of an unknown face on the screen. I knew that at any moment I could press the button and ‘hide.’”

Olga took a huge risk, reaching out when her trust in herself and the world was broken. Now it was my turn to take the risk and be there for her, even if my support would be limited to the screen during our twice-weekly sessions.

Such limitations may at first seem like an obstacle to working with more challenging cases, but they often end up playing an important role in containing people who feel torn and fragmented: They allow these clients to regulate the intensity of the contact, and empower them to make choices about the physical conditions of the session. In the case of Olga, the choice about where and how to sit, and how long to stay connected, helped her to become more aware of the process and of her connection to me. This awareness gave us both insight into our quickly evolving relationship.

Working online with clients who are deeply distressed makes therapists keenly aware of the absence of touch. We cannot shake our client’s hand when we greet them at the door, we cannot offer the same warm gesture at the end of each session. Any online therapist is familiar with this frustration. But with Olga, this physical distance helped her to trust me enough so that she could engage in the process. Olga’s mother had touched her daughter in many abusive ways, asking to join her in bed and to give her endless back rubs. At the initial stage of our work, Olga knew she was safe and out of reach.

Like many online therapists, I often work with clients who are experiencing some form of displacement. Olga’s case may seem extreme, but what she was experiencing in an acute form (due to her precarious refugee status, her traumatic history, and a very particular sensitivity) is familiar to many emigrants as an unavoidable part of their lives. The benefits of online therapy for such individuals cannot be over-estimated. In the case of Olga, before we could get anywhere close to her borderline mother and the abuse she had experienced throughout childhood, we had to deal with the harsh realities of her current living situation: her fear of going out to buy groceries, her inability to engage with others, her disrupted sleep patterns and her struggle to feed herself. At this initial stage, the fact that she was able to connect with me from her own room—the only “safe space” she knew—became crucial. This is Olga’s account:

“… [A]t the very beginning, I deliberately focused my attention on ‘my familiar iPad.’ It has a small screen. For the first few sessions I didn't expand the window to full screen, after several sessions, I tried it for the first time, then forced myself and then I wanted to… Skype therapy was the only therapy possible… I am located within my ‘familiar space.’ I look at your face on the ‘familiar screen.’ I can sit there in whatever clothes suit me and with my hair unbrushed, with my legs pulled up under me, and thus I learn what I am and I don't have to pretend. I am not ‘attacked’ by the details of your room, my consciousness ‘does not float away,’ it doesn't get distracted… and when we finish the session, this screen, this room remains with me. Several sessions ago I was unbearably frightened after each session—do you remember the cries for help in my messages: ‘How can I live each minute?’ Then it became a little bit easier to finish a session and leave myself at least a small drop of the sense that I exist, when we aren't talking any more, I am in a familiar place, as before everything threatened me including myself and I was ‘on the lookout,’ but I can stay at home and immediately crawl under my blanket or continue to sit in the same place, giving myself time to get up and go and do something, however small.”

It took us a few sessions before she was able to follow my advice and reach out to a psychiatrist I had located for her in Prague. She agreed to take medication, which quickly improved her sleep and her concentration. The risk she took in leaving her room and meeting the psychiatrist was our first victory, a testament to our growing therapeutic alliance.

As is often the case with deeply troubled clients, Olga’s childhood had been catastrophic: She grew up in a dark, cold and neglectful environment. Her mother was unpredictable, volatile, and emotionally and physically abusive. She had never been diagnosed, or sought treatment, but her behavior indicated some severe personality disorder (probably BPD). Olga’s father was drunk every evening, and later in life discussed his suicidal urges with no regard to his children’s feelings. Her parents divorced when she was seven, and after that, her eight-year-old brother was supposed to take care of her. Both children cooked, earned money as they could, cleaned the apartment and protected their mother from distress. They knew far too well how violent and terrifying she could become when upset.

Throughout her life, Olga had felt completely responsible for her mother. She continued sending her money (often the only money she had) and supported her mother’s myth about her sacrificial parenting. This came at a high cost; her dysfunctional mother had taken up residence deep within her own bowels. Olga’s behavior toward herself and in her relationships with others mirrored her mother’s shaming, persecutory, and abusive manner.

In the course of our work together, Olga began to experience some intense kidney pain and vomiting, which did not seem to have any purely physiological reasons. On a psychological level, it marked the beginning of a separation and liberation process and an important stage in the therapy. As Olga struggled to separate from her mother, I stayed as “close” to her as I could. We met twice a week, sometimes more, when she was feeling particularly fragile. Through my screen, I bore witness as she relived many painful moments from her childhood; as a new narrative of her life emerged, she began to feel more alive.

As is often the case with online therapy, boundaries were easily challenged. Olga would reach out frequently, sending me distressed messages via the Skype chat box. Initially I felt stressed by these intrusions, but once I addressed the issue openly with her, we agreed on some simple rules: I wouldn’t always respond straight away, or would sometimes just confirm that I was there and thinking about her. This reassured her as to healthy nature of our relationship, strikingly different from what she had experienced with her mother who had constantly pushed, violated, and dismantled boundaries with her violent emotional storms.

The fact that I was located at a safe distance, in a different country, permitted her to experience separateness and create a safe space around her. Soon, she was able to fill it with her own thoughts and desires. Our relationship was by definition at a physical distance, so different from what she had experienced with her mother: They had lived together in the same small apartment for more than twenty years. At crucial moments, this distance and our limited physical access to one another kept us both safe.

Olga went on to experience powerful emotions of hatred and anger, which she could never have expressed to her mother. As for me, the “safe distance” offered by the online setting helped me to be “there for her” at those difficult moments without letting these emotions sweep me (and our relationship) away.

Towards the end of our work Olga regained the ability to deal with her every-day reality. She slowly resumed her daily activities and began engaging with others in healthier ways. For the first time, her life felt like it was actually her life, separate and apart from her mother.

Taking the Risk


In the process of dealing with such difficult cases, we’ve developed some useful strategies. At the outset, we always discuss the limitations of online therapy with new clients, stressing the fact that it doesn’t allow us to be physically present when we might like to be. Addressing this reality openly allows us to model ways of dealing with the frustrations and the limitations of a distance relationship. This modeling is extremely beneficial, particularly for those clients who have little healthy experience with appropriate emotional bonds or are confused about their own personal boundaries.

While we typically meet with our online clients weekly, we tend to offer a more intense rhythm in more challenging cases. In the two cases described above, we met with our clients twice a week, and sometimes more frequently when major shifts or breakthroughs were occurring.

We also found that online clients reached out to us between sessions more often than usual, and responding to their emails turned out to be a very important part of the therapeutic process. While we usually expect in-person clients to cope with the inevitable lack of contact between the sessions, this is sometimes too much to ask of online clients, giving the physical distance. Responding, briefly but mindfully to their emails, helps these individuals to maintain the sometimes-fragile connection. While this places an additional demand upon the therapist’s time, it can be crucial at some stages of the client’s recovery. Once the client starts to feel stronger, the email flow usually diminishes naturally.

In cases involving some serious disturbance, we can also insist that the client meet a psychiatrist in person. We typically raise this subject several sessions into therapy, once a good therapeutic alliance has been established. Even with the most resistant clients, this strategy eventually works out well once they’ve developed enough ego strength and trust in our support to take this challenging step of consulting with a psychiatrist and eventually taking a prescribed medication.

“Expanding one’s practice to the online realm can feel risky, and to accept clients with major disturbances can feel even riskier.” As with any venture into the unknown, however, the effort may widen our perspective: What we had felt to be out of reach suddenly becomes possible, at least with some of the people who approach us for treatment.

And in taking such a risk, are we not modeling something important for our clients?