Lynn Ponton on the Challenges and Joys of Working with Teens

A Delicate Balance

Rachel Zoffness: Lynn Ponton, you are a practicing psychiatrist and psychoanalyst who has been working with teens for over thirty years, and are author of the books, The Romance of Risk: Why Teenagers Do the Things They Do and The Sex Lives of Teenagers: Revealing the Secret World of Adolescent Boys and Girls. Let’s start with some of the salient issues that come up when you’re working with children and teenagers. I find that confidentiality when working with kids and teens is often a tricky subject because teenagers have rights as clients and they want to maintain their privacy, which is critical to the alliance. But at the same time parents want to know what’s going on with their children. How do you maintain this delicate balance?
Lynn Ponton: I think it begins with the first session, and even before, when you talk with the parents on the phone—you have to alert them about how you run your therapy practice and your work with kids. I almost always say that I try to encourage privacy with the teens so that they feel open to talk with me, and I will tell their child during the first session that I’m going to try to keep things confidential, but that there will be some exceptions, and I let parents know that right away on the phone. In general, I meet the teen with the parents before I even start and I alert everybody to the parameters and the boundaries around confidentiality.
RZ: So that both the teenager and the parent are on the same page and know exactly where you stand.
LP: Exactly. The kinds of things I would need to share with parents, which I’m clear about right from that first session, would be drug use that was risky or risky behavior that would result in serious self-harm. And sometimes other things—abuse when it’s disclosed has to be shared with the parents for a variety of reasons, and because I’m a mandated reporter.

It’s often hard for a teenager to tell their parents these things directly, so I’ll offer to meet with them and their parents and we’ll work together to help them disclose this material. Collaboration with the young person assures them that even if they do tell me something, it’s not going to be reported over the telephone to their parents. They’re not going to find out about it by surprise. Instead, we’re going to collaborate together as a team to make sure that parents know this.

Of course there are times when this doesn’t always work perfectly. Having worked with kids for more than 35 years, there have been exceptions where I’ve found out quickly that a teenager is suicidal and I have to let the parents know. Maybe we have to work toward a hospitalization period or something like that, but I try as much as I can to have the teenager be part of this process and be involved with it.

Cutting

RZ: You mentioned a very hot button and interesting topic, cutting, which to me seems to have become almost a contagious and trendy behavior among teenagers. What’s your thought about that?
LP: Well, self-mutilation in all of its forms is something that therapists have to learn to feel comfortable with working with teenagers. It’s a big part of our work to connect with them, to know about it, to seem comfortable with it and not put off by it when we hear about it in a session. I first saw it about 30 years ago and wrote a paper on it in the ‘80s, which talked about self-mutilation as a communication. As you point out, it’s a contagious risk-taking behavior. In a group of teenagers, one will do it and the others will copy. They’ll think, “I’ll try it and see what I can learn from it.” That’s how that process really starts. In the ‘80s there were big concerns about self-mutilation because of sharing of implements and a lack of understanding around HIV risk, so we had to be very careful about that until we better understood it.

I think it’s often scariest for parents. So how do you work with teens around the cutting for parents? How do you help a teenager who is cutting really find other ways to cope with some of their feelings and to develop identity in a healthier way? In general I try to educate teens about cutting. I often employ them to get involved in it, to look online, look up articles about cutting. We’ll have conversations about it so that it’s really an educational process with them.

Some teens don’t want to engage in that process.
They may tell you they’re cutting, but they don’t want to learn about it, they want to do it.
They may tell you they’re cutting, but they don’t want to learn about it, they want to do it. This is something private that they’re going to do to help themselves feel better, so I’ll respect that, but I’ll still engage in conversations with them about it. I want to make sure that if they are cutting that it is safe in other ways. There’s significant risk of scarring, of infection—there’s a whole lot of risks that are associated with it.

Many teens cut because they say they feel better afterwards. A number of papers point to the beta endorphin release with cutting—the focus then becomes the physical cut and not the emotional pain that they’re feeling. So it accomplishes a lot for teenagers, but it is an unhealthy coping strategy and risk-taking behavior that you have to work with teens to limit. There are many different ways to do that.
RZ: The way you talk about cutting, it sounds like it might serve an important function for the teenagers who are doing it. What would you say to people who say that it’s just an attention-seeking strategy?
LP: Your question is well placed because I think a lot of times therapists who work with teenagers are faced either by teachers or parents or even other therapists who say, “I don’t want to work with those teens. They’re engaged in a lot of attention-seeking behaviors. How do you handle that?”

I think many behaviors in life are attention-seeking, and often we’re seeking greater attention from ourselves, that we pay attention to our own pain. Teens usually cut because they’re in pain and they don’t necessarily understand their own emotional pain but when they cut, it allows them to at least understand that it’s a painful thing that they’re dealing with. So, yes, it is attention-seeking, and adults will often be drawn in to it. Teachers at school are shocked when they find out about it and they’re worried other kids will cut.

But I think there are a lot of other factors that play in to cutting besides seeking attention. I’m also interested in questions about molestation with cutting. Were they ever hurt? Did they ever suffer abuse? Are they using that in the context of cutting? Has it become very ingrained, so it’s a behavior that they use as a coping strategy that they may have done thousands of times and they find themselves unable to stop? How does it fit in with their family?

Does their family know much about it?
There are many, many reasons why young people cut, and attention-seeking is only one of them.
One of the cases that I worked on for a long time, a girl cut because her father was a surgeon. He talked about cutting all the time, a different kind of cutting, but she imitated him in a kind of identification with her father. It took a long time to unravel, as it wasn’t obvious at the beginning of her treatment. There are many, many reasons why young people cut, and attention-seeking is only one of them. And it’s not often the major one. You have to address the complexity of the behavior and also the feelings that go with them.

Five Perspectives

RZ: I think some professionals are concerned that giving too much time and attention to cutting might be positively reinforcing. So it seems to me that as a clinician addressing it you want to find a balance between over-reacting and under-reacting.
LP: I think that’s more of a strict cognitive behavioral model way of looking at it, and it gets to the question of models and how they affect our work. Cutting is a behavior, but it’s attached to many other perspectives that we look at when we’re engaged in therapy. I try to look at things from at least five perspectives.

One is the more dynamic-relational, where you engage and are looking at aspects of the relationship—how it affects you, the parents, the cutting behavior, all of that. How disclosure plays a role in that. Attachment. Therapeutic alliance. Then there’s the behavioral model. A lot of therapists don’t use that model, but I think it helps to focus on the behavior. I often have kids keep a timesheet or a workbook on their cutting behavior and have them draw their feelings at the time that they’re cutting in addition to recording the number of times they cut. It’s a kind of cutting journal that we look at from a behavioral perspective. We also look at their thoughts that are occurring at the time that they’re cutting, so we can target really negative thoughts.

Then there is the family system. Cutting is usually very much connected with parents in some way or another—they’re worried about the parent’s reactions; they’re worried about feelings they have that they feel the parents can’t help them with. A lot of our kids have trouble with self-soothing, so they’ll cut to self-soothe. The parents might like to learn how to help soothe their teen, or help their teen gain self-soothing mechanisms, but they don’t even know the cutting is going on so they can’t focus on that area with them. Or they, themselves, may be unable to self-soothe and not know that it’s an important skill that you need for raising teenagers.

Carl Whitaker always said, "You lose the parents, you lose the family, you lose the case."
And then there’s the aspect of meaning for the teenager. What does cutting mean to them? Do they think about suicide? Some cutting is related to suicide. Self-harm that is related to suicide is very important to pay attention to, not just for our board tests but in our office with our kids.

Lastly there’s the biological perspective. With some kids that I work with, they carry biological conditions which may lead to increased cutting behavior. Prader-Willi Syndrome is one of those that has some increased cutting and self-harm. You want to be thinking about underlying conditions that might contribute to this behavior.

All of those things are going through my mind, so I’m not thinking, “if I pay attention to this behavior I will reinforce it.” Instead I’m working on all of these levels if I can. I didn’t start with this in the first year or two of being a therapist working with kids, but the longer I’ve worked with kids, the more I’ve been able to see the complexity of so-called simple behaviors.
RZ: I really appreciate that more systemic approach to working with families because when you work with children and teenagers you’re never just working with a child. You’re always working with the family and the larger system.
LP: One of my greatest teachers was Carl Whittaker, a well-known family therapist I worked with as a young medical student therapist in Wisconsin. He always said, “you lose the parents, you lose the family, you lose the case, Lynn.” I kept that in mind and it’s really helped me with all of these cases.

Manualized Treatments

RZ: Apropos of what you just said, I was trained in manualized treatments and I do see a use for them. But a lot of therapists think they’re mumbo jumbo and that they don’t address and can’t respond to the spontaneity of what happens in treatment face to face with clients. How would you make a case for manualized treatments, if at all, or what would you say to people who don’t believe in them?
LP: Well, there are now manualized treatments in dynamic relational work. There are over 400 manualized treatments that I know of in working with children and adolescents from a behavioral modality. Family therapy, too, has manualized treatments. I don’t think there are any in the more existential perspective, because it kind of runs counter to manualization. In biological therapies they have always had manualized treatments for how you evaluate symptoms and work with things.

When I work with young therapists—and I supervise a lot of residents, fellows, psychologists, psychiatrists who are at all stages of training—I really encourage them to pick one or two manualized treatments and really learn them—go away for a day or a weekend, learn the strategy, practice it, and try to become familiar with it. Even if you’re going to be a strict psychoanalyst or family therapist, I think they’re valuable because they teach you how to focus on specific things, how to evaluate. Often manualized treatments have an evaluative component built in, so you have to look at your actions and evaluate how they’re working at the end. That’s a very important part of all therapy.
RZ: Measuring one’s progress?
LP: Exactly. That’s the key, I think, in mastering some of our work. Now, which ones would I recommend? I think one of the best ones to know about is the basic cognitive behavioral therapy approach as developed by Aaron Beck at Pennsylvania. He was my supervisor when I trained there as a resident, and it’s a very successful modality to use. It helps us understand the impact of negative thinking. Another supervisor of mine was Joe Weiss, who worked on Control Mastery theory—which is about negative thoughts and ideas and the power of unconscious beliefs. I admire Marsha Linehan a great deal and the Dialectical Behavioral Therapy model. I’ve had some wonderful conversations with her about her work with adolescents and I think she really grasps what it’s like to work with high-risk adolescents. I would encourage almost anyone to look at her book on working with high-risk adolescents. It’s a wonderful model and it adds much to the work we do with young people. A third area that I think people should look into is trauma. We work so much with trauma as child and adolescent therapists. There is a trauma focused interview that we can do with kids that I use all the time. It’s very useful in diagnosis and at looking at symptom category.

I think learning a little bit about any one of these models helps any child and adolescent therapist function in a more complete way.
RZ: So it sounds like what you would advocate for is an understanding and knowledge of these manualized treatments because it gives you, as a clinician, more tools in your tool belt to pull out for individual clients as they come to you with their individual differences.
LP: It’s one of the reasons the tool belt concept is helpful. But it also makes you feel more comfortable as a therapist, knowing that you have some grasp of these different ideas. Knowing that you’re not following one dogma, but are open to new ideas, because I think ultimately as therapists we end up constructing our own way of working. The theories that we use to support our work, the collection of tasks and techniques that we define and use—these form the basis of our work . It’s very valuable to look at other people’s constructions, integrate them into our own work and say, “hey, this is useful for me. It works with these patients. I can really take this and run with it.” I mentioned five perspectives that I’ve accrued over maybe 35, 40 years of work, but I anticipate over the next 40 years there are going to be others that will greatly benefit our work as child and adolescent therapists.
RZ: There are therapists and other mental health practitioners who would say that defining yourself as eclectic dilutes your work. Do you believe that that’s true? How do you define your theoretical orientation when asked?
LP: I remember that same question from 35 years ago in residency. I think having multiple perspectives strengthens our work, and there are multiple perspectives within each of these theories, so it’s not like people who belong to one model are necessarily doing some ossified therapy that was created by some individual or group of individuals. In my work, I want to stay open and patients open me up.

One reason I like adolescent work, even though I feel like I’m getting older, is that it keeps me young. It keeps me open to new ideas. My patients actually taught me how to text on my cell phone; my patients are coded in by their first name so that they can call me and have a relationship with me.
My patients actually taught me how to text on my cell phone.
I remember one of my other supervisors, Hilda Brook, who worked a lot with eating disorders, was working with teens into her 70s and early 80s in a wheelchair, and she had greater facility with them than even I have today in my 60s. We can continue to grow in our work with teens if we stay young in other ways.

Texting

RZ: You bring up a very important and hot button issue when working with teenagers, which is texting. And I think doing therapy with teenagers and kids today is a whole new world because teenagers and kids are used to communicating through their technology. What are the upsides and downsides of deciding to be a clinician who texts with your clients as you are?
LP: I think it’s important to be aware of some of the legal parameters around texting. Many of us work with large organizations, and it’s important to be aware of HIPAA regulations and such. HIPAA doesn’t regulate all therapists, only certain therapists who are involved with electronic billing, which you might be if you work in a large institution and you bill electronically. In that case you are HIPAA regulated and with regard to texting, HIPAA states that you cannot be sending clinical decisions through a texting modality or an unsupervised modality. You have to have some regulations around it.

When I worked at UCSF for 35 years, I was in a large system that was HIPAA regulated. My texts, which I did with teenagers for 10 years during that period, dealt with scheduling, and if they texted me about an issue that I was clinically concerned about, I’d have them come in so that we could then talk about it and then work on it in person.

But the texting connection I think is very, very important with teens and therapists. Not all therapists can do it for a variety of reasons. Not everyone feels comfortable with it and not all teens have phones. I’ve done a lot of work with homeless teens, who usually don’t have phones, so you have to figure out other ways to communicate with them.

But the bulk of teens out there today do have access to texting and they will communicate that way, often just to check in with you. They may just want to know you’re there and I think that sets up a relationship with them. I don’t always respond to those texts, but they know that I’m receiving and reading them.

But let’s say you’re not HIPAA regulated, so you can put anything on text. I would still say if you’ve got a big clinical concern with a teen—let’s say they text you, “I’m cutting, I think it’s out of control, I’m feeling really anxious”—I’m going to call them immediately rather than text, and most likely try to get them in to see me if I can. So it’s not that I’m sending long texts back and forth about that type of behavior. I’m really using it as a way to communicate to stay in touch.

Other ways that teens will keep me informed, they’ll often text me, “Saw an article you should be reading, doc,” or “thought you’d like this.” Those things are important because it is a reciprocal relationship. I’m largely involved in educating young people, but they help me a lot, too, and I get a lot from them.
RZ: For therapists in private or group practice who don’t work for large organizations, is there a downside to texting? For example, what if you lose your phone?
LP: I think that gets back to just have their first name, maybe an initial afterwards, but no way that they could really be identified. And if they’re very sensitive texts you can also erase them, although we all know that things are out in the cloud forever. So be aware that that information is out there.

This is also one of the things that you should discuss in the first session. I often discuss with my patients my availability, how they can get a hold of me, so they know that I will have their first name on the cell phone, and their phone number, and that I’m fairly easily accessible. I believe one of the reasons I’ve been so successful with teenagers and their parents is because I have very good accessibility. I take my cell phone all over the world when I travel. I do have somebody on call to cover, but I’m available in that way. But let’s say that cell phone is lost, and I’ve never lost my cell phone, though I fear it all the time, Rachel. I’m looking around for it and I worry about memory loss and loss of cell phone. But if it’s lost I think you have to alert the patients, especially those that you’re texting with, that there is a risk and the cell phone was lost. Most of them are not that concerned about it because their whole name is not out there. There’s not a lot of information out there. But I think it’s important to do that. But I also know from forensic cases that you can actually remove data from a distance off of a cell phone, which might actually be required if you work for a university or large organization.

Sexting

RZ: Technology and internet use seems to be a primary source of conflict between parents and kids. Do you see this a lot in your practice? And how do you go about addressing it both with the parents and with the children?
LP: Very young kids, 9, 10, 11, 12 are using the internet or videogames or other media for large periods of time, and parents are often seeing symptoms—kids are struggling with school, their concentration is impaired, and they’re not engaged in other activities or relationships.
Some boys are being prosecuted for texting sexual photos and parents of boys are very concerned about this.
I think that that’s a very important area to be aware of. Parents need education around the signs to be looking out for when kids are struggling. We need to think about their media profiles, how much time are they on TV, how much time they are playing videogames, how much time are they on internet, and what different modalities they’re involved with.

When families come in, I’ll have both the kid and the parents keep a journal and write their feelings down about what’s happening when there’s a confrontation at home regarding this behavior. And all of that comes back into the session. I often will use the family modality to meet at that point and we’ll talk about what’s going on in that type of interaction.

The other area that comes up frequently with teenagers is sexting—texting sexual material. During the past five years I would estimate I’ve had 50 teenagers referred to me who have been involved in sexting activities.

In general, the girls are involved in sexting pictures, nude photos of themselves that have caused some great difficulty. These are often selfies where the girls will hold the camera out in front of themselves, often in their bedroom or bathroom, sometimes partially clothed, sometimes not, and then they’ll text the photo to a friend or friends, and then it gets texted everywhere. That type of interaction is very important to pay attention to and I’ll generally work with the teenage girl alone and talk with her about what happened. The feelings around sexual development are very private and tender, and it’s deeply shocking that this is suddenly exposed to a large group of people. I work with the family around this behavior, too, and sometimes will meet with parents alone to help them understand why this behavior might have taken place.

I would say a smaller number of the sexting cases, roughly 20%, are boys texting nude photos of themselves, but they’re mostly texting nude photos of girls. There are also laws involved with this and I’ve been involved with the FBI and other law enforcement officials around how to handle these cases. There’s awareness in high schools now that they have to report these cases when they discover that boys are texting sexual photos of girls. Some boys are being prosecuted for texting sexual photos and parents of boys are very concerned about this.
RZ: How do you handle those cases when they come in?
LP: First be aware of the legal ramifications. Second, encourage them to get legal advice, because we as therapists can’t provide all of that. Third, I often will meet with the boy individually and try to get a sense of what happened and work with them around that. Many boys are shocked that this has happened. They may have thought they were doing what the other guys at school were doing, that it was cool, they were getting more status. But I’ve also seen boys who’ve had long-standing problems and the texting of the sexual photos is connected to other sexual difficulties that they’ve been struggling with. They may have been molested. They may have molested another person. So to be aware of that, to be open to hearing about that is very important.

Parents of boys are often very angry about this process. They feel that the boy is at a disadvantage because though he sexted the photos, it was the girl who originally sent the photos out so it should be her responsibility. Helping the parents see that we have to take a deeper look at what’s going on with their son under these circumstances is really, really important and not easy to do. You have to stay open to their feelings about their boys being scapegoated, but at the same time point out this is something we have to pay attention to.

The intersection of online work and sexuality is really a key area to focus on, to get as much help as you can as a therapist. Sometimes if I have a question, even today I’ll go to another therapist that I think has more expertise in this area and get supervision.
RZ: Are there particular resources for therapists who want to learn more about how they can be better clinicians when addressing something like sexting?
LP: Yes. I’m not going to toot my own horn about this, but I’ve written an article that’s online about sexting and working with clinicians that I think is very helpful. It has a literature review of a couple of cases and ten guidelines for parents and therapists around this area. There are not recent and current books because it’s a fairly new topic, but I think it’s something we’re going to see more of in textbooks and articles. A lot of young psychologists’ dissertations have been done on sexting, and those are valuable if you can get a copy and read them.

Learn to Like Kids

RZ: What advice do you have for beginning clinicians treating kids and teens?
LP: The most important thing about doing this work is that you have to be knowledgeable about your own childhood and adolescence. You have to have thought about it, its impact on your own development, the issues that you might bring to the work, questions and preconceptions about it, etc. I encourage almost all therapists to have their own experience in therapy and to explore some of these issues.

Second, what helps the most in this work is really loving children and adolescents. Having a strong love for that age group or working toward it. Let’s say you don’t love it, you’re kind of afraid of it, maybe you’re going to work toward a passion in that area. You’re going to learn why you’re afraid of that age group and you’re going to try it out and get supervision with somebody who is really very good at it. It is a group that is fun to work with, is very challenging, and can really be a growth opportunity for you as a therapist. But I’d say try to develop a passion for it. Learn to like kids. Learn a lot about child and adolescent development. I think either being a parent or playing a role with your nieces and your nephews and other kids is really important.

Third, you’ve got to be able to work with parents. When I was younger and starting out one of my mistakes was that I thought I knew what it was like to be a parent long before I was a parent, and I was often angry with how parents treated kids. By now I’ve gone through decades, I’ve had my own kids and I see it differently. I see myself as a valuable resource to parents and I have great empathy for them.

Sometimes I have to do very difficult things with parents.
Once I had to climb through a glass window when a young mother was holding her new baby and was psychotic and trying to do something to the baby.
Once I had to climb through a glass window when a young mother was holding her new baby and was psychotic and trying to do something to the baby. The police were there and there was obviously a lot involved with this, but we had to save the baby and rip the baby out of the mother’s arms. So there are things that you often have to do in this work that are not very easy with parents and I think I’ve learned how to do those with concern and empathy as I’ve grown older and become an older therapist. But at the beginning I would say stay open to the work with parents. Keep your eyes open. Realize you don’t know everything.

Fourth, Don’t just accept a dogma. Try to integrate and construct your own idea of how to do the work. I talked earlier about the five perspectives I use but think about those that work best for you, yourself, as a therapist, and with the patients you’re working with.

Lastly I’d focus on the first session and developing a good alliance with kids relatively quickly. That first session is really important—how you connect to your passion, staying open, not being judgmental. Watching tapes of other therapists do first sessions can be really helpful, or being in a study group where you share information about your sessions with kids. Or even observing preschool teachers, who are often very good with kids, welcome kids into the classroom, integrate them, and get them playing and involved in activities. All of that adds to our abilities in that area.
RZ: What do you think has helped you become a better clinician?
LP: Years of experience have helped a lot. Reading widely has helped a lot. Having my own children has helped a lot. I have four—two step sons and two daughters—and I’ve learned from all of them. It’s not been easy.

Supervising younger therapists has also been really helpful, because I’ve listened to their problems and I really try to figure out what they’re going through, which keeps me more in touch with what it’s like to start this work. This is not easy work. There’s a lot to learn. We make a lot of mistakes in it, but we do a lot of good.

Maybe the last thing I’d say about it is I’ve been so impressed over all the years of working with adolescents how many return. They bring their own kids back for treatment. That keeps me in it more than anything—having the kids come back with their own children, and seeing that they’ve shared things I said to them. This is not everybody, of course, because I’ve had over the course of my career two adolescents who killed themselves. I’ve gone through a lot of difficult experiences, as have my patients, but I am impressed with this type of work and how much we can help kids if we stick with it.

It’s wonderful work that makes you feel very good about your life’s work at the end of it. I don’t see myself at the end of it, but I have talked with others, like James Anthony, a role model of mine who was a wonderful child therapist who worked with Anna Freud. When I was a very young student I had the opportunity of working with him in London. He loved the work and he still continues to teach me things—and he’s in his late ‘90s. He talks about having patients come back and treating the grandchildren of the children he saw. That is an amazing thing. It’s a chance to be very connected with others in life really.

Suicide

RZ: It sounds incredibly powerful to have had such a positive impact on someone as a teenager that they want to bring their own teenagers to you once they have had children. It also sounds incredibly powerful to have lost an adolescent client to suicide and I’m wondering if you feel comfortable talking about that a little bit.
LP: It’s a reason that a lot of therapists seek out supervision.
RZ: It’s admittedly my worst fear.
LP: I think it is for all of us. It’s not just the legal aspects of it. We all carry liability insurance and we’re worried about that part of it—but it’s also just the connection. I will say that I really remember these patients and their treatment very, very well because of going through this and thinking about it a lot. The first was a young man who killed himself when I was the director of the adolescent unit at UCSF.
RZ: How old was he?
LP: He was 19 and he had very severe bipolar disorder. He stopped his medicines when I went on vacation and then went into the woods and shot himself. I had arranged for somebody to cover me during this period of time. It was a short vacation, but still enough for this to happen. I’ve thought about it a great deal, of course. It’s changed the way I take vacations. I still take them, but I’m very alert, thinking about coverage and concern about these teenagers and children when I leave.

I spent several months working with his family. They had anticipated it more than I had and that surprised me. I went to the service and worked with them in a collaborative mode, which I did not charge them for, and they were very grateful. I’ve stayed in touch with them in some ways, though that happened I’d say roughly about 30 years ago now.

The other suicide was about 20 years ago and was a patient I’d worked with for years. She had a chronic psychotic condition. She was a very bright young woman and I had spent a lot of time with her. She had promised me that she would not harm herself until she was 30 years old, and then she killed herself not long after her 30th birthday. So she stayed alive working with me for years I think to try to get better, and we tried everything. Family therapy, medications—and it was clear that she was going to be living with a chronic psychotic illness that was incredibly painful for her.

I still think about her all the time. I think she helped me in many ways to understand that sometimes we work with individuals who are suffering so much that from their perspective, their life is really not worth living.
Sometimes we work with individuals who are suffering so much that from their perspective, their life is really not worth living.
We can discuss that with them, we can work to help them, many different things can be done, but there are limits to the work that we do. She left me a number of drawings she drew and painted. I think a lot about her family. I worked in much the same way that I described with the earlier boy. I met with her family and had contact with them for a long period of time. I still think about her all the time.
RZ: I bet. I think this is particularly important to talk about for young therapists who are, as you mentioned before, maybe put off entirely by cutting because they’re so scared of it, or don’t want to work with suicidal clients because they’re so afraid of losing a patient. It’s really valuable for me as a young therapist to hear you talk about having gone through this worst fear with a couple of your clients and not only did you get through it, but it made you a stronger clinician ultimately.
LP: I think ultimately it did. Of course, a big part of this was questioning what I had done with them and if I had made the right decisions.
RZ: Of course.
LP: Had I done something wrong?
RZ: That’s natural.
LP: I think any therapist who has had a patient suicide question their work. Families question their interactions with their children after suicide. We all think about it. I work with many teenagers, especially here in the Bay Area, who have had friends suicide, and the young teens question what they could have done to help their friend. It’s not only us as a group of therapists who question ourselves, but it’s really the world that comes forward to question itself around suicides.
RZ: It seems like that’s the first question people ask friends, family, and therapists alike: What could I have done? Could I have done something different or better? And I think that is a real challenge.
LP: It’s natural and appropriate to ask those questions and explore them, but it’s also important to really understand that there are limits in life to what we can do. It’s important in this line of work to talk about this aspect of it.
RZ: That’s a very realistic and compassionate perspective. Thank you for your time and for your wisdom.
LP: And thank you for your good questions, Rachel.

When the Therapist Loves and Hates

That creatures must find each other for bodily comfort,

that voices of the psyche drive through the flesh

further than the dense brain could have foretold,

that the planetary nights are growing cold for those

on the same journey who want to touch

one creature-traveler clear to the end;

that without tenderness, we are in hell.

—Adrienne Rich

The Embrace

She looked deeply into his eyes and he looked into hers. Their bodies were very close, melding with one another. He touched her breast, grazing, and then holding it. Responding with her all, breathing in his fragrance, she embraced him. They were enthralled with one another, the love chemical flowing with the delight that they shared.

Although this may sound like a description of lovers in the first phase of their sexual relationship, it is a description of a mother-infant embrace. Many mothers, myself included, can easily call to mind and re-experience the intensity of having newborn infants. Longing for skin-to-skin contact, needing to engage in the reciprocal dynamic of breastfeeding (the baby needs her empty belly to be filled, the mother needs to have her swollen breasts emptied), the baby’s absolute dependence on the mother and the mother’s experience of total responsibility for the baby—in the earliest days between mother and child, only the other exists.

This “altered state” of consciousness, shared by new lovers and the mother-infant dyad alike, is also commonly experienced by the psychotherapeutic “couple” in much the same way—with longings for contact, a desire to feed and be fed, and the shared experience of total dependence on the other, as if no one else exists during the therapeutic hour. Yet unlike the merging love experienced by mother and infant, this love between therapist and client remains somewhat taboo in therapeutic culture. Because of this, clinicians often unwittingly (and unconsciously) let their clients carry all of the loving feelings for the dyad. “We’ve all heard many stories of therapists abusing their power and acting out sexually with clients in the name of “love.” But what of the damage inflicted by avoiding, denying, or otherwise minimizing love in the therapy relationship?”

Hate

And then there’s hate.

We have all felt critical, angry, hateful, and exasperated toward others at some point, so it only makes sense that therapists have both hateful and loving feelings toward our clients. We need to be flexible feelers, comfortable with the variety of feelings we experience and also wiling, when appropriate, to express these feelings with clients. But feeling hateful toward clients is extremely uncomfortable for therapists; it is defensive in its very nature when we are expected to be open, undefensive, unreactive, thoughtful.

In the history of psychoanalytic ideas, aggression has generated enormous controversy and continues to be the subject of sustained and intense interest. Sigmund Freud wrote extensively about aggressive impulses and, for him, they were more than a mere branch of human motivations. In Civilization and Its Discontents, he characterized antagonistic tendencies as the primary, dominating, “central and abiding part of human experience.”

Like love, hatred is enormously complex, and warrants serious reflection when it comes up with clients. Without self-awareness, hateful feelings can lead us to hurt and blame our clients, to harm them. How therapists understand and relate to aggressive feelings is critical in the clinical setting, but too often we suppress and repress them, just as we do with love.

In my experience, making room for—welcoming, even—our deepest feelings of love and hate for and with our clients is what makes the relationship truly transformative. If we can bear the vulnerability (which, frankly, we should), our work can be deeply healing for both our clients and ourselves. I present my therapy with Lucy to illustrate the depth of feeling that arises in our work, and to caution against repressing and denying these feelings out of a mistaken belief that we are somehow serving our clients by staying more “neutral.”

Lucy

My new patient was a hooker. She spit this out right after my conventional introduction of “Hello, I am Chris Peterson. Please come in.” There it was, right up front, as if Lucy needed to get past this, deal with whatever she might have expected my reaction to be, and move on.

I felt an immediate liking for Lucy. She was 30, beautiful in a Bohemian way, and sported multiple piercings on her ears, eyebrows, and nose. Her face looked younger than her years, her eyes sparkled, and she practically bounced with energy. She talked about the various men she serviced in lurid detail in an attempt, I surmise, to shock (and test) me. I was rapt, but not ruffled. This was the third time a sex-worker had found her way to my consulting room and, like the others, Lucy was dealing with a past that included abuse, abandonment, and conflicted relationships. All such patients struggle with their own histories, which can include an abusive parent or parents, a competitive relationship with their mothers, and/or leaving home at an early age to escape further pain or degradation. These women want to be loved and to be healed, but are often “looking for love in all the wrong places.” Growing up in an emotionally volatile and abusive family, Lucy had little experience with feeling loved and nurtured. Love came to her through pain, abuse, and incestuous boundary violations.

I focused intensely on her stories, trying to understand her perceptions of herself and her fear of and longing for relationships with others and the greater whole of life. She seemed to have a sense of engagement with me and it seemed like she was open when we were in session, but for many months there was little carryover from one session to the next. She struggled with exposing herself and being vulnerable, and so did I.

I often found myself frustrated—sometimes to the point of utter exasperation—with what seemed like the snail's pace of Lucy’s progress. The stagnation and endless repetition of highly predictable and ritualized patterns in each session were difficult to tolerate. When she was feeling vulnerable and too dependent on me, she would attempt to control the situation and create distance between us by moving into a blatantly seductive role. She would arrive to session dressed in provocative attire, and when the end of the session drew near, she would jump up to leave, announcing that both of us had someone waiting.

This kind of behavior happened most consistently when there was a break in our usual session time or when I left on a scheduled vacation. I wondered aloud with her about how she experienced these changes and absences. Initially she responded to my queries with a look of stunned astonishment, a negation of the importance of the break, followed by a cavalier comment discounting any connection between our separation and her behavior. My attempts to connect with her in a loving way were effectively blocked, and I was aware of how I began distancing myself from her.

After many months of treatment, however, I grew more optimistic and heartened by the increasing depth and overall sense of warmth and engagement that began to evolve in many of our sessions. Lowering my own distancing defenses—and my heightened awareness and sensitivity to how these functions served Lucy—helped me to do a better job of helping her modulate her responses, which in many instances recapitulated her early childhood traumatic experiences and painful feelings. At the beginning of treatment she knew no other way to respond to invitations of what she thought was intimacy; she knew no other way to survive. Yet gradually she developed an awareness of the sources of her difficulty in maintaining relationships.

These obstacles to relationship intimacy had begun during her earliest childhood, followed her through her grade school years, and continued into adulthood; consciously she did not recognize the empty and often self-degrading aspects of her encounters with others. Lucy had been a prostitute for close to 15 years, having started at the age of 15 in a desperate attempt to survive in a very primary way. With few exceptions, her experiences of sexual intimacy were comprised of her being penetrated in an abusive manner. Sexual vulnerability and human dependency carried risk for Lucy and challenged her sense of her capacity to survive.

The Breakthrough

In the real world of therapy there are few “breakthroughs” of the Hollywood kind. However, Lucy and I did experience such a moment in our work, which we both continued to recreate in later sessions. In the beginning of the third year of our work, following a month of increased focus on her longings for and terror of close and loving connections, a silence fell on us during one session. It was not an awkward and painful silence; rather, we both felt it as a deep and meaningful stillness. As we sat together, she looked up at me and I met her gaze directly. We held this gaze for several moments, both enthralled with each other, both moved to an almost orgasmic connection. The long months of avoiding emotional attachment began to give way to a new and intimate connection between us. The energy she had so desperately needed to use to hold me at arm’s distance was now more available for the task at hand—to begin to get critical needs met and to experience a safe, nurturing, and healing relationship.

Throughout the course of my work with Lucy I was brought to the brink of both love and hate. We had to navigate through both extremes in the service of helping her first allow dependence and then to separate. As a psychotherapeutic “couple” we both longed for contact, wanted to feed and be fed, and initially feared one another, but with time enjoyed the occasional shared experience of total dependence on each other. I came to understand the frustration I felt initially as my longing to have her work at my pace and to accept me quickly as a safe and reliable mother. Her defenses against that kind of merging were difficult for me to withstand. I wanted her to taste how sweet and warm my breast milk was and to know I would feed her well—to trust me and depend on me. Her resistant defiance enraged me at times, and as much as I intellectually understood some of what had occurred in her life to create this defensiveness, emotionally I felt rejected. She triggered feelings in me of inadequacy and powerlessness—feelings that, I came to appreciate, she had carried throughout her life. With time we could begin identifying what feelings were hers, mine, and ours.

The more loving feelings arrived gently, but grew steadily. These did not completely replace the hateful feelings, but balanced them in such a way that while both were in play, they were more tolerable and open to a deepening analysis. Lucy initially enacted a bit of sadomasochism in her mode of relating with me, creating pain for both of us. In response, I felt her resistance to my attempts to care for and nurture her, which triggered a sense of impotent, hopeless rage in me.

Lucy and I were able to explore the sexualization of her aggression, along with its possible roots. She recalled moments of intense longing for her withholding mother. The transference-countertransference enactment that occurred early in treatment was interesting and demonstrated an aggressive but essentially erotic interplay. When I was able to ask what she noticed when the seductive behavior took over, she could only say that she worried I was frustrated with her (and I was) and seduction was her way of dealing with that worry. In time, we were able to explore this. Lucy was moved to frustrate me or make me angry in some way so as to defend against the longings she felt at the beginning of many sessions. She also added that she became more certain of where she stood with me if she made me angry.

Her seductive relating was a defensive effort to change negative experiences into positive ones. As noted by Harriet Wrye and Judith Welles in their book The Narration of Desire: Erotic Transferences and Countertransferences, this idea is based on an associative model, which claims that both positive and negative experiences occur together in childhood and can become fused so that seduction (sex) is in the service of an irresistible pull toward a destructive interplay. This destructive interplay had been the only way Lucy could make contact with people, and her aggression projected the illusion of strength. It summoned the armor surrounding and hiding her vulnerability, making her feel self-protected rather than relying on my goodwill. But, to paraphrase Ellen Liegner in The Hate That Cures, although at times the therapeutic relationship might be characterized by a mutual hatred, the patient wants a positive relationship. The therapist must not act upon his/her own feelings of outrage, vexation, or exasperation, but through self-analysis recognize her intense emotions and use them in the service of authentically understanding and connecting with the patient.

Lucy’s feelings of hate subsided and, in time, were replaced by feelings of appreciation. She began to act like a loving person. It is likely that the narcissism of her early caretakers and their failure to act in mature and loving ways toward her were responsible for the development of her pathology.

The Primacy of Love

Why is it challenging to honor the healing potential of loving feelings in psychotherapy? What gets in the way of valuing and expressing love? Is it easier to abandon the issue than to be vulnerable and do the self-reflection and analysis that such feelings call upon us to do?

The capacity for love and concern on the therapist’s part is actually evidence of a healthy and thriving individual, and was considered by Winnicott to be an accomplishment that “develops out of the simultaneous love-hate experience, which implies the achievement of ambivalence, the enrichment and refinement of which leads to the emergence of concern.” In other words, a clinician’s ability to love is vital to the therapeutic endeavor, no matter what theoretical model is being used.

If we as therapists value others and are genuinely interested in serving their well-being without displacing or diminishing our own, we don’t respond first from within a theoretical model—we respond with our hearts and let love guide us. Having our needs felt by an influential and trusted other is critical when we are children, and dynamic, loving relationships remain important throughout our lives. Healthy dependency is embedded in Winnicott’s capacity for concern; it is needed to prevent psychological rigidity and to foster a willingness, and even enthusiasm, for being influenced by others. Loving is a distinct way of perceiving and being with our patients, ourselves, and others. It is rooted in vitality and wonder, and in therapy this feeling comes alive in an emotionally interactive, mutually transformative dance.

People have been grappling with definitions of love for thousands of years and there is no uniform agreement on what exactly love is. Erich Fromm defined loving as commitment of oneself to another without a guarantee. That is hard work. It means trying again and again despite pain and hurt, teaching others how to help us, extending a helping hand toward others at the exact moment we need a hand extended toward us. Is it possible that love is often sidelined in our field not because it is ineffective, but because it is so demanding?

Whereas there is considerable lip service given to what Carl Rogers referred to as “unconditional positive regard,” it is often misconstrued as neutralized affect, not the deep and authentic love and caring Rogers meant it to be. There is an undercurrent flowing steadily through many psychoanalytic tributaries that whispers, “Care less, keep your distance, don’t work too hard.” The implication is that if we as therapists care too much, believe too readily, or get pulled in too deeply, we are foolish. But love is an experience of a deep human connection—on an unconscious as well as a conscious level—that involves generosity, recognition, acceptance, and something like forgiveness.

Being with patients in the therapy room, allowing for an intimate exchange (intercourse, in fact), holding them with words rather than with arms, and containing their intense feelings as they learn how better to contain these themselves is the very essence of my work. It is important that we as therapists devote our clinical, educational, and personal consideration to our love for the client within the therapeutic context as an essential and valuable element of effective therapy, regardless of our theoretical orientations. Psychoanalyst Judith Vida, when asked how love contributes to psychoanalysis, responded:

"It is not possible for me even to enter my office in the morning of a clinical day without the hope and the possibility of love. How can I say what it 'contributes' when it is not an option or a conscious choice whether it is there or not? This is like saying, 'Does it contribute to the therapeutic action that the analyst draws breath, has a blood pressure, and a pulse?' For me, the proper question is not 'whether' or 'if' but 'how.' How is love present—and absent—in the therapeutic situation, and how is it manifested?"

In essence, it is love that makes psychotherapy work. It is the element, beyond theory or technique, that makes transformation possible. And there is no love without hate, as they are inexorably linked. We must we willing to experience all of it so that our clients can too.

Psychotherapy with Transgender and Gender Nonconforming Clients

The Unbearable Otherness of Being

Imagine making your way in a world where your physical appearance makes others uncomfortable, anxious, confused, or uncertain about themselves. Your very presence may be perceived as a threat to another individual’s sense of self or sexual orientation. Everywhere you go, people stare at you—sometimes discreetly, often blatantly—leaving you very little room to walk unselfconsciously through life. The reactions you experience from others, while the result of ignorance and sometimes mere “curiosity,” do nonetheless harm you, for you are perceived as “Other.” At times, people’s reactions are more hostile, the result of conscious and unconscious fears about what it means to deviate from gender norms, and you may be verbally or physically assaulted just for being you.

This is what it’s like to be a gender nonconforming or transgender individual in today’s world. Though there is increasing awareness and tolerance around gender issues in certain small segments of American culture, the truth is, the level of misunderstanding, ignorance and prejudice that surrounds gender nonconforming people as they go about their lives has created a mental health crisis in our society. To illustrate the epidemic nature of this crisis, here are a few statistics from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s 2014 Report, “Suicide Attempts among Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming Adults.”

In a pool of 6,000 self-identified transgender respondents:

  • 41% had attempted suicide
  • 60% were denied health care and/or refused treatment by their doctors.
  • 57% had been rejected by their families and were not in contact with them.
  • 69% had experienced homelessness.
  • 60-70% had experienced physical or sexual harassment by law enforcement officers.
  • 65% had experienced physical or sexual harassment at work.
  • 78% had experienced physical or sexual harassment in school.

For gender nonconforming individuals, the very nature of their sense of “self” lies in marked conflict to society’s gender identity “ideals” and social scripts. The resulting prejudice (transphobia and homophobia), whether explicit or covert, often manifests in forms of denial, invisibility, harassment, bullying or, in more extreme cases, assault and murder. As if this weren't enough, gender nonconforming and transgender persons may be further marginalized by their ethnic and racial identity, economic status, physical abilities, and age.

More subtle forms of discrimination exist, many occurring within the helping professions, including mental and medical health, nonprofit support services, legal and government institutions and public schools. Overpathologizing, misdiagnosing, maltreatment (including refusal of services), neglect and demonization are just some of the ways transgender individuals are routinely discriminated against within systems whose mission is to support and serve. These discriminatory practices are carried out by providers who fail to become educated and respect, protect, or provide treatment that is appropriate, impartial, and equal to the care given to other clients. Following, I will attempt to provide the nuts and bolts necessary for aspiring clinicians who wish to work in a culturally competent manner with their gender nonconforming and transgender clients.

Gender and Language

I often remind my colleagues, students and clients that we all have a gender identity and diverse manners in which we choose to engage in self-expression. As a cisgender female (i.e., I identify with the gender I was assigned at birth—female), I am conscious of the great extent to which I can embrace the everyday conveniences of being privileged. I am not ostracized for my gendered self, and no one questions my choice in using a public restroom. For gender nonconforming and transgender clients, this problem is known as the “bathroom issue.”

We practitioners need to become fluent and speak the same language as our gender nonconforming and transgender clients. In doing so, we demonstrate the intention of promoting respectful communication that expresses an intricate set of thoughts, ideas, and feelings associated with sex, gender, sexuality and identity. The language used among this diverse community is multifaceted because finding words to articulate complex notions of identity is arduous. In fact, the youth in my office frequently inform me, a gender specialist, how some of the language and concepts I use are now outdated. Nonetheless, staying current with the language being used within the gender nonconforming community is an important part of being not only a culturally competent therapist, but an empathically attuned therapist. Such language literacy also enables mental health professionals to understand concepts, organize thoughts, foster discussion, exchange ideas, and support the community in the least confusing, shameful, and harmful way. Familiarity with the community’s positive expressions of self and identity not only helps clients feel understood, but ensures that therapists don’t rely on clients to educate them—an all-too-familiar experience for cultural minorities.

The following list presents a very general overview of how we come to understand the meaning of sex, gender/gender identity, gender roles, and sexuality for our gender diverse clients and ourselves. It’s important to remember that these terms are constantly evolving within the gender nonconforming, transgender, queer or transsexual communities, as well as by the practitioners who intend to help them. Gender nonconforming and transgender identities include but are not limited to: Transgender (TG), female-to-male (FTM), male-to-female (MTF), transgirl or transboy, girl/woman (natal boy), boy/man (natal girl), they/them, bigender, gender fluid, agender, drag king or queen, gender queer, transqueer, queer, two-spirit, cross-dresser, androgynous. The terms FTM (female-to-male) and MTF (male-to-female) encompass a spectrum or continuum from those who identify as primarily female or male, to those who identify somewhere in the middle or both (e.g., queer). Between these two posts or “extremes” (female and male) lie most gender nonconforming individuals.

The sexual orientation of gender nonconforming and transgender clients is a separate identity and should never be presumed or assumed. It refers to the gender one is typically romantically and sexuality attracted to (e.g., homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual/pansexual, polysexual, asexual etc).

Becoming Gendered

It’s important to think about how we become “gendered.” In part we do this by the way we organize and construct language. Most of the English language is “gendered,” constructed in a way that makes it difficult to deviate from strictly binary conceptions of male and female. We tend to acknowledge and refer to one another through pronouns, and consequently become gendered in our relational experiences. For example, when we frequent our local coffee shop, “Excuse me, Sir…Mam…May I have a large coffee?” Here is a simple example of how we have already ascribed gender to a complete stranger.

As clinicians, we need to learn to ask and address our clients appropriately. More importantly, we need to develop the capacity to become conscious of our own gendered ways. Specifically, we need to ask all our clients about their gender identity and development as well as their gender pronoun preferences. The youth that show up in my office often challenge this binary model most of us are so accustomed to, and request to be referred to as: ze, hir, one, or the plural “they” “their,” “them.” Interestingly, I often find myself arguing with my cisgender colleagues, who get caught up in grammar policing, about the importance of honoring the self-identification of these clients. The English language is constantly evolving, after all, and human and civil rights struggles play an important part in its evolution. At the same time, it’s important to not make any assumptions about people’s identification preferences. Plenty of gender nonconforming or transgender clients prefer to be referenced by conventional pronouns such as “him” or “her” because it feels congruent with their internal identity.

People tend to be preoccupied with gender long before a child is born. “Do you know your baby’s sex?” is a constant question for pregnant parents. Sex, in this case, refers strictly to the external genitalia of the child rather than their potential internal gendered self. “Gender is assigned prenatally and from that moment it determines—and severely limits—acceptable gender expressions and desires.” Our early training begins with our parents’ color selection for our nurseries, the names we are given, and the activities we are encouraged to enjoy, and because we want their love and approval, we emulate what is desired of us. We internalize the societal roles, behaviors and beliefs ascribed to us by the culture around us (including that of our family) and may not know that any other way of being is possible. Boys get blue items, are given toy trucks and guns, and are prompted to be assertive and confident. Girls wear pink, are given dolls to play with, and are encouraged to be empathic and compromising. These behaviors, beliefs and customs are socially constructed—situated in the context of historical time, social class, ethnicity, culture, power, politics, physiology, and psychology—but they are deeply entrenched in our psyches and ways of being.

Clinical Practice

As the presence and experience of transgender people has entered both public consciousness and mental health facilities, clinicians are now beginning to think about transgender/gender issues. However most clinicians are not trained to identify clinical themes prevalent for transgender and gender nonconforming individuals, and consequently misunderstand their mental health and their global treatment needs. Our traditional training fails to address gender and sexuality development for transgender persons from a nonpathological perspective. In addition, negative countertransference from providers and institutions is common and lends itself to discriminatory practices or, worse yet, thoughtless analysis of clients’ needs that may lead to irreversible medical interventions. Common feelings and attitudes for inexperienced clinicians toward these clients may include anxiety, fear, disgust, anger, confusion, morbid curiosity, and rejection, all of which can severely compromise the therapeutic relationship, our ability to help, and an individual’s identity development and transition process.

The journey of self-discovery for gender nonconforming and transgender individuals is laborious and often lonely because, simply put, the desire to become more congruent with their “True-Self” in body and mind may require a shift in physical identity. Children tend to be the most disadvantaged in this phase of life as they may be required to repress their desires to play with “cross” gendered toys and are left feeling ashamed to admit their favorite colors and activities (e.g., the boy who is prohibited from playing with dolls and having a pink bedroom).

As gender nonconforming individuals become more psychologically distressed they often feel the need to have a more congruent experience of their internal and external selves. They may need to first embrace a social transition—choosing an alternative name that reinforces their internal identified gender, dressing in a stereotypical fashion that supports their gender identification and engaging in “cross” gendered behaviors. In my clinical experience, when given the permission and support, gender nonconforming children and adults tend to become less anxious, depressed and gender dysphoric as a result.

However, some gender nonconforming and transgender individuals have a persistent need to modify or transition the physical attributes of their body to the opposite of their ascribed birth gender. This process is often too confusing for most people to comprehend, and is especially difficult because one’s gender expression and behaviors are typically the initial identifying marker for organizing one’s relational experiences among others. The clients with whom I work often desire bodily change not only to feel more congruent with their internal self, but with the hope of being experienced relationally as they truly are. For example, my transgender FTM clients use heavy-duty binders to flatten and contain their breasts so that they will not be mis-recognized as tomboys or lesbians. This experience of congruence tends to reduce gender dysphoric intrapersonal and interpersonal experiences. Our transgender clients need additional support around the use of physical and medical interventions, so it’s all the more important that we be well-educated and sensitive to these issues.

Gender Dysphoria

The new addition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-V), released in May of 2013, has removed the diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder and has re-classified Gender Dysphoria as a clinical condition that gender nonconforming, transgender and transsexual clients may experience. Gender dysphoric symptoms arise when one’s self-concept and expressed gender in relation to their ascribed gender is “incongruent.” The psychological distress that results from these internal and external conflicts can lead to dysphoria, depression and a host of other conditions commonly experienced by transgender or gender nonconforming individuals. This turmoil is often created by internalizing the “gaze” of the world around them, i.e., they experience a great deal of psychological discomfort due to being publicly misgendered. Yet, it is also important to note that many gender nonconforming and transgender clients do not experience Gender Dsyphoria. They tend not to make it to our consulting rooms.

What of the clients who do end up in our offices? If a gender nonconforming or a transgender client and his or her family seek our support, are we available to console them, educate and advocate on their behalf, and offer culturally informed and sensitive treatment to the client and the family without getting caught up in our own agendas? How do we determine whether a child is an appropriate candidate for social transition, hormone blockers or even cross-hormone interventions? How do we determine whether the child is an appropriate candidate for genital reassignment surgery, which is often irreversible? How do we think about their fertility options and future family plans? How do we help a transgender child assigned female at birth who is in distress after his first menstrual period? Some of these interventions may seem radical, but if we fail to educate and train ourselves adequately around these issues, we can actively cause harm to our clients. Self-harm (body mutilation), substance abuse, homelessness, suicidal ideation or even suicide attempts can result.

A number of other conditions emerge in gender nonconforming children, particularly when their families aren’t able to provide the support and unconditional love that is necessary for them to thrive. These include adjustment issues, depression and anxiety disorders, trauma, substance dependency, and characterological pathology. Clinicians must be aware that families, too, must be educated about transgender issues, learn skills for coping with the child’s gender change, and be able to mourn and seek social and emotional support for themselves. And, of course, many clients may have co-occurring conditions, such as Autism spectrum disorders, that are beyond the scope of this article.

When treating a client with a gender nonconforming or transgender identity, clinicians may find themselves involved in a few situations unique to these clients. They may be asked to assess and substantiate a client’s preparedness for various biomedical interventions—usually involving the Real-Life Test/ Real Life Experience or a Gender Readiness Assessment—which involves encouraging a gender nonconforming client to begin living in their self-determined gender role and then assessing the impact of that experience. For example, some clients might experience a reduction in gender dysphoric distress, while others—say those whose family or community context is hostile to their nonconformity—may experience an increase in symptoms. Though this assessment is no longer required by the Standards of Care for the Health of Transsexual, Transgender, and Gender Nonconforming People published by The World Professional Association for Transgender Health, many medical providers and insurance agencies require it for coverage.

Bridging the Gap

A transgender or gender nonconforming individual’s psyche and the issues they face are very complex—and at times, convoluted—with complications in the psychological, medical, legal, and social realms. Because of this complexity, and the severity of their suffering, it should not be left solely in the hands of clients to educate their clinicians, nor should these clients be put in the vulnerable position of relying on their clinician’s empathy to determine whether they will receive the care they require. An ignorant clinician who responds negatively to such clients—even if only at an unconscious level—can cause untold harm and make it that much more difficult for clients to seek the help they so desperately need. We need to take responsibility for becoming educated and seek guidance from gender specialists—trained providers who can inform clinicians about transgender history and integrate traditional psychoanalytic and psychodynamic perspectives with queer theory.

Diane Ehrensaft, PhD, director of Mental Health at the Child and Adolescent Gender Center in San Francisco, and her colleagues are doing groundbreaking work in this area, bridging the gap between developmental, biological, queer and psychoanalytic theory using what she calls a “Gender Affirmative Model.” She draws upon Winnicott’s ideas of “true gender self” and “false gender self” in formulating her notion of gender creativity to better understand gender nonconforming and transgender children and adults. Turning prevailing wisdom on its head, she argues against labeling gender nonconforming invidividuals as dysphoric and instead views their varied gender expressions as fluid, dynamically intertwined between biology, development, socialization, and cultural context in time. Gender is not binary and may change over lifespan.

Understanding the issues that gender nonconforming clients face creates the possibility of an authentic and empathically attuned treatment that can be a true corrective emotional experience. Having the competence and confidence to administer a Real-Life/Gender Readiness Assessment can make all the difference in our patients’ lives, allowing them to socially transition and integrate their gender identity with other aspects of themselves. Thinking of the client as whole is instrumental to their overall well-being.

Not until we as clinicians grapple with our own gender identity, behaviors, and attitudes can we begin to utilize our assessment skills in developing diagnostic impressions, identify and observe our countertransference feelings, and implement treatment interventions that will lead to a balanced internal and external sense of self that improves a client’s overall quality of life. I encourage all my fellow colleagues to become more cognizant of the their own identities, values, and beliefs, and particularly to confront their fears and prejudices when working with transgender individuals. We must become mindful of what we ask—and do not ask—in our clinical interviews.

We also mustn’t assume that gender nonconforming clients are coming to us because of their gender or sexual identity and be open in creating our hypthotheses about our clients’ needs and desires. Let us accurately reflect the true clinical condition with which our client’s struggle. As I noted at the beginning of this article: imagine making your way in the world where your very sense of being makes others anxious, confused, and uncertain of themselves. By becoming culturally competent, we will be better able to provide an empathic approach to treatment that considers a range of gender nonconforming expressions and behaviors as healthy, as an authentic gender identity and bodily presentation, albeit variant from societal expectations. Gender deviation is not pathological, and if you think it is, you’ve got some work to do. On the other hand, it’s important to not be reflexively “progressive” and mindlessly support a transition that is not first deeply understood clinically.

Reflections on the theory of gender development, diagnostic conditions, and clinical treatment implications must include the role of the clinician as a gatekeeper to another’s self-determined gendered body, heart, and mind. The exploration of the transference-countertransference relationship is paramount, regardless of whether you are a case manager, a medical doctor, or a psychotherapist. Let us play with gender, and in our journey, discover the kaleidoscope of possibilities for clients as well as for ourselves. As providers, it is our social responsibility to change the role of the clinician from a gatekeeper to one who can form a therapeutic relationship that offers a way for clients to integrate their sense of self in relationship to the other that can hopefully be emulated in the outside world. A solid sense of self is likely to build confidence and self-esteem that will foster healthier relationships and diminish uncertainty and fear, decreasing the risk of self-harm and—hopefully—violence toward gender nonconforming and transgendered individuals.

Recommendations for Clinical Practice

  • Ask your clients about their gender identity and preferred pronoun. Explore their internal experience and how it impacts them interpersonally.
  • Foster multiple and integrated identity development: race, ethnicity, gender, class, sexuality, profession etc.
  • Educate parents about the importance of not pathologizing the gender expression of their children.
  • Treatment interventions should include allowing children the space to explore their gender expression, family education and support, as well as parental support to mourn the loss of their fantasies about their birth child's ascribed gender.
  • Collaborate treatment efforts with the providers involved, e.g., social workers, endocrinologist for hormone blockers and hormone treatment, family therapist, and treatment team staff.
  • Remember: Gender nonconformity is a natural expression of human development and experience.
  • Do No Harm: Seek consultation from a gender specialist. Monitor countertransference and refer out if you are not able to act fully in the best interest of your client.

Clinical Resources

  1. Report of the APA Task Force on Gender Identity and Gender Variance.
  2. Standards of Care for the Health of Transsexual, Transgender and Gender Nonconforming People, Version 7.
  3. Achieving Optimal Gender Identity Integration For Transgender Female-to-Male Adult Patients: An Unconventional Psychoanalytic Guide For Treatment (2008), Karisa Barrow.
  4. Gender Born, Gender Made: Raising Healthy Gender-nonconforming Children (2011), Diane Ehrensaft.
  5. The Transgender Child: A Handbook for Families and Professionals (2008), Stephanie Brill & Rachel Pepper.

Deconstructing Gender: Self-Exploration Exercise

  • What is your own gender identity?
  • How old were you when realized you were a “girl” or a “boy?”
  • Who and what made this clear to you?
  • Did you agree with your parents clothing choices for you as a child?
  • What activities did/do you enjoy?
  • Have you expressed your own gender identity differently over the course of your life?
  • How do you feel about your body? Your genitalia?
  • What messages have you received about your gender and from whom (e.g. parents, media, religion etc.)? Were you “policed” by others around your identity, gender roles and social practices or body?
  • How has your gender shaped your beliefs, social engagements and practices?
  • What have you been allowed/encouraged to do because of your gender identity and what limitations have you faced (e.g. social sanctions/promotions)?

George Silberschatz on Psychotherapy Research and Its Discontents

What is Empirically Known About Psychotherapy?

David Bullard: Let’s start with a little background information about your work. I first met you through the San Francisco Psychotherapy Research Group—can you talk about your involvement there?
George Silberschatz: Certainly. It was originally called the "Mt. Zion Psychotherapy Research Group,” founded by Joe Weiss who was joined by Hal Sampson, both psychoanalysts, in 1971. They were just starting to publish some research papers and were very active teachers at Mt. Zion Hospital when I began working with them in 1975. Their work together formed the basis of what is now known as Control Mastery Theory.
DB: You’ve been in private practice about thirty-five years and are a clinical professor at UCSF with a multitude of research papers on psychotherapy process and outcome.
GS: My book Transformative Relationships (Routledge, 2005) is on Control Mastery Theory, and my papers are almost evenly divided between research and clinical work, because they are so intertwined and I go from one to the other very easily.
DB: You are currently the president of the international Society for Psychotherapy Research, which includes chapters in North America, Europe, Latin America, and Australia. Would you talk a bit about the concepts “empirically-validated” and “empirically-supported therapies.” What are your thoughts about what is truly empirically known from psychotherapy research?
GS: Well, I have very mixed feelings about all of it because I don’t think it’s fundamentally based on scientific evidence.
I believe that the term “empirically-validated” is largely used when people are trying to market their specific brand of therapy.
I believe that the term “empirically-validated” is largely used when people are trying to market their specific brand of therapy. You know, “Our empirically-validated therapy is better than everything and everyone else, so if you need therapy, come see us!"

It seems a bit overdone and over-hyped. A lot of people have started saying “evidence-based therapy” instead of “empirically-based,” but what counts as evidence and how is the evidence portrayed? There’s a great deal of subjectivity in that process.
DB: In the early mention of “empirically-validated treatment,” researchers made another distinction between efficacy and effectiveness. Is there such a distinction in the real world versus laboratory research?
GS: It’s a big controversy. The term “efficacy” is used by people who believe that empirical evidence can only come from randomized clinical trials, i.e. in the lab. It has its roots in both medicine and pharmacology in the way drugs are tested and, basically, the proponents of this research paradigm feel that anything else isn’t empirical, isn’t evidence.
Manuals are essentially useless for practicing clinicians.
I wrote an article about this for the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology called “Are results of randomized controlled trials useful to psychotherapists?” It was basically a debate between myself and my co-author, Jackie Persons, who is a cognitive behavioral therapist. She took the position that people should only be practicing empirically validated therapies—by which she meant Random Control Trial-Based Therapies or RCTS—and that it might even be unethical to do anything other than that.
DB: Which implies following a manual that such studies usually use so that the treatment condition is uniform across therapists?
GS: It does often imply following a manual. They punted on this a little bit and said there was some wiggle room for therapists to stray from the manual, but what’s a manual? I took the position that manuals are essentially useless for practicing clinicians.
DB: That’s refreshing and helpful to hear.
GS: There’s a lot of variability among clinicians, you know? There are a lot of very thoughtful people who think like Jackie, but there are also people that see the limitations of that as a model, especially for psychotherapy.
There is no support for the idea of one therapy being better than another.


The current—and I would say balanced and intelligent—position of the American Psychological Association is that when you really look at the evidence carefully, as they’ve done, there is no support for the idea of one therapy being better than another. But a lot of the proponents of the Randomized Control Trial for psychotherapy use their results to say, “Our results show that our method is better than yours.” That’s led to a rash of people trying to do trials on their new model of therapy. Every time there’s a new therapy, somebody has to do a trial showing that their new therapy is as good or better than some other one. That hasn’t been very productive, in my opinion.

Psychotherapy Works

DB: Overall, what would you say has been shown? For example, Consumer Reports did their research on their readers’ reactions to psychotherapy in 1995.
GS: That was a very large survey of psychotherapy effectiveness. I think it had a very useful purpose because it was actually asking the people who were using the service what they thought of it. It was pretty impressive.
DB: So there have to be quite a substantial number of technical issues within the field of psychotherapy research that we won’t go into today, but I heard Daniel Kahneman, who won a Nobel Prize for Behavioral Economics research, state in a recent interview that the most relevant, reliable outcome measures for a person’s happiness should be based on the report of the person’s friends. In other words, their evaluation would be more valid than anyone else’s. What would you say is the most useful outcome measure for psychotherapy?
GS: Certainly not the therapist’s!
DB: No!
GS: It turns out to be a very complex problem. I respect Kahneman's work very much. He’s a brilliant man. But I’m not sure that I would necessarily agree with him that a friend or significant other in a person’s life would have the best perspective. This is something that has troubled psychotherapy researchers for a long time: How do you measure outcome? Whose perspective do you rely on? There are plenty of people who feel the therapist has the best position. There are other people who feel that the patient is in the best position. There are yet other people who—
DB: How about the patient’s mother?
GS: She may not be in the best position either! Because someone like a mother or a spouse may have a particular vested interest. But it’s a very thorny problem in psychotherapy research and I don’t think anyone’s come up with a definitive answer yet. I think we tend to use multiple perspectives now but that creates its own particular difficulties as well.
DB: You have studied both outcome and process-oriented research. Overall, hasn’t it been shown through meta analyses of lots and lots of studies that psychotherapy works for the vast majority of people who undertake it?
GS: Yes.
DB: And other studies of process show the elements that seemed to have the most impact within a psychotherapy relationship.
GS: Well, you’re quite right that there’s evidence available now that shows unequivocally that psychotherapy works. There should be no more questions about that in anyone’s mind.
Evidence available now shows unequivocally that psychotherapy works. There should be no more questions about that in anyone’s mind….The issue of what it is about therapy that is causing it to work is still up for a lot of debate.
It definitely does work. What that means, concretely, is that a person who is having any one of a variety of psychological, emotional or behavioral kinds of problems will do far better getting psychotherapy than not. The issue of what it is about therapy that is causing it to work is still up for a lot of debate. And, of course, every school of psychotherapy, every brand, has their own particular perspective on that.

One thing that people do generally agree upon is that the therapeutic relationship, the nature of that relationship that some people call the “therapeutic alliance,” is a critical factor. Other people say the relationship is a necessary, but not sufficient, condition, but what is it about the relationship? If you’re a clinician, and you’re about to meet a new patient, the research doesn’t really tell you what you might do to enhance that relationship. What are the things that are involved? What are the steps involved in creating these productive therapeutic relationships?
DB: Versus looking up in the manual to find out which antibiotic to give for which infection?
GS: Yes, but even with antibiotics, it turns out that a lot more of that is art and trial-and-error than we are led to believe. It’s not quite as cut-and-dried and as narrowly evidence-based. People try one thing and that may work on half the patients. But it doesn’t work on the other half, and then you have to start experimenting with tweaking it.
DB: I guess we’d like to pretend that we live in a world of certainty.
GS: Yes. There is something inherently reassuring about that. But it’s also quite elusive, in my opinion.
DB: I’m reminded of an old saying: “There is no Zen, only Zen teachers.” In a way, there is no “psychotherapy.” It’s only each unique interaction between two people (or three people if it’s couples therapy).
GS: I think that framing it this way goes back to a very old argument in psychology. The controversy about nomothetic versus idiographic principles. Ideographic being very individualized kind of principles, and nomothetic applying to large general populations. And in psychotherapy, my own view of it, both clinically and per research, is that it is very individualized.

So what’s going to work well for one person is not going to necessarily work well for another.
Therapy has to be tailored to the particular needs and goals of the patient we’re working with.
Therapy has to be tailored to the particular needs and goals of the patient we’re working with. But, having said that, I also think that there are some general principles, and here is a good example of one: If therapy is tailored to the needs of a particular person, all other things being equal, it will be more effective and more successful.
DB: Your background and your extensive work with Control-Mastery Theory, developed by Joe Weiss and Hal Sampson, is all about that.
GS: Yes. Very much so. It’s one of the things that really drew me to their work. It really takes into account the particulars of a person, the nature of their particular problems, what their particular history is, and how the therapy can address that in a very individualized way.

"We Forgot to Ask the Patient!"

DB: What’s your opinion on getting regular feedback from clients? The research that I’ve seen, both for individual therapy and couples therapy, seems to be clear that having clients give written feedback after every session improved either the alliance or the outcome. Should therapists be encouraged to incorporate that more into their clinical work?
GS: It’s a very good question, and it’s an area that is really taking off like wildfire right now, not just in psychotherapy, but in the field of healthcare generally. One of the biggest initiatives in many, many years, at the National Institutes of Health, is what they call “Patient-Centered Outcomes Research.” A lot of research in healthcare, for decades actually, was really just based on what lab tests showed, or what a physician concluded. Nobody bothered to get the patient’s perspective, and suddenly people are saying, “Oh, my God, we forgot to ask the patient!”

So now there’s this huge catch-up game going on in terms of trying to get the patient’s point of view. In psychotherapy research, we’ve certainly taken the patient’s view into account a lot, but what is newer in psychotherapy is this point that you’re raising about feedback, and getting patients’ feedback after every session. People have tended to use symptom-based measures, so patients fill out a form at the end of each session to see how they rate the severity of various symptom profiles.

I think that getting the patient’s feedback is very useful, but I’m not particularly impressed with symptomatic measures. I think there are probably more important things that one could find out from the patient after a session. What did they find useful? How did they feel the therapist was responding to them? That’s useful information for therapists to know, and historically we just relied on our own impressions to get that kind of information.
Sometimes we’re right; sometimes we’re wrong, and we often don’t know which is which.
Sometimes we’re right; sometimes we’re wrong, and we often don’t know which is which. Having the patient be the arbiter of that information is very valuable.

Even without written feedback, one would hope that an experienced practitioner would draw out the patient’s feelings and perceptions if he’s seeing some kind of transference to what a therapist has said or done. We hope that that would be an integral part of the work.
DB: Sure.
GS: Some therapists, of course, explicitly ask patients at the end of or at some point in the session, “Well, how do you feel things are going today?” Or, “How do you feel you’re doing?” Or, “How are things with us?” That’s a useful thing to do, but the people that are more into systematic feedback would say that you may get more reliable data if the patient is outside of the session, sitting, thinking about the influence of the therapist. You may get a more complete picture of the patient’s experience that way, instead of—what’s that old term in research?—the “socially desirable” answer.

"What Exactly Does 'Cured' Mean, Anyway?"

DB: Let’s switch back to the marketing aspect of “evidence-based therapies.” I recently came across a practitioner’s website where he claimed that his particular brand of marital therapy has proven to be effective with 90% of his couples and 70% were “cured.” What are your thoughts about that?
GS: It strikes me as primarily marketing. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around numbers like that. What exactly does “cured” mean, anyway?
DB: Talk about the medical model! As if the people came in limping and left skipping merrily along.
GS: There’s plenty of evidence that therapy, including couples therapy, is effective. It works. But there’s no evidence whatsoever to support the idea that one particular brand is systematically better than another. There just isn’t evidence for that. People make all kinds of claims, but it just isn’t supported when you look at it on the broadest possible level.
DB: I found a couple of articles through the American Psychologist with tables about empirically validated therapies. One broad grouping is “well-established treatments.” And then they have “probably efficacious treatments.” I’m sure you’ve seen all of that.
GS: Yeah, absolutely.
DB: And someone cited 420 different defined psychotherapies. Do you think those are also marketing attempts to differentiate themselves from the rest?
GS: Yes, I think it is primarily marketing. I mean, there just can’t be 420 fundamentally different ways of doing this work. It flies in the face of common sense. I see it as what somebody called the “narcissism of small differences.” People have variations on cognitive therapy, to take a few examples. Albert Ellis, “Rational-Emotive Therapy.” You have Aaron Beck’s “Cognitive Therapy.” You have Jeff Young’s “Schema Therapy.”
There just can’t be 420 fundamentally different ways of doing this work. It flies in the face of common sense. I see it as what somebody called the “narcissism of small differences.”


And then there are probably 20 other variations of it. Well, are they really all that different? I don’t think so. I think it’s just people wanting to create a brand rather than looking for commonalities. They’re looking for, “this is my way,” so that they can develop empires and training institutes and all that.
DB: I’ve talked to a number of colleagues, a few of whom I guess may be possibly nearing retirement, and they look back over the years and wonder, “How did I do? How did it all go?” Arnold Lazarus, years ago, did some follow-up with as many of his patients as he could. Could you comment on how he did that, or your knowledge of that?
GS: I don’t know the specifics of Lazarus’ work on that, but I do know therapists who do this routinely. I’ve always had a lot of fascination and admiration for it, where a therapist will, after a number of years, get in touch with their patients and ask them to come back and to check in and to see how they’re doing. This is, obviously, without charging a fee. It’s just the therapist wanting feedback. Lou Breger wrote a book recently called Psychotherapy: Lives Intersecting in which he describes his experience contacting a lot of his former patients, and asking them how they’ve done. I think more of us should do it, probably.
DB: There are ways to do it, obviously, that ensure ethical reconnection with past patients.
GS: Yes. One has to be sensitive to respect their privacy. I mean Lou Breger got permission from all of his patients and any identifying data were disguised in his book. But even if one isn’t writing about it, just for one’s own edification, systematically getting a patient’s point of view several years after the end of therapy—what they felt about it, whether it was helpful or not helpful—could help sharpen us as clinicians.

We Are All Skinner's Pigeons

DB: Do you feel your clinical work with people is impacted by research results and, if so, to what degree? Or are you more impacted by what has happened in the session? One person pointed out to me quite a while ago, that in a sense, we therapists may be similar to Skinner’s pigeons—we get reinforced to do the things that work for us with our individual clients or couples. Research and theory can, perhaps, clarify and codify what we are doing or should do, but meanwhile, we’ve been getting these experiences with people about what works and doesn’t work. Do you have a sense of whether your own direct experience of doing therapy is most influential, versus reading research results?
GS: I’d say that my own work has been more influenced by my patients’ feedback and from teaching and observing what other therapists are doing in their work and how that’s going. In that case, I have the luxury of not being in the room at that point so I can think more broadly about what’s happening or not happening. I would say that those experiences, along with my own supervision—I’ve had therapy supervision for many, many years by really good people—have probably shaped my work the most.

There are some things from research that have also affected me. In my early training, which was largely psychoanalytic in the 70’s, the role of interpretation, particularly transference interpretation, as a primary mutative factor, was thought to be the primary effective ingredient of psychotherapy. My colleagues and I did some research on that and found, along with others, that there was no evidence that transference interpretations were especially powerful.
My colleagues and I did some research … and found, along with others, that there was no evidence that transference interpretations were especially powerful.


So that certainly led me to rethink everything. I thought, “Wait a minute. All the stuff that we’ve been learning from very senior psychoanalysts—there isn’t really any evidence supporting it other than the fact that they say so?” That really led me to question the role of interpretation in psychotherapy.
DB: Is that close to the idea that information—insight—can be imparted that will change people versus people having an experience that changes them?
GS: That’s exactly right. There’s a very gifted psychoanalyst, Frieda Fromm-Reichman, who said patients don’t come for insight; they come for experience. So this view has been around for a while, particularly in the so-called interpersonal school of psychoanalysis. I think that more often than not, people do learn from their experiences.

Having said that, I also want to say that in terms of my commitment to individualizing psychotherapy, it is true that there clearly are people who do learn a lot from new information, so I don’t privilege one or another. I don’t privilege the idea that there’s a particular technique that is across the board better than others. We might even say that for some people, having a new insight, a new thought about themselves or their lives or their childhood or current process, gives them a new experience.
DB: Yes, it can.
GS: Maybe more compassion for themselves.
DB: It could work both ways. It can work that the insight gives them new experiences. It can also work that new experiences opens them up to new insights.
GS: I would say it really does work both ways. And there’s no way to know in advance which it’s going to be for any given individual.
DB: What are your thoughts more generally about the role of research in a practitioner’s life?
GS:
Unfortunately research hasn’t given clinicians and practitioners a lot that they can use.
Unfortunately research hasn’t given clinicians and practitioners a lot that they can use. That is changing and will continue to change in a positive way, but the whole emphasis on the Randomized-Control Trials and so on has not helped clinicians much in my opinion. Other people have different views about this, obviously.

I think what can begin to help clinicians more is the very consistent research finding that “therapist effects” trump treatment effects. In other words, if there are therapists doing a trial of three different therapies, it turns out that there are particular therapists in all three of those conditions who are actually better than their peers.
DB: Those must include what some have referred to as “non-specific treatment effects.”
GS: And those effects are bigger than the particulars of the therapy that’s being practiced. To me, that’s a really interesting finding. And the question that it begs is, well, what are those therapists doing? Let’s figure that out. And, if we can figure out more about that, we could try to train other people to do that or try to incorporate more of that in our own work.

"He Was a Wise Dude, That Buddha"

DB: The final area I’d like to discuss with you is your own interest and involvement in Buddhist concepts. You’ve done very well-received seminars and workshops with Steve Weintraub, a Zen priest and psychotherapist, on Buddhism and psychotherapy. Is there anything that you would like to say about that?
GS: Overall, Buddhism, for me, as well as just the experience doing psychotherapy, has taught me that much in human life seems to get better when you can have more self-compassion. I’ve been interested in Buddhist thought for a very, very long time. My interest in it probably dates back to when I was studying psychology as an undergraduate. I was really interested in Freud. I was interested in Carl Rogers. I was interested in the Human Potential Movement.

Then I had this kind of—I don’t know what to call it—like an insight. I thought, “Wait a minute. People have been thinking about these things way before Freud, way before Rogers or Maslow; there’s a history to this. And it’s a very, very old and long one.” I would say that
Buddhist thinkers have been paying attention to the nature of mind and suffering for longer than just about anybody else.
Buddhist thinkers have been paying attention to the nature of mind and suffering for longer than just about anybody else. They’ve had a lot of valuable insights into what causes people to suffer, and how people’s suffering can be alleviated and reduced and so on. So at that broad level, I think Buddhism has a lot to teach us about just basic human psychology, and particularly the nature of suffering and what causes people’s suffering.

It’s different, in my opinion, from organized religions, in the sense that it doesn’t say one’s salvation will come through this or that route. I would say it’s a very broad model. It allows people to apply the teachings in their own lives in their own way. It doesn’t really require going to church or synagogue every week or every month or that kind of thing. But it does give certain tools that people can use in a very reliable and useful way.
DB: I’ve seen a commentary attributed to the Buddha, where he sounded like an empirically-based fellow. He essentially said, “Don’t believe anything I’ve told you. Try these things out for yourself. And if they work for you, great. If they don’t, go onto something else.”
GS: Yeah. I think that’s one of the things that has contributed to Buddhism gaining enormous popularity in the West right now. We have something that fits very well with the kind of individualized and democratic mindset that we can learn things by seeing what works for us. There is a lot of wisdom in that. He was a wise dude, that Buddha.
DB: They’ve updated it. I’ve run across some people who are espousing “Open-Sourced Buddhism,” that we are free to choose from those schools of Buddhist thought, from the very cognitive-based wisdom of Tibetan Buddhism to the no-thought idea of Zen.
GS: I love the idea, and would love to see more of that open-source thinking applied to psychotherapy. One of the things that we have right now in therapy is the equivalent of proprietary systems, where people develop one of those 420 brands of therapy, and then you just have to get in and do it that way. As opposed to an open-source model, which is people getting in there and using it for their own purposes and contributing to it, growing it in their ways—which is what’s happened to Buddhism. People are growing in all kinds of ways in the West, and I’d love to see more of that actually happen in psychotherapy.
DB: Supposedly a graduate student went to Jung one time and asked, “How do I become the best therapist I possibly can?” And he replied, “Go to the library, read everything good that’s been written about the art and science of psychotherapy, and then forget it all before you peer into the human soul.”

Well, thank you. I really, really appreciate having had this time with you.
GS: Thank you.

Our Hungry Selves: Women, Eating and Identity

The Tyranny of Slenderness

In the early eighties I wrote several books about eating disorders; one of them became a national best seller. In the first book: The Obsession, Reflections on the Tyranny of Slenderness, I researched the way our culture's fear of women was directed against women's bodies and, in particular, against a large woman's body. I felt that the cultural preference for very slender women revealed a wish to see women reduce themselves as women and relinquish their power.

Here’s how I reasoned back then: “The body holds meaning. A woman obsessed with the size of her body, wishing to make her breasts and thighs and hips and belly smaller and less apparent, may be expressing the fact that she feels uncomfortable being female in this culture. A woman obsessed with the size of her appetite, wishing to control her hungers and urges, may be expressing the fact that she has been taught to regard her emotional life, her passions and 'appetites,' as dangerous, requiring control and careful monitoring. “A woman obsessed with the reduction of her flesh may be revealing the fact that she is alienated from a natural source of female power and has not been allowed to develop a reverential feeling for her body.””

The second book, The Hungry Self: Women, Eating and Identity, studied the way a woman's hunger for self-development, creative expression and liberation might express itself if it was not recognized as a hunger for food. I was curious about the emotion and conflict and turbulence that might be disguised as a craving for food, and especially “forbidden” foods like carbohydrates and sweets. “In [this] book I extend [my] analysis to include the mother/daughter bond and the issue of failed female development….We cannot heal ourselves until we understand the hidden struggle for self-development that eating disorders bring to expression in a covert way. We cannot indeed even begin to think of self-healing until we stop using the words “eating disorders” to hide from ourselves the formidable struggle for a self in which every woman suffering in her relationship to food is secretly engaged.”

In the third book, Reinventing Eve: Modern Woman in Search of a Self, I issued a call to women to step up and re-invent ourselves, freeing ourselves from the pressures and constraints of a society that feared women. I saw Eve as a radical, the first woman who was forbidden to eat food and who broke the taboo. “Women speaking intimately about their lives are usually, whether they know it or name it, on the far side of outworn ideas…We [have had] to start with the assumption that we knew little, had been lied to a great deal, that secrets had been kept from us, we were setting out as pioneers together, groping to find a suitable language for our experience….”

The Tyranny of Obesity

Thirty years later these ideas are still meaningful to me but my vision of possibility has been checked. “Fat is Beautiful,” a movement I greatly admired, has now become, thirty years later, a group of aging, obese women with serious health problems. I used to refer women who wanted to lose weight to other clinicians; I explained that my work offered them a chance to make peace with their body, not to change it. I now look back and think that I was rather close-minded, as if I knew what should matter to every woman who came to me for help.

Over these thirty years I've counseled countless women, discussed these issues with them, found them open to these ideas, yet progressively we have realized that it was no easy task to overcome the predominant dislike for big, fat or obese women. This overcoming of cultural dictates is a task suitable for some of us, not for everyone, and why should it be? Many women would rather work towards the body our culture admires than analyze the reasons they dislike their body as it is.

When I began to speak these ideas publicly, women who had read my earlier books were shocked; they felt that I had abandoned them in their quest to accept their body and their appetites. This new orientation seemed a betrayal, a renunciation of my earlier thinking with its cultural and psychological understandings. But I myself had begun to feel that my earlier ideas were hardening into an absolute, as if what was right for some women had to be right for all women, another once-size-fits-all approach to women and food.

I’ve had to explain that these days more and more women have to lose weight for the sake of their health, and that my clients and I had found a way to transform dieting from a self-defeating, frustrating, futile exercise into a useful therapeutic tool. A diet is—or can be—a way of becoming conscious of why one eats or feels driven to eat. Paradoxically, limiting what we eat is often the most direct way to uncover the feelings that drive us into self-destructive eating. Earlier, I had been opposed to the very idea of dieting, now I was willing to offer women help if they chose to diet. I left the decision to them, offering them both possibilities of work—towards body acceptance, weight loss, or sometimes the two together.

But there is more. There are other changes during the last thirty years that I have come to take very seriously. Following Michael Pollan, I began to study the food we are given to eat, so much of which has been degraded. The additives in it actively cause weight gain, and it is offered up in mega portions we tend to accept because there they are on the plate in front of us. As Michael Pollan writes: "Researchers have found that people (and animals) presented with large portions will eat up to 30 percent more than they would otherwise." Some of the weight we unhappily carry around with us is not really ours, it isn't natural, we haven't chosen it. Much of it has come upon us in surreptitious ways, through mysteriously named presences in our food, like high fructose corn syrup and its near-relations—aspartamine, glucose, dextrose, maltodextrin, maltose—which most people do not recognize as sweeteners. Even when reading a label and consciously hoping to avoid sugar, we end up with sweetening agents we don't want.

The Tyranny of American Culture

Thirty years ago I was asked to help people suffering from anorexia, bulimia and compulsive eating; these days women are calling me because, over the years, they have gained so much weight their doctors are alarmed for them. It was short-sighted to send them to someone else when I was a person who had dieted on and off for most of my life, at times winning, at times losing, the battle against our culture’s standards. And wasn’t I now, just as then, responding to a cry for help from our culture? After all, three of every five Americans are overweight. Obesity is an epidemic.

And so too is a woman's unhappy preoccupation with the size and shape of her body, or some part of her body, or some new diet that promises to change her body. I know this, not only from my clients, but far more intimately from myself. “I am a feminist, I care about women's self-development and the cultural and psychological obstacles that inhibit it, yet I have struggled, since the age of seventeen, to be at home in a body that has never been overweight but still has not been acceptable to me.” In spite of my three books about women and food, and all the lectures I have given, and the deep conversations in which I've been engaged; even in spite of the fact that I never any longer eat compulsively, a preoccupation with food and body size is still hanging around in my life. As a result, I can no longer underestimate the power of this conflict, as I observe it listing towards a feminist understanding about a woman's right to make decisions about her body, free of cultural pressures, and then spinning off in the opposite direction towards the next miracle diet that comes along, promising a body that conforms to our culture's punishing ideals. Weight and body size present us with a problem for which we don’t have an adequate solution.

Taken together, these are good reasons to change one’s point of view. I have changed mine in an effort to supplement—not replace—my earlier work. I intend to help people find the right diet and support them while they are losing weight, an emotionally demanding task whatever the nature of the diet. But losing weight is only part of it; we have to learn to eat in a way that often contradicts everything we’ve been taught about healthy nutrition. Not three meals a day but a small meal every couple of hours; not avoiding water because it may produce weight gain but drinking quarts of it; eating at night, before bed, because the body even in sleep requires 500 calories to keep itself going. Eating fat because we feel nourished by it, learning what are desirable portions, eating local produce because the food contains more of what food should contain and will therefore nourish us in smaller amounts. There is no one diet that is suitable for everyone—creating the right diet has elements of a quest for identity, a coming to know and be able to choose what is good for one. If this isn’t meaningful therapeutic work I don’t know what is.

Catherine's Story

A client of many years returned to work with me. Her doctor had just told her she had to lose between 25 and 40 pounds because her medical condition was severe. She came full of despair, wondering how we could approach this assignment since we had always discussed body-acceptance and appreciation for big and voluptuous women, which she was. Beautiful, certainly; but perhaps not healthy?

I began to work with Catherine in 1995. She was 26 at the time, a graduate from an Ivy League school, a women’s studies major who sought me out because she had read my books. She came from a small town on the East Coast, from a family active in their Episcopal church. For her to leave home, move to the West Coast, live with a man to whom she was not married, give up all religious affiliation and develop an interest in feminism while her two sisters and one brother remained close to home, was daring. She had graduated with honors and gone out into the world eager to make the most of herself. But this promising development had stalled. She was working as a secretary at a job she hated, was preoccupied with compulsive eating and her body’s size, found life meaningless and disappointing, described herself as depressed and despairing and at times suicidal. I was then in training with Otto Will, who had trained with Harry Stack Sullivan, who had worked with Freda Fromm Reichman. I was following their interpersonal approach with a dose of object relations mixed in, supplemented by an analytic interest in childhood memories.

Catherine found it almost impossible to cook for herself, although she had no trouble cooking on the night assigned to her by her collective. She didn’t plan for her meals but grazed throughout the day, almost entirely on cookies, candies and anything sweet. She ate in secret, disliked herself for doing so, was afraid that I was judging her, and suffered from guilt and remorse. Together, we observed the nuances of our relationship as it developed over many years, curious about the fact that she always stopped for food before her session and immediately went out afterwards for a piece of cake. She suggested that she was filling herself up so as not to bring a ferocious desire to eat into the room with me, evidently afraid that she would gobble me up. The cake that came after the session was to restore the energy that she felt had been depleted in thinking about these issues. She discovered that she refused to cook for herself because she wanted her mother to cook for her and would rather not eat than have to provide food for herself. Although she had voluntarily left the family for a larger life, she missed the closeness and safety of the small town, their church and especially her mother’s devotion to feeding the family. She was brilliant and analytic and good at interpreting symptoms; her childhood memories grew richer and more plentiful over the years, as did her ability to piece together a plausible narrative of her childhood. “Catherine ate in secret, disliked herself for doing so, was afraid that I was judging her, and suffered from guilt and remorse.”

She was the youngest in her family, and by the time she arrived her mother was exhausted and depleted. She hadn’t wanted another child, her milk dried up when Catherine was a few weeks old, and the care of the infant was largely handed over to her elder sister. Nevertheless, on the surface they were a happy, close-knit family, admired in their church and appreciated for their good works. Mother spent the day cooking for them, trying out new menus and culinary ideas, seemingly satisfied with her life but with an undercurrent of bitterness only Catherine seemed to recognize. Although well fed by her mother as she was growing up, Catherine began to wonder if she’d ever been nourished. Even her desire to have mother cook for her now that she was an adult began to seem a poignant wish that mother’s care and even her cooking had contained more authentic nourishment. The family dinners, which she’d always remembered as happy occasions, began to reveal their seams of stress—her older sister resenting her for the care she’d given her, her brother, two years older, in fierce competition for attention, her father absent, the second sister gentle and meek, as if she’d early decided that life was not going to offer her much, mother tyrannical when it came to the family’s enjoyment of her cooking. Dinner table conversation was lively but largely restricted to comments and conversation about food.

Catherine’s life changed dramatically through our work. She left her job, started a not-for-profit organization that became very successful, developed a strong interest in psychology, got an M.A. in counseling, worked out an honest and passionate relationship with her boyfriend, bought a house with several friends and lived collectively. When she got pregnant she decided to stop her work with me, owing both to financial concerns and to a general feeling that we had accomplished much and that she wasn’t capable at that time of going further. She still ate compulsively, giving us both the impression there was a lot more to understand.

I present this story in order to muse about the fact that excellent psychological work can be done that nevertheless does not reach a troubling emotional core. This did not surprise me. In my decades of work with eating disorders I have found that the underlying reasons a person eats compulsively, or eats more than they want, or far less than they ought, are hard to experience as direct, unmediated emotional events. The symptoms of a troubled relationship to food are so powerful and so deeply ingrained in the way one soothes and rewards oneself, hides from loneliness, expresses outrage and sorrow and in general shuts off consciousness, that it is hard to get beneath symptom into the raw emotion that is giving rise to it. She sensed that there was more to her emotional life than we'd yet explored; nevertheless, that is where we left it until, six years later, she came to speak with me about her doctor’s insistence that she lose weight.

Catherine's Diary

I have permission to quote from the diary she kept during the first three weeks of the diet. My comments follow her diary entries. This is not a description of the way Catherine and I worked together but an account of her process of uncovering meaning in what earlier had been unconscious, compulsive acts.

Catherine: I have a strange sensation—I am not really that hungry, though I can feel an underlying pull in my stomach now that's it's been a few hours since my breakfast. I am sad and irritable. My mind brightly goes to "treat" several times an hour, for myself, and socially ("like, oh I should take the girls out for burritos for lunch!" "I want a latte and a scone!"). Then I am disappointed in some deep way when I remember, but it's not exactly about being hungry. Fascinating. What is it about?

I am interested in the fact that from the first day of dieting hunger is put under suspicion. It can’t be taken at face value. This is an insight Catherine has not had before.

Catherine: Today, the glutton, the sensualist in me rebels. I can feel a sense of victimization mounting. "I hate restriction, I don't want to do this."

Here, as we can see, the issue has now become one of dislike for restriction. Insight is developing: this is a character trait, not an eating behavior. Catherine has not previously named in herself this rebellion against limitation. Indeed, it would be hard to recognize when there is a lifetime pattern of instant self-gratification.

Catherine: “OK, this is bearable, I am OK. But the sense of comfort I am missing—I am working so hard, I am so tired and worn out from childcare. How will I replace food as comfort? How? How? So far there is no replacement and I’m not sure there ever could be one. I am working so hard.

An additional meaning has been attributed to food. It is now recognized not only as a comfort but also as a reward for having had a hard time. This is a steady growth in the capacity to think symbolically. Hunger is no longer simply hunger and food is no longer simply food.

Catherine: It’s not hunger that’s hard. What I have to know about myself is what’s hard. I’d rather not know.

The progression of self-awareness has moved on into the striking discovery that the struggle with food has been a drama about self-knowledge. Or rather, about refusing self-knowledge. This is a lot of insight to achieve in a week.

Catherine: Last night at the party someone said I seemed like a happy person and I felt so embarrassed I almost cried. "I am having a terrible time, I'm filled with jealousy and poison," I thought. "Why does she think I'm happy?

Catherine has always had the capacity to seem happy, well-adjusted and cheerful, traits that were required by her family. They’ve been a second skin and only now are being viewed as alien. Although these traits have served as a protective covering, they have also been misleading as to who she really is. As she comes to know herself authentically, a wish to be authentically known begins to emerge.

Catherine: The depressive, dark, roiling, murky, angry, resentful, revengeful part of me is so present now when I am alone and I never show it in public—Who is this? I can see why she’s been out of sight. I don’t want her. I feel suffocated by these feelings and their bare truth. I can't push this part of me away and "think positive." I must integrate, integrate, integrate. I wish I could cry, but I feel so bottled up. Maybe I will cry today. Would crying be more satisfying than a burrito?

I thought of this as an important breakthrough. A subterranean world of feeling, now present in her awareness, has brought in the crucial thought that an ability to feel, to cry, or even to want to feel might be more satisfying than eating.

Catherine: It's very hard for me. These feelings are hard for me. I didn’t know I was filled with so much poison. Feeling these feelings is what’s hard for me. I don’t like who I am. But I do like myself for knowing all this.

The capacity to know and name herself is making the emergence of difficult self-knowledge bearable. We know how crucial this particular exchange is in psychological work. Not liking who one is but liking oneself for the ability to know it. The supposed safety of not-knowing is falling away before the power of insight.

Catherine: Last night I dreamed I was trying to warn a school full of small children (preschool) and teachers that a huge tidal wave was coming. Everyone was very busy and distracted and could not focus. Then I was in a meeting where someone was presenting us with his new beautiful chocolate bar. I raised my hand and asked, "What was your aesthetic inspiration for making this chocolate?"

I often dream about tidal waves: massive, blind destruction. But I never thought they were about what I was feeling. Or not feeling.

I think they represent my dread and fear and the sense of overwhelm I have about things. And the chocolate is so funny! That’s what I’ve found in my life, a chocolate bar to keep me safe against a tidal wave.

This is a curious insight because in fact the chocolate bar and its sister-sweets have served to protect her from the tidal wave of feelings that she fears. They’ve worked; they’ve captured her consciousness and shut it off. That’s why chocolate and muffins and brownies have been so hard to give up. Nevertheless, they are now seen for what they are and have become ludicrous.

Catherine: Any choice about my size, about losing weight, is astonishing to me. It lifts a lifetime of discouragement. How do I comfort and reward myself if not with food? (I want to replace compulsive eating with compulsive writing!) My shoulders ache, my eyes are heavy with un-slept sleep. I want to lie down right now in this library and cry.

Wonderful, this wish to replace compulsive eating with compulsive writing. She is in fact a very good writer and will, in a few months, discover that when she sits down to write, the inner turbulence she feels will subside. Not every time, not completely, but often enough to make her aware she has a choice between chocolate and self-expression.

Catherine: It's getting somewhat easier for me. Still many fantasies of treats, but it is balanced out by feelings of excitement and accomplishment. After all, it wasn’t hunger that was the problem. But all this poison inside me. So, now that I know it’s here? Now what? Can I just live with it? I don’t think so. But that’s what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?

The sense that these feelings are unbearable has not gone away, but there is the simultaneous discovery that after all they have been borne. The unbearable has become bearable. If this happens once, it can happen again: “I can’t live with it, but paradoxically I’ve just discovered that I have been living with it.”

Catherine: Clothes that were a bit too tight feel good and are fitting. Joy. Joy. JOY. Having these intense, florid cravings a few times a day. They stop me in my tracks. Today it was my childhood birthday cakes—"bakery cakes" we called them—white cake and frosting with clusters of pink frosting roses, they were even better slightly stale. Everyone wanted a rose on their slice—a mouthful of pure frosting. I practically moaned aloud as I pictured this. Bizarre. I could eat a truckload of that soft, fragrant, sweet white cake and frosting. Yesterday had a craving about thick ice cream shakes full of candy. Amazing that this is there, so deeply. Much much more than a memory. I can right now taste that pink frosting. Like those frosting roses were going to make up for everything that wasn’t so great in our childhood?

I still find it extraordinary that this transformational journey is taking place simply because Catherine isn’t eating in the way she ordinarily would. Through this precise memory, this sensually present image of the pink frosting roses, she has understood the full power of the emotions that she is engaging.

Catherine: I am starkly alone with all these bad feelings. I am hungry and I want to eat. I am sad and I want a treat and a reward. The only thing I can think of is going to bed, not so much as a reward but as a way to live through this. I am going to live through this. I have to live through this.

I admire this knowledge, this clear seeing of these very difficult feelings and the search for something other than food to see her through. Above all I am taken with this resolution: “I am going to live through this. I have to live through this.” It has some of the quality of a hero’s, or more precisely, a heroine’s journey.

Catherine: It gets easier. I am living with medium to mild cravings and longings; not much hunger; and a mounting pleasure in what I have done. It has been so hard and it’s not about hunger. I have been wrestling with an angel and trying to find my meaning in it all. The feelings are so intense: jealousy, grief, rage, cruelty, indifference, helplessness, mad cravings and feeling crushed. It's like living through a hurricane at times. I’m thinking again this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But somehow I’m doing it.

I take this testimony seriously; this probably is the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life, harder than giving birth or separating from her family. The newly discovered feelings write the emotional narrative that had been driven out of awareness but was always lurking, lurking, driving the compulsion to eat.

Catherine: I am at my desired weight. I am really pleased. It's amazing. On the feelings front, I am in lots of turmoil. My temper is short, I am touchy and sad. This is the perfect moment to "assault eat." And I will not. I want to be able to handle my feelings and not use food to soothe them, but will I be able to do that for the rest of my life? Maybe if I ever am told I have 3 months to live I promise myself I will eat only ice cream.

I love the way she can simply say, after a lifetime of struggle with eating: I will not. She has acquired choice where she previously experienced compulsion. This transformation of compulsion into choice may be the single most crucial accomplishment in anyone’s therapeutic work.

Catherine: I want support from you and from my man but I feel vulnerable and raw when I think about sharing all this. But maybe it will be better if I talk to him? Maybe I will feel more recognized for how hard this is for me? I am not sure.

Food has so many purposes, meanings and uses; no wonder it’s so hard to work them all out. You give up food as comfort then it shows up as reward; you recognize it as a consolation, then it appears as an interpersonal shield.

Catherine: I spoke to you on the phone about how I'm feeling today. I'm noticing this kind or foundational feeling (that's the word I keep finding)—as if I have more of a right to be here. I think it has to do with feeling proud of myself for doing the hardest thing I can do. Working on my relationship to food is the oldest, toughest, most entrenched part of me. As we said today—it's not likely for me to find something harder. With my clients, I feel a new sense of balance, of rootedness. If I can deal with this for myself, I can ask them to do the hard things they need to do for themselves too. I can support them to do those things. This makes me feel transparent, more authentic. Like I am not a fraud.

This is a beautiful piece of psychological work. Catherine has discovered that experiences and moods she took at face value are actually the expression of emotions and conflicts. I love to recall that resounding phase: “I will not.” She has been able to substitute choice for compulsion. She has gained a great deal of self-respect by succeeding at something she found really difficult. She feels more confident in the work she does with her clients. She understands the meaning of her dreams, she sees life-patterns emerging, she has achieved much more self-knowledge than she’s had before. I like to think of this as the deconstruction of eating in favor of meaning. To this day, after some thirty years of work with these issues, I’m still astonished that something as seemingly mundane, concrete and literal as eating and food can have this crucial importance. Maybe it’s not surprising if we remind ourselves that our first act after birth and taking our first breath is a reaching out for food.

The Journey Continues

Successfully losing weight is not the end of the story, far from it.

Weight-loss faces anyone who has accomplished it with a number of immediate dilemmas. The body has changed but intimacy is still frightening; being dressed in size 8 clothes doesn’t necessarily secure a job; if one was shy before very likely one is still shy. A lot more social attention may be directed towards a woman who has changed her body’s size but cat calls, whistles, crude remarks, are not necessarily the attention she desires. The magic that weight-loss was supposed to produce as it solved all of life’s problems gets tarnished very fast. And there we still are, the same self in a different body, unless the dieting has helped us to change that self.

There’s still a long, hard road ahead. Learning to eat properly, sticking to the new habits one has acquired, shifting from the food of immediate gratification to food that supports health, these are going to present an ongoing struggle.

Catherine’s is not a typical story. Most people who lose weight on any kind of diet do not make a transformational journey. Nevertheless, many do. My intention in writing this article is to suggest that, as clinicians, we are going to be faced increasingly with the problem of obesity and its effect on health. If we learn to use dieting as a therapeutic tool, as a way of uncovering unconscious impulses and compulsions, weight-loss may be easier to accomplish, and certainly will be more rewarding, as knowledge of the self is acquired at the same time.

In closing, I would like to point out that I am not just speaking about dieting here. Any close examination of one’s eating habits and behaviors can yield the same consciousness of deep feelings, memories and life-patterns. As clinicians, I have the impression that we tend to be overly interested in people’s sexual experience and fantasy, and far less concerned than we ought to be in what food and eating have meant to them. In that sense, there is no contradiction between my work of thirty years ago and my work now: whether an individual chooses to diet or to become conscious of the ways she eats, the shared goal can be self-knowledge. Eating behaviors, as I wrote many years ago, can be the royal road to the unconscious as much as, or maybe even more than dreams, Freud’s favorite candidates for that distinction.

Diana Fosha on Accelerated Experiential-Dynamic Psychotherapy (AEDP)

“What You Think is Impossible, You're Actually Already Doing”

Polly Ely: Diana, welcome. As a devotee and student of Accelerated Experiential-Dynamic Psychotherapy (AEDP), I’m so happy to have this opportunity to interview you. Because AEDP is still pretty new to the world of psychotherapy, could you begin by explaining a bit about it?
Diana Fosha: Well, to begin with, unlike most models of psychotherapy that proceed from psychopathology—that start from what’s wrong and very reasonably want to go about fixing and healing it—one of the core characteristics of AEDP is that it assumes healing is already there to access from the first contact with the patient, including the most traumatized person that we encounter. It proceeds from the assumption of healing as a process and healing as a phenomenon—something to be entrained and engaged.

And we’re an experiential treatment, so whether we’re working with healing or attachment or emotion or what have you, we’re not so much interested in the narrative or people’s stories about it as much we’re interested in helping people drop down as much as we can into their experience and exploring the experience.
PE: In terms of “dropping down,” are there particular components or interventions that feel most relevant to AEDP that allow for that to occur?
DF: One of the things that’s characteristic of AEDP is to make the most of what’s there before trying to work with what’s not there or what’s maladaptive. So even when dropping down, if we see little glimmers of greater contact with the body, we would try to focus in on that little glimmer and enlarge it. I think more than anything else the stance is, “You’re already doing it so let’s just do more of it.”
PE: So you’re trying to amplify it, stretch it out, do more.
DF: Make you aware that what you think is impossible you’re actually already doing.

“I Don’t Have Any Feelings”

PE: So when you talk about greater contact with the body, how might you proceed with bringing something to life by making contact with the body in some way that traditional psychotherapists or eclectic psychotherapists might not feel as comfortable doing?
DF: Well, I’ll just say what we would do in AEDP and let other people judge whether it’s what they do or don’t do. For instance, the last person that I worked with was a man with a huge trauma history and a lot of disassociation. He walks in and he is telling me about some severe illness in a parent, and I ask him how he feels about it, and he says, “I don’t have any feelings.” So my question to him is, “What are you aware of?” And he becomes aware of a kind of subtle sensation in his chest—and that becomes our entry point. So we stay with that and I ask, “What does it feel like?”

“Well, it’s tense and it’s sort of a little dense.”

“Is it pleasant? Is it unpleasant?”

Over the course of a period of time, we really stay with what’s in his chest, which turns out to have all sorts of qualities of heaviness and pain—it’s a painful sensation. So before you know it, here I am with this incredibly intellectualized, supposedly in-his-head patient, talking completely in the language of sensation.
We’re no longer talking content. We’re no longer talking narrative. We’re speaking this kind of right-brain language.
We’re no longer talking content. We’re no longer talking narrative. We’re speaking this kind of right-brain language. He’s touching his chest with his hand as he’s palpating the spot where he’s experiencing this, and he’s starting to notice all these shifts and fluctuations, which are very much occurring in the moment. So within a few minutes, we had sort of “dropped down.”
PE: Dropped down and undone some belief about him not having any feelings?
DF: Right. Or that he’s all in his head or that he has an impossible time accessing his feelings.
PE: I see. So you’re developing capabilities and his belief in those capabilities, too.
DF: Over time, yes, absolutely
PE: So when I think about that—what’s happening in the body—how do we tie that to either the intellect or the story that they’re coming in with about whatever their perceived problem is? How might that be an inroad to the problem?
DF: Oh good question, because, of course, he’s not coming in because he has this subtle sensation in his chest; he’s coming in for a variety of issues and we’re just using it as an example. But really as we’re able to get more body-based and right-brained as a way of speaking about these kinds of phenomena, he and I are also having an interaction and we’re noticing what goes smoothly and flows and what’s difficult; what brings him closer and what makes him more distant?

And as we’re evoking what the pain is about or the sensation and what happens when I empathize, associations start to come up. “Did you ever have this kind of feeling? What comes to your mind about what this feeling may be telling you?” That becomes a way in, a much deeper way than telling the story or narrative. And eventually, the goal is to bring it all together—to bring it to a place where we can integrate experience with narrative, with understanding, with some sense of how his experience is linked to whatever issues he was having in his past.
PE: Sounds almost like you’re bypassing the thinking mind by calling on associations from that place in the chest that you’re talking about.
DF: I think that’s very much the case; or we’re trying to do that in the earlier part of the process, where we want to get experiential, construct something from the bottom up. In other words, not with preset preconceptions, beliefs, narrative coherence, but to let the story emerge from the kinds of experiences that are getting generated in the therapy. And then once we’ve worked with that, then we’re putting together basically a new narrative.

The Origins of AEDP

PE: What are the origins of AEDP? Did it spring forth from another model or did it come from your own curiosities about psychotherapy and what works?
DF: That’s an excellent question. I think the easiest way to answer that question is to tell you a little bit about my personal trajectory. My own training and development as a clinician was very psychoanalytic, psychodynamic and also developmental.
At the time I felt uncomfortable with the length of traditional psychoanalysis and its relatively cavalier attitude towards effectiveness and results.
At the time I felt uncomfortable with the length of traditional psychoanalysis and its relatively cavalier attitude towards effectiveness and results. So when I came across short-term dynamic psychotherapy in the work of David Malan and others, I was very excited because it seemed to be a way of working that preserved some of the depth. The analytic way of working, but at the same time, it was short-term, it was intensive. And the effectiveness of the treatment was one of the measures.

So I trained in a particular form of short-term dynamic psychotherapy developed by a clinician named Habib Davanloo, who developed a very intensive and very confrontational model of short-term dynamic psychotherapy. That was my early training and the first exposure I had to viscerally-based, deep feelings and emotions being systematically accessed in a relatively short period of time.

However, that way of working was confrontational; there’s a fair amount of stuff around aggression, which was not ideally suited to my personality or my way of understanding what’s needed in treatment. So from that point forth it became my personal goal to access the phenomena that I witnessed and learned in short-term dynamic psychotherapy and have things that are as visceral and as powerful and as transformative, but proceed from a place of being with the patient, rather than from a place of confrontation.

My other goal was to have a coherent theory for these amazing transformative phenomena. And I thought psychoanalysis, as marvelous as it is, didn’t have a good explanation of why the hell these phenomena were transformative in the moment.

You know, you start a session, you access this experiential phenomena, and 15 minutes later or half an hour later you’re in a, very different, transformed place. So it became important for me to try to have a theory that really reflected the phenomena of experiential psychotherapy. And over time AEDP, with both its theory and its practice, started to develop.

Resistance vs. Transformance

PE: You talk a lot of about transformation and for me, as a student, transformation is a word that was fairly new to me in the context of psychotherapy until I came upon AEDP. It just wasn’t a term that I ran across in my own training. I’m thinking about the word “transformance,” which is a term that you coined. It’s an important term and concept in the language of AEDP. Would you be willing to share a bit about its meaning?
DF: Well, it’s this idea of healing from the get-go—of healing not just being an outcome but a process that exists within each person that emerges in conditions of safety. That idea is not new to AEDP; it exists in spiritual traditions; it exists in humanistic therapies; it exists in some other existential therapies.
Whereas resistance is the conservative force in the psyche that causes us to resist changes or challenges, transformance is the force in the psyche that’s moving towards growth and expansion and transformation.
But still, our language tends to be very psychopathology-based, so that it seemed to me that a term was needed in our therapeutic lexicon to capture this notion of healing from within that we’re trying to tap. I coined the word “transformance” to capture that force and to have it be in counterpoint with resistance. So, whereas resistance is the conservative force in the psyche that causes us to resist changes or challenges, transformance is the force in the psyche that’s moving towards growth and expansion and transformation.
PE: I know for myself that one of the key elements of being an AEDP therapist is videotaping our work. What feels most important to you about that? It has some obvious teaching potential but I wonder if there’s more to it that you believe contributes to the process?
DF: I think it’s very much this emphasis on experience and phenomena and being able to witness firsthand the actual, live interaction. When a student comes to me for supervision, I’m not hearing his or her rendition of what happened. We’re having an experience together, witnessing what happened on video. It’s a huge help for the therapist because there’s no way that one can, in the moment, have access to the multiplicity of things that are happening in any given moment. So there’s this component of being able, after the fact, to look and look again and again and again, which is a beautiful way of learning about the richness that’s there.

Meta Processing

PE: Going back and looking at my work has been a huge place of growth for me as a therapist, and layers of new understanding emerge each time I watch a session. As I become more sophisticated in my understanding of what I’m doing, I’m able to notice more about the experience in the moment with my patients.

One area that is very key to AEDP that has been a struggle for me and where I’ve stretched a lot is around the idea of doing meta processing with the patient. Could you talk some about how you define meta processing and its value and why we, as therapists, may want to consider doing meta processing with our patients?
DF: Meta processing is huge and I think it’s one of the more important contributions that AEDP has made to the field of psychotherapy. I can explain it best by using a scenario. Let’s take somebody who comes in with depression and is feeling sort of sluggish or hopeless or whatever aspect of depression they have. And as a result of doing a piece of work—maybe it involves mourning—30 minutes later the depression lifts. They have a somewhat new perspective. They start to have a little bit of confidence in their own capacity to be effective in the world, right?
PE: Okay.
DF: So the depression lifts and the person starts to feel some efficacy. Well, at that point for us, what we want to do is process
PE: In that session.
DF: Right there in that session. What happened that allowed them to come in feeling lousy and now, half an hour later, they’re feeling more energized or more effective? So we then go through the experience.

The reason it’s called meta processing is that we’re processing the experience of what’s therapeutic about therapy. So—meta therapy. We might start to explore with the patient, “So you’re saying that you’re feeling better. And you have a sense that maybe you can be more effective. What’s that like? What does that feel like?” In the same way that we would explore what the sadness felt like or what grief feels like or what heaviness feels like. Now we’re beginning to explore what does energy feel like? What does vitality feel like? What’s it like that you and I, through talking together and doing this piece of work together, ended up here when we started back there? So that all these experiences that are quite implicit start to become more explicit, and then we’re doing another round of experiential exploration.
PE: So the next round is kind of concretizing what was learned in those first 40 minutes?
DF: Yeah. That’s a beautiful way of saying it. Concretizing, solidifying, increasing awareness, and consolidating it.
PE: And is that something that you expect your therapists to do every session?
DF: Well, we think about it in the following way: we have “Big-M” meta processing and “Small-M” meta processing. And “Big-M” meta processing is when you’ve had an experience like the one we’ve talked about—a very definite change for the better as a result of doing a piece of psychotherapeutic work. Whereas “Small M” meta processing is when there is a tiny little shift. The patient says something, you make a remark, and maybe tears come to their eyes because they feel understood. It’s not that you’ve worked for half an hour and you’ve done a whole process; it’s been one little exchange. “When I said that, it seemed to have moved you. What’s that like for you? What happened?” That’s a little meta processing. But it doesn’t have to be positive. It can be negative. Let’s say you say something and you see the patient sort of turn away or advert their eyes. So there’s been a very specific moment, a little change. We want to zero in on that and not have preconceived ideas about what it means. It doesn’t matter. The point is for the therapist to really get inside the patient’s experience, in a precise way.

So that’s how we use the meta processing and it’s probably accurate to say that rarely does an AEDP session go by without several instances of either “Small-M” or “Big-M” meta processing.

Existing in the Heart and Mind of Another

PE: I’ve been asked a few times if there’s any research that supports the accelerated outcomes of AEDP. How do you answer that question?
DF: That’s a very good question. There are about five research projects that are currently in the works on various aspects of AEDP—on outcome, meta processing, the nature of the changes that people experience as a result of AEDP training—but there are many, many components of AEDP that have been researched in the context of other experiential models. So while we have no research on meta processing or on dyadic affect regulation—because nobody else has done it—there’s infancy research that shows that mother/baby dyads where there’s effective affect regulation are the dyads that produce the most resilient babies. We have developmental research that shows that working with the feeling of existing in the heart and mind of another, which is a phrase we use that relates to attachment, is a huge aspects of resilience in the face of trauma.

There’s a lot of experiential research in the field of trauma that shows that processing previously unbearable emotions through to completion in a safe environment is one of the factors that leads patients to both stay in treatment and have better outcomes on some of the interpersonal measures. So many pieces of AEDP have quite strong empirical validation. The last piece comes from what AEDP shares with short-term dynamic psychotherapy, which shows that when you get past defenses and when patients and therapists are in close contact with core emotions, that contributes significantly to good outcomes. There’s a whole literature on that.
PE: You mentioned a few minutes ago how therapists report being impacted by working with this model. Can you say more about how their lives changed or their own personal processes changed?
DF: That’s a beautiful question. I would actually love to turn it back around and hear what your experience has been.
PE: Well, it has sort of paralleled my own deepening and ability to understand myself and where my defenses lie and where breakthroughs occur for me. It’s such a big question because, as I deepen in my understanding of AEDP, I see a natural transformation in who I am as a human being with other people; how I do in relationships with other people. How much vitality and life I feel within myself on a moment-to-moment basis and just how well I recover and how resilient I become. Without sounding like I’m proselytizing, I feel pretty transformed by it, to be perfectly honest.
DF: I appreciate your saying that. It’s a beautiful answer and people often speak of the parallel process in terms of their own transformation and deepening. I think that one of the other aspects is the gratitude that people experience at the generosity of the community. In the same way that we do therapy with affirmation and empathy and focusing on what people already do, the AEDP community is a very affirming, supportive community.

Especially for people who have had a lot of experience having to steel themselves against criticisms. You can certainly learn with a lot of harsh feedback, but I think the sense of learning through deepening, while being held and being in resonance with others; learning to pay attention to what gives you energy and vitality and what saps your energy and vitality and bringing that into the work—these are things that people are profoundly grateful for.

People have often said that they have a sense of coming home, which is very moving to me.
Way before they became professionals trained in fancy models and systems of interventions, there was just some intuitive sense of wanting to be with people and help them—some sense of hope and generativity that very often gets trained out of people in graduate school.
Way before they became professionals trained in fancy models and systems of interventions, there was just some intuitive sense of wanting to be with people and help them—some sense of hope and generativity that very often gets trained out of people in graduate school. People learn techniques and learn models and become very competent, but lose contact with some of that kind of naïve but very core sense of what it takes to heal in the presence of another. There’s something about AEDP that really draws on those innate processes by which we connect and heal and need to be with one another that lets people feel more alive.
PE: The word that comes to mind for me is “sustainable.”
DF: Yes, something about it allows you to sustain rather than burn out, and feel actually fed by it.

Men Get a Bum Rap

PE: I know recently you did some work around the differences between working with men and women and I’m wondering if there’s anything about that you’re excited about and would like to share.
DF: You know, I’ve really felt that men, to be perfectly honest, were getting sort of a bum rap in the world of emotion focused therapy. I have a colleague who sees couples and the typical set up was that the woman dragged their male partners in and they came because they didn’t want to lose the relationship. But they would always be revealed in the therapy as cut off from their emotions and not therefore able to use the couple’s therapy, so my colleague would send the men to me for individual therapy. These men would come in with their tails between their legs and feeling sort of sheepish or defensive or alienated. And when, in AEDP fashion, I’d look for the glimmer of what’s resilient or what’s healing or what’s transformance based and reflect back to them sensitivity or care or empathy, it was such a mind-blowing experience because they were so used to being told everything that they do wrong.

It was in that kind of informal way that I got interested in what happens to men in psychotherapy, especially in emotion- or relationally-based psychotherapy, because AEDP is so attachment- and emotion-based. So I actually went to do some neuroscience research and there’s a tremendous amount of the neuroscience research on sex difference and affect regulation.

And surprise, surprise, all the stuff that standup comics and guys in bars and girlfriends speaking to each other talk about—you know, everybody’s so-called stereotypes of the other gender—have some bearing in neuroscience.

PE: Which ones stand out to you?
DF: Well there are some real differences in how male and female brains process emotion. One of the main characteristics of male brains is that they’re actually more emotional—counter to stereotype—and have more right-brain activation than women, but that more visceral, raw sense of emotion is not as linked with language, so that modulation of emotion is much more problematic in men. Whereas connectivity in the brains of women is much more evenly distributed in the left and right brain, so that everything is much more connected for women. Under extreme emotional activation, language sort of goes off screen for men.
So it’s not that men don’t have feelings; they have tremendous, tremendous emotion, but the capacity to articulate is different.
So it’s not that men don’t have feelings; they have tremendous, tremendous emotion, but the capacity to articulate is different. And then there’s all this backlash in terms of shame and feeling inadequate for not being able to have an emotional conversation.
PE: That’s such an empathic way to be with men who are experiencing some trouble with expressing themselves.
DF: Yes, and I’ll tell you one other fascinating one, which has to do with face recognition. There’s an area in the brain that’s devoted to face recognition and women are superior to men in face recognition in all conditions, across the board. Under stress, women’s face recognition gets better and men’s face recognition gets worse. In stress-based literature they say that under stress, men’s sympathetic nervous system—the fight-flight response—is activated. For women, what’s activated under the same kind of threatening conditions is the limbic system and what’s been called the “tend and befriend.”

We women reach out, seek, and offer care. Reaching out to others means better face recognition, right? Presumably, evolutionarily speaking, the more you can recognize a face, you can recognize friend, foe, nurturer, etc. Whereas under stress, men sort of go inside, get strong, get into fight or flight, and are more isolated. It’s like the focus is on action and the face recognition drops off. So those are two things that seemed to me to bear very directly on our work, whether we’re working with individuals or couples.

PE: What are your suggestions for people who are interested in learning about or getting involved in AEDP?
DF: The first thing would be to visit the website, www.AEDPinstitute.com which is a focal point for the community and a way to just find out something about the model. We’ve got videos, presentations, downloadable articles, and trainings with different members of the faculty. You can also find out where trainings in various parts of the country are.
PE: Thank you so much for taking the time to discuss your work.
DF: Thank you.

The God of Psychoanalysis

In The Beginning…

Twenty-five years ago, I was part of a psychoanalytic group that met once a week. A dozen or so mostly Jewish and mostly well-to-do urbanites and their psychoanalyst would sit together in a large room on the ground floor of a pre-war apartment building on the Upper West Side and talk to each other for 90 minutes.

Here, in the span of an hour and a half, marriages were made and broken, grand and passionate affairs were embarked upon only to be rescinded before they started, even plots to murder were hatched and committed—in fantasy only of course. Religions too were swapped and dumped with abandon and new ones were taken on with fervor.

In the beginning I paid them no mind mostly, but was amused by the goings-on, almost as if it were street theater. What business did these things have with me? I was the son of a rabbi who had his troubles with his father, his god and women. Someone had suggested being part of this “theater troupe” would benefit me and so I went coughing into my fist.

The Forbidden Apple

Once, an astoundingly beautiful woman entered the group. She was the kind of woman that made men purple with passion and women green with envy. Blonde and lithe with legs that stretched to the Adirondacks, she was the classic femme fatale. And smart like a whip too.

She came to the group because she wanted to get married—and now, she said.

“Get her married,” the analyst gently commanded the group. 

There was a small hubbub. 

“Who do you want to marry?” asked one middle-aged matron.

“I can’t believe a girl like you would ever have a problem,” some Joe quipped.

“Is this a love problem?” another woman asked.

The beautiful young woman turned to the analyst: “This is what I mean! I attract attention, but I don’t get what I want.”

“I’ll marry you,” one good-looking but roguish man blurted out. 

What if one does actually fall in love in the group, I wondered? Is it like falling in love with your analyst—permitted to feel and talk about, but forbidden to act? It was as if psychoanalysis had taken a page from Genesis and said: Of all the fruit trees in the garden you may eat, but of this one….

I quickly learned that one had to take certain things on faith that certain restraints were for the best. If you were running away from religion to look for anarchy, psychoanalysis was not the place. 

“Why don’t you tell her how you feel?” the analyst suggested. “That would be far more helpful to her.”

“I love the way you look,” the man said abashedly. The comely young woman first rolled her eyes and then squirmed in her chair. “I don’t want to have this conversation. I feel totally uncomfortable.”

““You know,” the analyst said firmly, “it is your job to be uncomfortable—and to keep talking anyway.”” 

“But I don’t want to,” she protested.

But others encouraged her. “You could drop the subject if you want to, but this is an opportunity to say anything you want,” another woman in the group told her. “Tell him and us exactly what you think and feel,” she urged.

The woman looked at the analyst and then at the group. “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t like him! And what’s more is that he’s going to give me all this syrupy talk and I am going to feel I have to give him something that I don’t want to. I am going to feel obligated to him. He reminds me of so many of the men I know. It’s like he just want to put his tongue down my throat…”

“Why live in the future?” the analyst interrupted. “Why not hear his words and then tell him how much you don’t like him? In fact, tell him how much you hate him.”

“Okay,” she said, now intrigued.

The man continued. “Is it my fault I like her?” he said, turning to the group as a whole. “She’s beautiful!”

“What’s beautiful about her?” the analyst asked. 

“Her face, her hair…” and then he trailed off. 

But the analyst would not let it go at that. He pushed further.

“What about her face, what about her hair? Is there anything else beautiful? Tell her for crying out loud. Tell the group, tell the entire New York City for that matter!”

“Yes,” said the man gathering strength from the group. “She has the most beautiful legs I have ever seen!”

“I agree with you there,” the analyst said. “Michelangelo could not have done a better job.” 

The woman no longer squirmed. She seemed to accept the group member’s words and even complimented him in return. The group breathed the breath of satisfaction. 

Nothing Human is Alien

There was a feeling in the group that nothing human is alien and having been raised in a culture of “holiness” and mild separateness, this was a balm to my soul. There was one area, though, where I did feel separate: I had no money and nearly everyone else in the group did. (I had a social work degree, but floundered in various low-paying and ill-suited jobs before I eventually studied psychoanalysis and started my own practice.) But being young, I laughed this off. It was unimportant, I thought, and I would scrape by. What was happening in the group was far more important than mere money concerns. Or so I reasoned.

Each week I attended the group it became more absorbing and relevant. In fact, no sooner did we finish with one person’s difficulties, than the group would move on to somebody else: here a person was dissatisfied with her work-life; there a man pined for the unavailable lost love; still another longed for an erotic connection. This cycle of needs, longings and wants reminded me of an infant. A moment of satisfaction follows a feeding, followed by sleep and then frustration. Were we tired, hungry, wet, in need of a shower or something?

Such was life. It was neither bad nor good, but simply what was. Irritations were voiced, gripes, complaints, yearnings, desires were expressed. Each was dealt with. Everyone tried their best with each other. We talked and listened and abided by all of the commandments most of the time. 

In the meantime, I made enormous progress with women. I became a different man. “That which my mother and father could not teach me about my worth as a man and my place in the world, my desirability—these precious things, the group taught me.” Save for one thing: my progress around money was stymied; the flow of financial nourishment was painfully uneven at best.

It’s not as if money wasn’t talked about in the group. In fact, one of the big psychoanalytic commandments was about payment: Thou shalt pay the analyst. Thou shalt pay him well and promptly. Always you must remember to pay. 

Most of us went along with it just fine, but one person in the group resisted once. “I’m sorry I missed our session, but I don’t feel I should have to pay for that. It was an emergency. I thought I was having a heart attack…Should I have to pay for that?”

“I should charge you double,” the analyst retorted. “Once for missing the appointment, second for despising yourself and the group so much that you didn’t even think to call us to let us know that you were having a heart attack.”

To me he often said sternly: “You make money intermittently because that is how you were nourished. You had an intermittently functioning mother and the world functions intermittently for you. You will need to say more about that in group in order for your life to get better.”

Yes, the analyst was brilliant; and daring. He wore $1500 sports jackets, $300 slacks and $500 shoes. In a field unfairly characterized by menschy but nebbishy stereotypes, (think Judd Hirsch) he was a massive force. In fact, he wasn’t afraid to enact each of the cardinal sins (especially greed). They were mostly in the service of life. He modeled for us that it’s not so bad to be bad, maybe it’s even good to be bad. And if he was greedy, what of it? A little bit of greed can be good. 

In many ways he was an excellent model for me. But besides that, the truth is that I loved this man terribly, though I didn’t know exactly why. He was not an easy man, nor was he easy to love. Most often he was neutral to sympathetic, but beneath that he could be cold, brutal and unyielding, withholding words and warmth. “I am an analyst,” he would say, “not a social worker.” I sensed that though he justified his coldness and objective stance in the name of “analysis,” this also served as a cover. I was sure that he suffered and he could not metabolize his own pain. What’s more he suffered existentially, I imagined, just like me. I suspected that he too had come from the Jewish barrio. Perhaps beneath his glitz and glamour, the smells of chulent and potato kugel were not alien to his nostrils. Perhaps he too had once struggled over the Talmud and whether or not to run to the synagogue or away from it. When I asked him about this, he would slyly evade the question in the famous manner of nearly all analysts, but he did it in such a way that I knew and he knew that I knew too. 

"Have You Tried Being a Shoeshine Boy?"

People enter psychotherapy when they are in great pain and within a few sessions their symptoms start to abate, but not in psychoanalysis. Here, each of us seemed to be in it for the long haul—not for symptom relief, but for character maturation. For example, I remember one man had lost his job and he was attacking himself for not having yet found another. Bald, short and fat, he worked for one municipality or another in some kind of administrative role and he would recite his bleak story for the benefit of the group. He would come in with heavy sighs, sniff and complain: “I’ve been laid off. I’ve sent hundreds of resumes. I’m 58. No one wants me.”

Finally after several weeks of this, the analyst shouted out: “Have you tried being a shoeshine boy?” (He really did look like a shoeshine boy) “Really, I hear the city needs one. Why don’t you buy one of those kits and you could go on the subway…”

“You’re making fun of me…”

““I am making light of you. I am not making fun. I don’t take you nearly as seriously as you do,” my analyst would say.”

Within a few weeks he had found a good job. You would have thought he would have left the group, but far from it. He stayed, as many others did month after analytic month, year after analytic year, forking over good money. What was going on here in the church of psychoanalysis? What kept people coming?

I too kept coming even as it began to dawn on me that my karma of obtuse struggle and deprivation might continue regardless of how much I knew about mother and father or even how angry I got. Years went by and I had not even the slightest thought of leaving. I wondered if that made me a believer in psychoanalysis. Or perhaps, I thought, the opposite was true: Attending weekly sessions was a way of not having to believe–the same way that some might attend synagogue in order to not have to deal with G-d. Or maybe I stayed because of the love of the people in the group or perhaps the love of the analyst? These questions ran to the core of my being. What was I all about?

Even as I paid attention to these questions other thoughts came to me. “Everything that seemed both right and wrong with religion seemed both right and wrong about psychoanalysis.” For one thing, it was circular. When the analysis was working, and you made progress in life and you felt happy, that was great; when it wasn’t working, well, that meant more analysis and even more commitment. Your prayers have not been answered; well the answer is to pray more and harder.

“You haven’t helped me,” one woman would say. “I am still in the same stupid job and marriage for all these years.”

“Who you are you angry at?”

“All of you…”

“Who most of all?”

She turned and like the wicked witch of the East, pointed a finger at the analyst. 

“I pay you. My life is supposed to get better.” 

“What is better?”

“You know!”

The analyst turned to the group: “Does anyone here know what she means?” 

One woman piped up. “How are we supposed to know what you want? You don’t say anything from week-to-week. You sit in silence, stewing.”

“Why don’t you get rid of that bozo anyway?” another man shouted out.

“Because I love him…?”

“You love him? But you carp about him all the time.”

“He’s the misery I know.”

“Well, are we also the misery you know. You stay with us here in your misery and you don’t let us know minute-to-minute how you feel. You don’t connect with people, you pickle with them. We’re all pickling together with you…in a barrel of misery.”

She stammered and turned pale. “But I both love and hate everyone….”

“Why can’t you tell us?”

“I have terrible thoughts. Sex and violence….” 

“A person must put all of his thoughts and feelings into words…”

And so it went.

The Fall

After many years of faithful group attendance it would seem that I had gained immeasurably. I had found my way in love and work; I had my own thriving practice and had become “wise” to myself and my foibles. I was secure in the Edenic paradise of psychoanalysis and group. Many an energetic afternoon was spent in the womb-like feeling of a pre-war climate-controlled Upper West Side fortress. We listened to each other, yelled at each other, and got better, smarter and wiser.

But my family and expenses grew at a far greater pace than my income. I had never been sufficiently realistic about money and was mortgaged and borrowed to the hilt, all the while thinking magically that I would be saved by psychoanalysis.

While membership in the church of psychoanalysis had always been expensive (and worthwhile) it had become unmanageable. It was 2007 and just ahead of the spectacular mortgage crisis the bank had shut the spigot on my home equity line. I had nothing. The doctrine of “say everything” as a cure to all of life’s ills began to sound tinny. There were realities now to consider—forces like falling real estate prices, recession, that were impervious to even the formidable powers of psychoanalysis in general and to this psychoanalyst in particular who told me, “you should be here twice or three times a week in order to accomplish what you need!”

There was something else too. Something I had to consider. In long relationships one has—in marriages, families, with groups, synagogues, communities, tribes and religions—there is often anger, even hatred, beneath the surface. While one devotedly participates, attends, pays dues, an equal and opposite negative feeling can form—something like what Jung described as the dark or shadow side.

In a flash, this side can get jarred loose from behind the veil—a fire that badly burns and can gut a 20 or even 50-year relationship in an instant. So that’s what you’ve been thinking and feeling about me all along!

Such a thing happened here too. They and the analyst saw my departure from the group as a “resistance”—something without real merit, perhaps even something that I was doing to them. I in turn felt they were in a small way responsible for my financial disaster. After all, had they not sweet-talked me (at least by my recollection) all these years with blandishments on the one hand and psychic fire and brimstone on the other? You need us or you will be forever damned! They, not surprisingly, would have none of it. We had words, terrible words. And these words devolved into name-calling. To the man I had admired and loved for more than a decade I spoke harsh truths. ““You’re a greedy man. You are running a psychoanalytic synagogue—a money-grubbing mill for your own benefit. You’re a disgrace to the profession,” I added for good measure.”

The man whom I had loved and thought loved me became hostile and erupted like a volcano. “You’re a chazir,” he shouted at me, his slip of Yiddish a sign of his rage. “A pig, a pig!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You are a disgrace to nineteen years of psychoanalysis.” I gave as good as I got, but I was stunned, traumatized. I paid him one last time and walked out, vowing never to return.

It might be hard for someone who has not experienced the intimacy of psychoanalytic treatment to understand the depth of my feelings of sadness, hurt and betrayal. It is like having biblical-sized curses hurled at you at gale force by your own father. Even as I relived that horrible moment in my mind a million times—of him screaming at me and calling me names—I would never pick up the phone again to call him. I would spit on his grave.

In the meantime, just as Adam became a lot more interesting and productive after having been cast out of the Garden of Eden, I too got to work in high fashion. I built a small empire of psychoanalytic groups in the height of economic Armageddon. Even as I grieved for my analyst, I clearly was able to prosper without him. I was ready to chalk up the relationship to another chimera—a false god.

But a few weeks ago I got a message. “You have proved your point. It’s been five and a half years. It’s time.”

I had thought that the relationship had been murdered, forever relegated to harsh dreams and a raw place in my mind. Words cannot always be retracted. Some things cannot be taken back.

Could it have been for five-and-a-half years we had no contact, but we actually were in communion with each other? How much does this resemble a life where God Himself seems absent and yet every once in a while we feel he has been with us in some form all along? Devout believer or atheist, these may be the very comforting and troubling facts of our existence. Psychoanalysis, like religion, calls us back with its rhythms and vibrations, its gentle waves of thought. How could I not answer its plaintive song?
 

Epilogue: My Return

The day of my return was as beautiful a fall day as there ever was–a day that made a case for life itself. Broadway of Manhattan’s Upper West Side was teeming with people and commercial purpose. I was early and took a walk. New York was like a big friendly courtyard. I stopped by one of the Korean flower market/delis for a handful of lavender orchids.

I walked past the corner of 79th where men sell 20-year-old copies of Playboy along with scarves and old paperbacks, a place where the smell of the subway in summer wafts up through the gratings. That particular corner is a strange nexus of half-hearted commerce that bleats along in a netherworld between handouts, thrift and light industry. 

At 3:25 I knocked on his door and walked past the threshold that I once swore I would never again cross. But here I was. I waited in the waiting room and at the concerted hour and minute we were, once again, analyst and patient, face-to-face.

He was taken aback by the sight of me, I could tell. I had gotten gray. In your late 40s it comes upon you suddenly, like an overnight frost. He was grayer too. Such is life. He was gentle and warm. “How are you? How have you been, you look well, more distinguished,” he put his hand on his chin, miming the growth of gray whiskers.

“Yes, well one becomes gray,” I said. “This can’t be helped. And of course, it’s been 5 and a half years.”

“Too long…”

I sat down.

“Something happened here that hurt you,” was how he began.

“Yes,” I said, and I began to tell him exactly how, but I interrupted myself. I had brought with me a letter—a letter that he had written me after our first meeting exactly 24 years ago. It was in his own handwriting on his letterhead.

“Here, I want you to see something.” I handed him the envelope.

Ever the analyst on guard for booby-traps—real, psychological, symbolic or imagined—he said, “what is it?” He hesitated to take hold of it.

“It’s a letter, from you, dated October 24, 1988. I’ve saved it for 24 years.”

It was a response to a letter that I had written him following our first meeting, which lasted not more than 16 minutes. A quarter of a century ago his office was cross-town, and I remember it was bathed in late afternoon sunlight. He wore a seer-sucker suit with pinstripes the color of the sky.

“What is the first memory of your mother?” he had presciently asked.

“I was two or three years old and standing at the edge of the railing of my crib and she was looking in on me.”

“If you are looking to get married or even to get along better with women, then this is the group for you,” he said. “The most beautiful and wonderful women in New York City are in my group.”

One could scarcely understand what it meant to me at that time to get help from a strong man with women. I needed to connect with women. That I knew, but I scarcely knew how. And I knew he would help me. Nevertheless, I was not quite ready to join the group for various reasons; I was, as he grasped instantly, and I later came to understand, ambivalent.

“Shall I encourage you, discourage you, or let you feel the freedom to be ambivalent for as long as you need to be?”

With that simple line I was hooked on psychoanalysis for a quarter of a century. Here I had come from a background of non-stop commandments, one had to, one must, one should—and now I could be deliciously ambivalent.

“What is the charge for today’s consultation?” I asked him then.

“No charge,” he said.

I took him up on his invitation to be ambivalent, but when I came home I wrote him a letter telling him of the freedom he deftly helped me to experience in his office. I would join him in a few months.

The letter he wrote me in response was now in his hands and carefully, he opened it.

“I too enjoyed our meeting,” he wrote. “It is good for you to take as much time as you need. I look forward to working with you in the right time. I have the idea I can help.”

He held his own letter with evident satisfaction.

“From the day I met you,” I continued, “I knew that you were one of the most significant people I would ever meet in my life.”

He smiled with even greater satisfaction.

We then talked about my understanding of what happened 5 years ago and how he hurt me. At first he seemed to resist, passing my reaction off to transference, but as I quoted his words back to him, he seemed to concede that he erred.

“You were vicious and brutal,” I said. “Was I after all these years, your father, one of your siblings (all of whom I knew)?”

“You were somebody from past, it’s true. Someone I did so much for who took every opportunity to throw it all back in my face.”

“19 years of treatment and I was him?

“I am afraid so.”

“Well, that explains a lot then. My words, my true heart-felt words, things that I told you about yourself then were internalized by you as an attack. But of course, they were said to you out of love—the very first time that I could love and say the truth. What you called a disgrace to psychoanalysis was actually my highest achievement. I was trying to find a way to work with you!”

“At last he nodded. “I hurt you and I apologize.””

“I accept,” I told him.

We spent more time catching up. He remembered every detail of my life and my family. It was a good meeting. Our minds were facing each other not just our bodies. I would be in touch soon to resume our work.

“That would be welcome,” he said.

It seemed deceptively easy. Is that all it took? Were a few minutes of talking and clarification to heal my wounds sufficient to restore our severed relationship?

Yes, it took one session and five-and-a-half years of pain, for both of us. (It was clear to me he had been in pain about it.)

“What will be the charge today?” I asked, with my check already pre-signed. (Modern analysts tend to raise their fees regularly so I anticipated a hefty hike.)

“There is no charge for today’s session,” he said. “It is an acknowledgment of our relationship.”

“It is touching that you acknowledge our relationship that way,” I told him.

We bade farewell. It was two days exactly before the Jewish New Year. “Shana tova,” he said. “A gut yahr,” I replied.

I had gone back to the analyst who hurt me. It wasn’t the first time that I had taken a risk for love, but it was one of those times love was well rewarded.

Psychoanalysis, like religion, calls us and calls us back with its promise to hold our hurts, our wounds, and our grievances. And some of us keep coming back almost as if we can’t help it. Perhaps this is as it should be. One doubts, one hates, one loves, but one forgives too and often one returns. During High Holidays, one is even permitted to return without having to know why and in psychoanalysis, my analyst, once said, it's Yom Kippur every day.
 

Paul Wachtel on Therapeutic Communication

The Third Wave in Psychotherapy

Ruth Wetherford: Along with being the distinguished Professor of Clinical Psychology at the Graduate Center at the City University of New York, you’ve won many honors and awards throughout your career, including, in 2010, the Hans Strupp Award for psychoanalytic writing, teaching, and research. You’ve also been called one of the leading voices for integrative thinking in the mental health sciences. What does that mean?
Paul Wachtel: I think what that refers to is that for many, many years now, it has felt to me that psychotherapists operate like battling ethnic groups. They stereotype each other. They’re overly attached to their own language and make fun of the language of the other. They gather in their tribe-like congregations and miss a lot of value in the other orientations. So my interest has been not only looking at what has been called the common factors–the processes of change that are common to many orientations–but looking also at the differences, and how we can put together what’s similar and what’s different and create a more comprehensive approach to theory and to therapy.
RW: What are some components of what you want to be your message, your legacy?
PW: What’s important is getting ourselves out of the ethnic battles and thinking instead about what’s really of value to people. I was originally trained psychoanalytically, and then became interested in behavior therapy and then cognitive-behavior therapy, and then also family systems and emotion-focused approaches. One of the things I learned from the behavioral and cognitive-behavioral end that has profoundly influenced every moment that I think I’m working psychoanalytically is the absolute importance and compatibility of the exposure paradigm. Much of what promotes change is the experience of repeatedly confronting and being exposed in a full, emotional way to the aspects of our lives that we have turned away from in fear or guilt or shame. Sometimes those can be external stimuli like a phobic object, but very often, they’re our own thoughts and feelings and experience of self. What I’ve learned from cognitive-behavior therapists, and I never forget it for a minute in my sessions, is that

it’s not enough just to name it, interpret it, label it. You have to experience it. And that’s a place where the cognitive-behavioral and the psychodynamic can converge in powerfully important ways.

it’s not enough just to name it, interpret it, label it. You have to experience it. And that’s a place where the cognitive-behavioral and the psychodynamic can converge in powerfully important ways.

RW: This reflects, I think, what Dan Wile works toward in his collaborative couple therapy when he says that it’s important for the therapist to continually monitor internal thoughts, feelings, and impulses toward clients or patients we find in some way offensive–to continually look toward why that’s offending us and to look for what may be legitimate or reasonable. How can we understand it from that person’s point of view? It seems like it’s inherently about the therapist’s capacity to see things from another person’s point of view.
PW: I think job number one for a psychotherapist is to be able to understand how the world feels and looks to the people we work with. That’s another interesting point of convergence, by the way, in the larger realm of psychotherapy, that the ethnic waters are making less apparent than they should. In cognitive therapy, in particular, practitioners actually fall prey to the very errors that psychoanalysts fell prey to, which was thinking that if you just say the right words and label things and get people to think right, you’ll do the job. They will often treat the client’s thoughts as irrational and erroneous, and that’s very much the opposite of what you were just talking about.But there has been a trend in CBT in recent years that’s often been described as a third wave, that includes dialectical behavior therapy (DBT)–Marsha Linehan and her colleagues–and acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT)–Steven Hayes and his colleagues. Central to both of those are two things that create potential convergence with psychodynamic and experiential therapies: an emphasis on acceptance of the person’s experience, and a respect for emotion that was largely excluded from CBT for a 20- or 25-year period.

When I first got interested in behavior therapy, I was interested in it not because it was behavioristic, but almost for the opposite reason—that it was actually very deeply experiential. Instead of just talking about what you were afraid of, you actually put yourself there. I listened to what clients were saying and what they were feeling as they were confronting it. That experiential element was very important. I learned a tremendous amount from the early behavior therapists, so I was stunned to see tapes of the very people I had learned so much from, when they started to fall under the sway of this rationalistic approach to cognitive therapy. Suddenly they were trying to talk people out of their feelings, trying to tell them, “If you think right, you don’t have to be sad. If you think right, you don’t have to be angry.”

What DBT and ACT do, instead of trying to talk people out of the feelings, is they go into the feelings. They validate them. They accept them. They bring them forth much the way a good experiential or psychoanalytic therapy does. And that’s combined with an interest in eventually promoting change. There’s a seeming paradox there, but I think Marsha Linehan’s term “dialectical” captures it well. It’s a term, by the way, that’s also used by Irwin Hoffman, a relational psychoanalyst. It is that tension between acceptance and change, between following the protocol and varying from the protocol. Hoffman calls it going according to the book and throwing away the book. That’s how we work most effectively.

“What Should I Say?”

RW: One of your most important messages from your earliest works through the new edition of Therapeutic Communication: Knowing What to Say When is about our faulty assumption that if we truly understand the person, we will automatically say what we intend to say that will be effective in this dialectic between acceptance and change. Say more about how you want therapists to acknowledge this assumption, and what to do about it.
PW: The importance of that was something I learned almost incidentally, though powerfully, taught unwittingly by my supervisors on the one hand and my students on the other.My supervisors taught it to me by its absence. In other words, I became aware that asking questions like, “What should I say?” opened me up to charges of being superficial and literal. The message I often got was exactly what you’re saying: “If you understand it, you’ll know what to say.” So for a while, I was just feeling, “Well, maybe I’m stupid. But I think I understand the dynamics pretty well, and I seem to be understanding them much the way my supervisor agrees they are.” Yet sometimes I wasn’t sure what to say.

As I began to think about that more and talk about it more in my teaching, my students made me aware that they were getting something from me that they weren’t getting from any of their other teachers. They would say, “When we talk to you, you actually talk about what we should say. We’re not hearing that anywhere else.” That’s what first got me interested in writing about those details.

Then that got me really thinking, as I’ve continued to do over many years, about the ways we talk to people, and all the ways it can be problematic, the ways it can be helpful, and how it both shapes and is shaped by the ways we think about people.

RW: One of the ways you have demonstrated your gift for feeling is in your discussion of the implied message of different word choices. In other words, you talk about the focal message and the meta-message. You’re so attuned to the connotations of words and how they carry the meaning of respect or acceptance, versus accusatory, pejorative meanings. And this is the thing that so many therapists you’re trying to address seem tone-deaf to. They can hear a recording of an interaction they’re having. Others can see that it’s coming across critically or accusingly, and they can’t hear it. How do you address that?
PW:

Hearing and understanding the tone of what we’re saying is one of the hardest things for people to do. It’s one of the most important,

Hearing and understanding the tone of what we’re saying is one of the hardest things for people to do. It’s one of the most important, and I think people with good interpersonal skills do it naturally. I think it can be trained. But I do think it is hard.

One of the examples that I’m always struck by is if you’ve ever been in an unpleasant interaction with a sales clerk at an airport or something like that, often if you say something about what’s going on, they will say, “Why are you getting so upset? I haven’t said anything wrong.” And if you look at the manifest content of what they’ve said, that’s true. But if you listen to the tone of voice or you hear the way the sentence is constructed, you know you’re meeting with a hostile response. But the person who is being hostile or dismissive toward you often doesn’t understand that. That’s one of our real challenges.

On Modeling

RW: I read recently in a neuropsychology article that so much of our brains, particularly the right hemisphere, are designed to assess how we’re doing with another person, constantly monitoring, second by second, where we stand vis-a-vis that person. Tone of voice is one of the primary ways of doing it, along with facial expression, eye contact, body language, and that sort of thing.But we have a culture that is so dismissive, many people don’t know that tone is important, even though they’re constantly reacting to it more or less unconsciously. I like to use the phrase TODD: Tone of Disapproval and Disdain. I’ll point out to people when TODD has entered the conversation. And when people go from thinking tone is not important to realizing it is, that’s a huge opening. Bringing that message to people seems so elementary, doesn’t it? How do you cope with that?

PW: I think one of the things that we do, whether as teachers or as therapists–and here, I depart from the traditional psychoanalytic view’s emphasis on autonomy–
RW: Oh, no. You’d better not do that.
PW: I’m going to do it. Brace yourself.
RW: Radical!
PW: The idea of modeling is a very, very important one. We offer ourselves as models. Not that we’re model human beings, not that we’re any better as people or any more effective as people. But when we’re attending to the tone, to the effect, to the relationship, and when we do it well, our patients pick that up from us.I’ve had patients say to me without our ever to having talked about it explicitly before, “You know, you always manage to say what I’ve just said in a way that feels like you hear it, you care about what I’m saying. It sounds better in your words than it sounded in my mind. But I’ve begun to learn to say that to myself now.” And it’s not that I’ve asked them to. That would be an authoritarian, mechanical way. But the modeling or identification that goes on is selective. The patient will take what works for him or her.

And it occurs mostly implicitly. The set of patients who have talked about this mention it after they had noticed that they’ve begun to do it. In other words, they don’t sit down and intend to do it, but they begin to notice it. Just the way they gradually notice the way I’ve been talking to them, they later gradually notice how they have begun to talk to themselves or to other people.

RW: With a more empathic voice.
PW: Yeah. I’m often a critic of excessive explanations in terms of infancy because they contribute to the pejorative sometimes–described as pre-Oedipal and archaic and primitive and all that sort of stuff.
RW: Those are pejorative words for sure.
PW: Very much so. But if we think about the early attachment relationship, one of the things that’s interesting is that a parent’s interaction with an infant is almost completely about tone. It almost doesn’t matter what he or she says, because the infant doesn’t understand the words anyhow. But the infant does understand the tone, the feeling. So we develop very crucial skills in hearing the tone of others, which is part of what also is very central in good couples therapy, where the couple can have bad feelings keep reverberating between them. When you change the tone, good feelings start to reverberate.
RW: You give an example in your book: when therapist delivers an interpretation or comment without the accompanying meta-messages of acceptance or empathy, it’s like an organ transplant. It arouses the immune rejection by the body as if it’s foreign or alien. But with empathy, it’s not rejected. I call empathy the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine go down.What are your thoughts about how this can be taught to therapists?
PW: Some of the teaching is explicit. Clearly, we need to articulate and point out that theory does have value. But some of it occurs through identification. With my students, as they hear my way of speaking and thinking, those for whom it’s not alien and rejected begin to take it in and make it theirs. What comes out in some ways sounds like me, but, very importantly, it also sounds like them. It isn’t a copy of me. It’s the aspect of me that’s of value to them, and they know implicitly what’s the kernel and what’s the husk.
RW: You were saying a minute ago that you were going to diverge from psychoanalytic thought, and we joked about being radical. That surprised me because 20 years ago I read, in a review of current issues in psychoanalysis, a segment along the lines that the optimal criterion of positive mental health in psychoanalysis has changed from autonomy and self-sufficiency to the capacity to interact with another person in ways that are mutually enhancing, and that analysts’ focus is shifting from accuracy of interpretation to quality of relationship. So I thought that was more or less widespread. Are you feeling like it is not widespread?
PW: I think you’re very accurately describing the direction of change in psychoanalysis. I, myself, identify very much with the relational point of view in psychoanalysis, and I’ve written from a relational point of view. And that point of view does embrace the very ideas that you were just mentioning. But when I wrote my book on relational theory and began to closely examine the relational thinkers whose ideas I felt fit well with mine, I also noticed that there were ways in which some of the older ideas continue to operate sub rosa, in a way that’s almost psychoanalytically validating in the sense that the early development of the field continues to influence it. The ways people talk about things explicitly is not necessarily the same as what is operating implicitly.It seemed to me that, for example, relational analysts who are increasingly the emerging dominant perspective in psychoanalytic thought operate nominally and explicitly from a two-person point of view, a point a view that emphasizes mutuality, reciprocity, the way in which we are both in the room co-creating the subjective reality, and so on. Those are the conceptual terms, and they are certainly a really important part of relational practice.

But

there are also ways in which relationalists continue to operate by the older one-person set of assumptions. They throw out terms like “pre-Oedipal” and “archaic” and “primitive” at almost the same rate that classical Freudians did.

there are also ways in which relationalists continue to operate by the older one-person set of assumptions. They throw out terms like “pre-Oedipal” and “archaic” and “primitive” at almost the same rate that classical Freudians did.

The Old Guard

RW: It reminds me of meeting a couple in which the man was a psychologist. I knew that he espoused principles of nonsexism and egalitarianism, and yet his wife did everything for him, and his interactions with her conveyed, “I’m the superior one.”Are you saying these relationists who do not see how their language and behavior toward their clients contradict their values of reciprocity and mutuality are emotionally dishonest in favor of maintaining a superior position, or for some other unconscious emotional reason that has to do with the relationship to the clients?
PW: I think “emotionally dishonest” would be a harsher evaluation than I would make.
RW: You’re right. It’s like saying we’re dishonest if we see that the emperor has new clothes when he pretends he’s naked and we’re caught up in the denial.
PW: All of us as fallible human beings are struggling toward ideals that we don’t always reach. But I think there’s value in the struggle, and I think we can move ahead. For example, there are very real ways contemporary relational analysts do practice very differently from traditional analysts of several decades ago.But there’s still a way to go. And I’m sure, for example, in my own work, there’s still a way to go that I’m not recognizing. It’s inevitable. But I do think that the idea of something deep underneath that’s being hidden is a very seductive idea. To say that my relational colleagues might have some unconscious motivations for the particular positions they hold is not necessarily a criticism, because we all have unconscious motivations. It’s part of being human. You can’t not have them. That’s not the problem. The problem is when there are aspects of the way we’re thinking and feeling that don’t have a place to evolve and be looked at and experienced and integrated and modified.

If I have an experience that the patient is being emotionally dishonest–let’s say the patient is talking about his feelings about his wife, and I am hearing that there’s a lot more there than he’s willing to acknowledge–my role is not to point out to him his contradictions, his self-deceptions, his illusions. My role is to make room for the full range of his experiences so that he can examine them more fully. I would not be inclined, even in subtle ways–at least if I’m working as I hope to work–to point out his dishonesty. But I might say, “I’m hearing the ways in which you admire your wife’s achievements and feel that she’s misunderstanding you when she says that you’re being competitive with her. I hear that part of it. I’m wondering if there’s another part of the experience that you’re feeling isn’t acceptable, the almost unavoidable experience of also being envious or competitive with her.”

RW: With the word “unavoidable,” you normalize it.
PW: Exactly. And that normalizing is not a denial–it’s an invitation. It’s not a way of shutting out the so-called unacceptable. It’s a way of inviting it in.I think the other crucial word there is “also.” In workshops, I’ve sometimes jokingly said that your functioning as a therapist could improve 31.6% if you would just substitute one word for another. And I ask partipicants to guess what those words are. “Both, and” is one way, or “also” versus “really.” Often either saying or thinking, “What you’re really feeling is…” implies, “What you think you’re feeling is false.” I would suggest that if you think you’re feeling it, you almost inevitably, necessarily are feeling it. But you are likely also feeling some other things that are harder to acknowledge and harder to accept. So I switch from “really” to “also.”

Shaming

RW: In the examples you give in the new edition of Therapeutic Communication, there is particular sensitivity to comments that are inherently shaming. And you have a very attuned ear. It occurs to me that so much training, particularly psychoanalytic training, at least in my experience of it back in the ‘70s, was extremely shaming and challenging. I wonder how much of the tone-deafness to that note of shaming is part of the training experience and modeling–we want to talk to our patients the way we were talked to?
PW: The ways that we actually talk to people and the feeling tone in the room often follows more from the tone we absorbed in our own personal therapy and supervision. And that that’s one of the reasons that older ways of practicing and thinking persist even after the official position has changed.I also think, apropos what you were saying about what training used to be like and how it sometimes still can be, that for many years psychoanalysis was organized in a rather authoritarian way.
RW: That’s an understatement.
PW: Yeah. You had self-contained institutes with very little check on them. You had a hierarchical structure, you had training analysts, and you often had a kind of thought control: you would go into analysis, and until you got it right, which meant you got it the way you were supposed to think and feel, you wouldn’t even be approved to work with patients. That was a very problematic structure. It’s certainly been changing, but there’s still a long way to go.

The Gold Standard?

RW: Speaking of structural changes, and returning to your original metaphor of ethnic battles, what is the value for the tribal leaders of our profession to embrace the more integrated view of therapy you advocate for?
PW: That is a big problem. I think the only thing that, by and large, brings tribes together is an external enemy. The fact that our whole culture is being increasingly dominated by nonpsychological thinking altogether, by corporate bottom-line thinking, will hopefully be a spur to seeing what our common interests are.
RW: In the article you wrote recently, “Are We Prisoners of the Past?” you end by saying, “In the practice of psychotherapy, much harm had resulted from the efforts of therapists to help their patients achieve autonomy. Being able to stand alone is the false ideal of the culture of Ronald Reagan. Patients who benefit from psychotherapy are those who learn the lesson of mutuality, who move beyond both helpless dependency and the false ideal of independence. Mutuality and interdependence are the lessons we must learn on a social level, as well. Our fates lie in each other.”This seems germane to what you were saying about what the tribal leaders need. A common enemy can create a sense of mutuality against the threat. But also it seems like a recognition of the fact that security is higher if we are mutually interdependent. That’s certainly true internationally–if I have a bunch of factories in your city, I’m not likely to bomb it. So how can the tribal influences in current psychoanalysis, behavior therapy, and the others you’re trying to integrate, continue to not see this when it’s so reasonable, so obvious?

PW: I think all psychotherapists know that people don’t always see what’s reasonable.

A lot of our work is trying to figure out how to get people to see what’s plain as the noses on their faces, but not evident to them.

A lot of our work is trying to figure out how to get people to see what’s plain as the noses on their faces, but not evident to them. Often, whether it’s working individually with a patient or client, or trying to produce social change, it’s an uphill battle, and you have to be in it for the long haul. It’s one of the reasons that I also think the current corporate-promoted trend toward very short-term therapies, which translates into cheaper therapies, is often a mistake. Producing really meaningful change often takes a lot of effort, and it takes time.

RW: Along with these financial pressures, there’s also the increasing manualization of psychotherapy. What are some of your thoughts and reactions to that phenomenon?
PW: I have two different concerns about manualization. My strongest concern is that recently, when people have advocated criteria for demonstrating that psychotherapy is empirically supported, one criterion that’s often introduced is manualization. I think that that’s a very misleading and problematic criterion. It’s not that manualization can’t help in establishing what therapists are doing. But I’ve written in a number of places recently about some of the fallacies in requiring a manual as a criterion. One of the things it does is it creates a kind of caricature of science.Science is supposed to be about finding creating ways to empirically investigate phenomena, but the criterion of manualization defines away any investigation of nonmanualized treatments. In other words, if your treatment isn’t manualized, then by the empirically supported treatments criteria that have been propagated in recent years, it can’t even be investigated. Therefore, it’s dismissed by definition rather than through research. And that’s very problematic.
RW: Give me an example of some of those criteria that you object to.
PW: In the recently consensual (almost consensual, because I don’t consent and some other people don’t either) definition of what it means to be empirically supported, there are three things, each problematic, that are usually introduced. One is manualization. And the rationale for that is if we’re going to say that a treatment has been empirically supported, we have to know that was the treatment being administered. That much is reasonable, as far as it goes. But the problem is that manuals aren’t the only way to do that. You can, for example, have practitioners of a particular approach rate blindly a series of sessions, some of which are and some of which aren’t the kind of approach being investigated. And you can get high reliability, and that way you can investigate treatments that are not manualized and still establish whether that is the treatment being practiced. That’s one reason that manualization is a foolish criterion.A second criterion derives from a kind of false precision. The idea is that we look only at patients defined by a particular diagnostic entity. So if you have a general pool of patients and they get better, that gets dismissed because the claim is that’s a nonspecific finding. The irony of that is by and large the vast majority of advocates of this empirically supported treatments paragon are cognitive-behavioral. And for many, many years, cognitive-behavioral therapists were condemning psychoanalysis for being supposedly a medical model. And now, here you have CBT people embracing the psychiatric DSM–a committee-wrought set of categories that have little to do with empirical science–as if it were the Bible. And there’s certainly a medical influence: requiring a specific diagnosis and slicing people up that way is aping physical medicine, in which you need to distinguish diabetes from rheumatoid arthritis because you treat them differently. But most of what we work with as psychotherapists is not usefully or validly understood as a series of discrete diseases. So to introduce that as a criterion is very problematic.
RW: It’s the same reductionistic thinking everybody’s been yelling about for decades, but we can’t seem to get past it.
PW: Well, right now we can’t get past it because it’s politically useful for people who are advocating a particular point of view.
RW: You say that with a fraction of the anger that Thomas Szasz says the same thing.
PW: I don’t know how my fraction compares with his, but I can get pretty angry about what is happening these days.

Psychotherapy research is crucially important, but it’s got to be done honestly, and I think a lot of it these days, it’s not.

Psychotherapy research is crucially important, but it’s got to be done honestly, and I think a lot of it these days, it’s not.

RW: In the last review I read of evidence-based treatment, which I think was John Norcross’s review commissioned by APA, the vast majority of the studies started at the beginning of the first session and ended with the third session. I just started laughing and dismissed the whole thing. I mean, we all know better than that. The forces that keep this model going are the desire not to know the truth, but to justify the status quo.
PW: And a part of that is this third illusory criterion, which is most seductive because there’s a lot that does make sense in it, but it’s, again, used politically rather than scientifically: the emphasis on randomized control trials (RCTs). That gets called the gold standard. Whenever I hear that, I like to think of the story King Midas, because turning everything into gold doesn’t always turn out well.I think here it’s a gold standard only under certain circumstances. For example, in the studies of drugs and medications that most psychotherapy RCTs are modeled after, one of the crucial elements is that nobody takes seriously a drug study that isn’t double-blind. Otherwise, the placebo effects are completely undetermined. In psychotherapy, it’s never double-blind. You can’t have somebody say, “We’re going to give half of you psychoanalysis five days a week and we’re going to give half of you an exposure therapy three times once a week. But we won’t tell which we’re giving.” Obviously, that’s absurd. People know what they’re getting, and people know what they’re giving.

So there, already, the RCT is overblown and misses something. But, more than that, in order to maintain the RCT, two things happen. One, the studies have to be very short term, because otherwise, the more it goes on, the more you have uncontrolled variables, which excludes what you can do research on.

RW: As if there are no uncontrolled variables in three sessions.
PW: Even in three sessions, they are an enormous number.
RW: Three minutes!
PW: Absolutely. And that’s, in fact, the other part of what’s problematic. Every psychotherapy offers us an opportunity to learn something. But if we are doing false homogenization and trying as hard as possible to give “the same thing” to each person in the group, we have very little opportunity to creatively learn from what we’re doing. And the crucial thing is that that’s not an anti-research view, at all.
RW: What advice you would have for a person who is working a clinic, hospital, or institution of any kind in which they’re being forced to adhere to evidence-based therapy, like the VA, where prolonged exposure therapy is institutionalized? The therapists don’t like it, but they have to do it anyway. What would you advise them to do besides quit their jobs?
PW: Social change is hard and slow, especially now that so many decisions are being made on an economic basis that secondarily justifies the psychological operation. So it’s hard to know what to tell them exactly. But the one thing I would say is that in making your case, understand really well the limits of the research that seems to support this truncated, limited, homogenized approach to things, because that research is very, very seriously flawed.
RW: It is. But what about all the research about the importance of the relationship? How does that factor in?
PW: That’s exactly the kind of thing that we need to emphasize. And this brings me back to why I was saying that I was not anti-research. I do think that because psychotherapy does create, almost instantly, a unique miniculture that evolves over time, it’s really hard for either party to understand or know fully what’s going on or to remember the sequences. You are recording this interview because if you try to reconstruct it a couple of hours after, it would be only a vague approximation of what’s actually going on between us. The same is true in psychotherapy.So I’m very much in favor of research based on audio- and videotapes that give us a database. But those tapes can be examined in the naturalistic process of psychotherapy, rather than in a homogenized, manualized treatment for one kind of research paradigm. There are a whole range of process outcome studies that teach us things that the other kinds of studies can’t teach us.
RW: You mentioned social change is slow. That reminds me of the curve of innovation, with the new innovators, and then the early adopters, and then the middle adopters, and then there’s the tipping point and everybody gets on board. It’s unfortunate that the new innovators are the people who were doing what the people did who discovered the importance of relationship 30 years ago. It’s the pendulum swung one way. Now it’s coming back.
PW: I think one of the problems in psychotherapy these days is that up until now, the people with the more narrowly mechanical ways of thinking have been more politically astute. And I think those of us who stand for serious research that addresses the true complexities of the phenomenon have got to do a better job of getting our point across.
RW: Tell us about your organization that you cofounded back in the 1980s, to create a forum for people who are interested in exploring the integration of psychotherapy. What are some of your goals, satisfactions, and frustrations?
PW: The name, Society for the Exploration of Psychotherapy Integration, is a mouthful, so we usually just refer to it as SEPI. It’s an international organization. It has members in 37 countries, and we meet all over the world. This May, we met in Evanston (Illinois). In 2013, we’re meeting in Barcelona.Our members represent all of the major orientations. We all have our identities as psychoanalysts or cognitive-behavior therapists or systems therapists or experiential therapists, but we also are interested in learning from each other and integrating other people’s ideas.

I thought of SEPI when you were asking earlier, “What do we do about this tribalism, and how can we get people to listen to each other and learn from each other?” It is hard within organizations devoted to a single point of view, because in those organizations, often the other points of view are experienced as Other.

In SEPI, there is no Other. There is a sense of coming and listening to each other. It is a place where we try to heal that breech.

I would be delighted if anybody reading this interview who was interested checked out the SEPI website, sepiweb.org.

I would be delighted if anybody reading this interview who was interested checked out the SEPI website, sepiweb.org. They can learn more about it from there.

Integration of Neuroscience

RW: One of the big new movements, with all the new technological advances in biochemistry, is the recognition of the connection between micronutrients and our brain’s capacity to make neurotransmitters that affect mood, thought, and behavior. How do you see that being incorporated into not only the integrative cultural, community, and interpersonal levels you’re talking about, but also in the intrapsychic and the physiological levels?
PW: I think we clearly are embodied beings. We’re not just abstracted minds. Anything that affects our bodies affect our minds. So all of our experiences at every level, whether they be cultural or nutritional, are part of this set of mutually reciprocal interactive processes that shape and reshape our experience. For example, if we think about the relation between psychological processes and neuroscience, neuroscience is only as good as psychology and vice versa. Mutual bootstrapping is the only way that we learn about, and even know how to look at, the differences between parts of the brain and what it means when one part of the brain lights up in a fancy fMRI study. Those lights are only as good as the psychological criteria that are showing what the lights are about.But that’s not psychological reductionism, because at the same time, the differences we see in parts of the brain lighting up can then re-attune us to notice differences in the psychological experience that we missed before, which in turn gives us still more refined tools for doing the next round of neuroscience studies. They keep going back and forth. It’s not just, “Neuroscience is the real thing and psychology is the surface.” They need to inform each other.
RW: The more we learn, the more we realize there are new unknowns.
PW: Yeah, and the more we can create new knowns. We keep building on both, as long as we’re not afraid of the unknown and we have the courage to acknowledge the known, in the sense of not having a kind of false modesty, but having the courage to say, “I’ve learned something. I know something.” On the one hand,

we need to be extremely modest as therapists. We need to be very careful about assuming we know, assuming an authoritarian position, assuming we understand.

we need to be extremely modest as therapists. We need to be very careful about assuming we know, assuming an authoritarian position, assuming we understand. That’s crucially important. But we also need to be able to acknowledge that we know something. When we speak to the patient in certain ways with a voice of authority, that’s the authority that just comes with having immersed ourselves in many lives in depth, and having been changed by that experience. We’re not just some new random element in the person’s life–we enter with some expertise. And if we can hold both our ignorance and our knowledge in tension with each other, then I think we can be more effective, more genuine, and more able to move forward.

The Gossamer Thread: My Life as a Psychotherapist

Below are three extracts from my book, The Gossamer Thread: My Life as a Psychotherapist (Karnac, 2010). The book describes my personal journey as a psychotherapist, how I started as a bumptious behaviour therapist, young, inexperienced and highly confident, and ended as a psychodynamic psychotherapist with a more reflective and intuitive way of working. Along the way I trained in Beck’s cognitive therapy although I found myself almost immediately doubting the rational simplicities of this approach.
The first extract describes my attempt to demonstrate the wonders of behaviour therapy to one of my students by treating an elderly lady, a chronic agoraphobic stuck in her flat on a run-down estate in south London.
In the second extract, Frances, a model cognitive therapy patient up to that point, becomes suddenly depressed and I behave in a not very therapeutic way.
In the third extract I take on my first psychodynamic psychotherapy patient, a charming, narcissistic young man, and discover how tricky it is to get through well-established defences.
 

Working as a behaviour therapist, London, 1970s

I park my car on the road that borders the estate, thinking that the safer option. Graham and I walk down the hill seeking to locate Arlington House where Mrs Hewittson lives. I’m aware that we stand out, dressed in our smart, professional clothes, each carrying a leather briefcase. But no one bothers us and we find No. 7, a ground floor flat fortunately, so we don’t have to negotiate what I imagine to be urine-smelling lifts or flights of bare concrete stairs. I ring the bell and wait.

I had briefed Graham beforehand. This is to be an assessment. Given that this is behaviour therapy, it would of course be a behavioural assessment. My plan was that flanked by the two of us, Mrs Hewittson would come out of her flat. Then we would send her off on her own as far as she could go until she couldn’t go any further. And I was going to be really scientific about this, for we would note down exactly how far she went, how long she took and how much anxiety she experienced on a scale of 0 to 100. This would be the baseline against which her recovery would be measured. In my mind, I fantasised Mrs Hewittson going further and further each week until we had her travelling all over London.

The door is opened cautiously by a young girl, no more than nine. I explain that we are psychologists and that we have come from the Maudsley hospital to see Mrs Hewittson.
“‘Nan,’ she yells back into the flat, ‘there’s two psychos from the hospital to see ya. Waddya want to do?’”
We hear the sound of talking from inside the flat, two voices, one female sounding very tremulous. Graham and I exchange looks. The door opens wider. ‘Nan says you can come in.’ The girl disappears into the gloom of the flat. When we get used to the darkness, for the curtains are drawn and the main lighting comes from a TV blaring away in the background, we see that the room is full of people. There are three girls, including the little girl who opened the door, playing around a Wendy house in one corner. A woman, barely in her teens, is seated at a table holding a baby who is guzzling milk from a bottle. A tiny, wizened man in an old grey suit sits on a huge settee, a cigarette dangling from his hand. And, in a rocking-chair in the centre of the room, there is a woman in her fifties, strands of mousy brown hair straggling down either side of a pale, thin face in which watery blue eyes stand out like on those odd goggle-eyed fish one sees in aquariums. She is staring at us unblinking. Mrs Hewittson I presume.

It is an unnerving situation, not what I’d expected. I’d imagined Mrs Hewittson stuck on her own, lonely perhaps, even pleased to have a bit of company. Not in the midst of a melee of people. But I’m the professional. So I take charge. ‘Mrs Hewittson?’ I say, addressing the lady in the rocking chair. ‘We’re psychologists from the Maudsley. We’ve come to help you get better.’
The woman says nothing. ” She rocks forward and back in the chair. I am uncomfortably reminded of the Bates motel in Psycho and the skeletal mother in the basement.”
‘Your daughter,’ I press on, ‘arranged for us to come and help you.’
‘Did she now?’ Mrs Hewittson says. It’s a rasping, throaty voice, the product no doubt of thousands of cigarettes smoked in the gloomy flat. ‘That was nifty of Jean.’
Somehow I feel that being ‘nifty’ is not something Mrs Hewittson approves of. The tiny man on the settee leans forward. ‘My Madge is not well, you know,’ he says confidentially as though she cannot hear him. ‘Trouble with her nerves. Had it a long time.’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ I say triumphantly. ‘To get her better.’
‘How are you going to do that then?’ puts in the woman with the baby.
‘First, we’ll go out for a short walk, say, to the post box.’ We’d passed the post box just twenty metres along the road. I turn to Mrs Hewittson. ‘You might have a letter you want to post and we could do it together.’
‘Sammy takes all my letters. He delivers them and takes whatever I’ve got. Don’t need to post anything, thanks all the same.’
‘Anyway, it’s an assessment, a sort of test, to see how far you can go. You don’t have to go far,’ I add hastily. ‘Just as far as you feel you can go.’
‘I can’t do that, doctor. Sorry, I can’t do that at all.’
‘Oh.’ This blanket refusal takes me back. ‘Well,’ I press on gamely, ‘what about going out of the front door and down the path to the gate? It’s only a couple of yards. I’m sure you could do that with our help.’
‘I would do it, sir. But it’s the fits, you see. Can’t risk it. I have these terrible fits.’
‘She does,’ interjects the man in the grey suit who I take to be her husband. ‘She has these fits. She’s a martyr to them.’

I sense I am losing the battle. What are these ‘fits’? Could they be epileptic fits? If they are, what do Graham and I do if she has one? I have never seen an epileptic fit. All I know is what everyone else knows from the films, how you have to grab the tongue, but then what? I curse myself. I should have read Mrs Hewittson’s case file before we came. Before I have time to say anything, the front door opens and in breezes another youngish woman with a two-year old in tow.
‘Madge, darlin’,’ she starts, then stops having spotted us. ‘Sorry, love, didn’t know you had visitors.’
‘They’re from the hospital. Psychiatrists,’ says Madge.
‘Psychologists.’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to offend and all that.’
‘No offence.’
‘Thing is,’ says the new arrival, ‘I was hoping you’d look after Darren while I go to the Social.’
‘No problem, love. You leave him here with me.’ Mrs Hewittson turns to me. ‘Very sorry about the walk. But you see I’ve got my hands full. Another time, doctor.’
‘Yes. Right,’ I say decisively. ‘What about Friday morning? At 11?’
‘That would be ticky-tack. I’ll be more meself then, I expect.’
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what worries me.
 
Friday morning comes and Graham and I make our way back to the Dog Kennel Hill estate, to Arlington House, No. 7. I have found Mrs Hewittson’s case file. A bulging, tattered, beige-coloured, wallet with letters, documents, case notes, and other bits of paper loosely packed into it. I have waded through it all. There is no mention of epileptic fits. Just panic attacks, which I suspect is what Mrs Hewittson meant. As we approach the door, we see pinned on it a scrap of white paper, fluttering in the wind. I fold it down so we can read what is on it.
Too the Doctors. Very sorry, had too go to the dentists for me tootheyk really bad it is. Mrs Hewittson
We try to peer in through the windows but the curtains are closed. There is not a sound from inside. But I knock a couple of times anyway.
““It seems,” Graham says, “that a visit to the dentist is preferable to a visit from us.””
“Maybe it was an emergency.”
“Yes, of course that might be it.” He gives a half smile.
I take the paper off the door and, beneath Mrs Hewittson’s scribbled message, I write:
Sorry about your toothache. Hope you get it fixed. We’ll come again on Monday at 11.
I am not about to give in so easily.
 
On a bright, sunny Monday morning Graham and I are again standing outside No. 7 Arlington House. This time there is no scribbled note on the door. We knock but there is no response. The curtains are not completely drawn on one of the windows. Peering in, I see that the front room is empty and the TV is off. There is no sign of occupation. I step back and look at Graham. He shrugs. Just then a young girl, a similar age to the ones we had seen playing around the Wendy house, comes skipping down the street towards us. She skips right up to us and proceeds to skip round us as though we are part of some game she is playing.
“Are you,” she says as she skips, “the doctors?”
“I suppose so. Yes, I mean.”
“To see Mrs H?” Skip, skip.
“Mrs Hewittson, that’s right.”
Skip. “She left a message.” Skip, skip.
“And?”
Skip, skip. “She’s gone to the Isle of Wight.” Skip. “To visit her brother-in-law.” Skip, skip.  “For the whole week.” At that she skips off the way she came.
As we trudge back to the car, Graham says: “You could say we had a great success. After all, we got her out of the house.”
“Drove her out,” I say with a grin.
“And in one session.”
“We should write a paper. ‘One session treatment for agoraphobia: a breakthrough in behaviour therapy.’”
We did not write a paper, of course. Nor did we return to bother Mrs Hewittson again. It had taken me a while to get the message but I did get it in the end.
 

Training as a cognitive therapist, Oxford, 1980s

One week Frances fails to attend a session, something she has never done before. We are well into the therapy. We have moved on from changing negative thoughts to identifying the underlying beliefs, what Beck calls schemas. These are the major drivers of depression, ideas that are often formed in childhood and become reactivated in current crises. They can be encapsulated in key phrases or prescriptions like: To be happy I have to be accepted by everyone all the time, I must succeed in whatever I do, I have a fatal flaw in my personality, I am fundamentally a bad person. According to Beck, to produce lasting change it is essential to get to these core beliefs and deal with them.

In the session before Frances failed to attend, she had complained that her work as an administrator was boring. I asked why she didn’t try to get a more demanding and interesting job, something that drew more on her academic ability perhaps. She said vaguely that there was no point. Puzzled, I pursued this and we came to an example of a powerful underlying belief. Life is meaningless, she claimed. In the end we all die.
‘How do you know life is meaningless?’ I ask.
‘I just do.’
‘Come on. You know that won’t do. Let’s do some cognitive work on this. List ‘pros’ and ‘cons,’ for example.’
Frances says nothing. I try to read her face but I can’t. It’s expressionless.
‘Don’t you want to challenge this belief?’
‘I can’t see the point.’
‘To get better. To deal with your depression.’
Deal with it,’ she says sarcastically. ‘You don’t deal with the meaningless of our existence.’

I am startled by Frances’s tone. It’s the first time I’ve heard her talk in this angry way. I backtrack. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. A poor choice of words. But I do think we should examine this belief, don’t you? It seems central to your depression.’
Frances stares at me. For the first time in the therapy I feel unsure. More than that. I have a sense of unease.
‘Maybe,’ she says at last. ‘But not today. Can we leave it to next time?’
‘Okay.’
Later, I wonder if I should have agreed so readily. Was this avoidance on my part? Up to now the therapy had been going smoothly. Frances was the model patient. This was our first glitch. I’d told myself that it would be better not to push this. We could work on it in the next session. The only problem is that Frances failed to turn up for the next session.

I ring Frances. I don’t normally do this when patients fail to show up. I wait a couple of days and if they don’t contact me, I drop them a line. But Frances is a special case, my first cognitive therapy patient, and I’m worried about her. The phone rings on and on. I’m about to hang up when at last she answers, a slow ‘Yes, who is it?’ as though I have just woken her up.
‘Frances, it’s John. I was wondering if you were okay.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Just after two. Have you been asleep?’
A long pause. ‘Sorry. Just very tired.’
‘You didn’t make the session this morning. I wanted to know if you’re alright and if we should reschedule.’
Another long pause.
‘Are you feeling depressed?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Is that why you didn’t come to the session?’
‘What’s the point? I’m not going to get better.’
‘That’s your depression talking, Frances. You’ve had a downturn in mood. All the more important for you to see me at this time. We can work on it together and help you get out of it.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I do.’ I’m being the decisive, no-nonsense therapist though it’s the last thing I feel at this moment. My shoulder muscles ache with tension. My heart is beating fast. At the back of my mind is the thought that Frances will kill herself. ‘How about later on today, at 6? Or tomorrow morning?’
‘No. I need a bit of space. I’ll come to next week’s session. Don’t worry, John. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I haven’t the courage to do that anyway.’
I try to persuade Frances to see me earlier but she’s adamant. She promises to come next week. I wring a further promise from her that she will contact me immediately if she feels suicidal.
What has happened? The therapy was going along really well. Is it just a blip, a random change in mood? Has something happened to Frances to trigger the increase in her depression? Was it related to our discussion of her core belief that life is meaningless? I ponder these matters but come to no conclusion.

When Frances comes to our next session, I immediately notice a change in her manner. There’s a slowness to her movements, a hesitancy that I have never seen before. She doesn’t look directly at me and when I study her face, all I can see is blankness. I ask her how she is. She takes a while to respond. She says she feels lousy, tired, depressed, no energy, completely zonked. All signs of depression.
‘I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad but I’m glad you came,’ I say. ‘It’s a chance to do some work and improve your mood.’
She looks at me and sighs. ‘The good doctor’s going to make me better. Hooray.’
‘Well, I’m going to try. Tell me right now and in all honesty what you think of coming here.’
‘A waste of time.’
‘Why?’
She shrugs. ‘Nothing works and anyway what’s the point. I get better for a bit and then I get worse. I’m just useless.’
‘Several very negative thoughts in that statement, I’d say. Do you remember how we dealt with, I mean, worked on your negative thought, I’ll never get better? We listed the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ and came to a more realistic thought. I have it here.’
I search through my notes and read it out to her:
I can’t know that I’ll never get better and I recognise that this absolutist negative thought is a product of my mood state rather than a realistic appraisal of what will happen.
‘Do you believe that now?’
‘It’s irrelevant what I believe,’ she says in a lethargic tone. ‘Life’s meaningless anyway. We are microbes in the vast universe. Specks of cosmic dust. What does it matter? What does anything matter?’
‘Something mattered enough for you to come here today. You’re depressed, Frances. Something brought you right down in the last week. I don’t know what. But I am absolutely convinced that your view that life is meaningless is caused by your depression.’
‘It’s not,’ she says emphatically. ‘Life is meaningless. It’s not a product of depression. It’s true. And anyway I’ve always believed it so it can’t be a response to a change in mood.’
For the moment I’m stumped. I’m also feeling pissed off with Frances, with her certainty and resistance to my attempts to help her.
‘Always?’
‘Always.’
‘So you sprung from your mother’s womb with the thought Hey, why am I here? Life is meaningless. Let me back in?’ I have spoken without thinking. I’ve let my feelings show. I’ve broken a cardinal rule: don’t mock your patient. I’m a crap therapist. But a small smile appears on Frances’s face.
 

Training in psychodynamic psychotherapy, Oxford, 1990s

Sitting opposite me is Matthew, a tall young man, in a scruffy white T-shirt and faded jeans. In his hands he has a Rubik cube.  Each side of the cube is subdivided into nine coloured squares, the puzzle being to twist the arrangements to produce sides of all one colour. Matthew is fiddling with the cube, a frown of concentration on his face. He is my first proper psychodynamic psychotherapy patient. This is our first session.
“I wonder if it might be best if you put the Rubik cube down.”
I leave the faintest of inflections at the end of my remark to try and soften the suggestion. Matthew drops the cube into a battered shoulder bag that he has draped on the side of the chair.
“There,” he says, flashing me a brilliant smile. “I solved it yesterday. I thought I’d see if I could do it again. I must have gone wrong somewhere.”
I could pick up on the wider meaning of his last remark but decide that it is a bit too early to do so and, moreover, it is Matthew who should do the running, not me. I have already introduced myself and explained that we are to work together for up to a year, meeting once a week, holidays apart.
“How about you kicking off,” I say. “Just say whatever’s on your mind.”
We are seated face-to-face. There is a couch in the room but Matthew declined it. I was disappointed as the couch seemed so much a part of the psychodynamic approach.
“What do you want me to say?” he says brightly as though he is here to audition for a part in a play.
“The idea is for you to talk and we take it from there. Whatever is on your mind.”
This produces a long silence during which Matthew gazes around the room as though seeking something to latch onto.
“Crap painting,” he says pointing at a Monet print of a mother and young girl walking through a bright red poppy field. “I hate reproductions.”

Is Matthew saying something about himself in this remark, I wonder? That he is not a reproduction, but the real thing, a true original. Whether he is or not I decide not to comment. I think about what I already know about him from the assessment that Dr Franklin, the Psychotherapy Department’s senior registrar, carried out. He comes from a well-off, middle-class family. He is particularly close to his mother. She gives him a generous allowance and has let him stay, rent free, in a flat she owns in Headington. His father, a successful businessman, is largely absent from home. At school Matthew was regarded as very bright but dropped out in the 6th form. There are suggestions of drug taking and gambling. Since school, he has had periods of temporary work, mainly on building sites, though most recently he worked in an office. None of his jobs have lasted long. He is currently unemployed. Matthew’s major complaint is of extreme anxiety, often in the form of panic attacks. These have caused him to retreat to his flat, sometimes staying there for days on end, not seeing anyone.

My reverie is interrupted when Matthew says, looking quizzically at me: ““You’re not like Doctor Frankenstein. He asked me lots of questions, most of which, actually all of which, were stupid. In the end I just made things up. It seemed to make him happy.””
Jesus! Now I do not know what of Dr Franklin’s assessment is correct, which is, I suspect, exactly what Matthew wanted.
“I wonder why you did that.”
“I wonder why myself.” A cheeky smile, inviting me to join in the joke. I cannot help smiling back. There is something very disarming about Matthew. 
“When I was at school,” he says after a while, “I would make things up. Entertain the troops by telling a few fibs, playing the joker. It got to be a habit. I had this great ex-army greatcoat and me and the other lads hung about, doing dares and that. Wicked!”
He sounds about 16. Stuck in an adolescent time warp.
“Only I lost the coat. Then the bastards threw me out.”
Why did they throw you out?It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask but I stop myself. Above all, I want not to interfere, to let Matthew talk and me listen. So far he has not told me about anything serious. Not about his uncertain sexuality. Not about his intense feelings of panic. Nor about the time when he took an overdose of antidepressants (the tablets were his mother’s prescribed by the family GP). Dr Franklin had noted all these in his assessment but Matthew does not seem to want to talk about any of this. Of course they might all be fabrications (fibs to entertain the troops) but somehow I doubt it. Beneath the veneer of jokiness I sense his vulnerability and unhappiness. The difficulty might well be getting him to talk about it.

Matthew talks more about his school even though it is over three years since he left. He was brilliant at English and had two poems accepted by the school magazine. But he stopped working in the 6th form because it was all so puerile. Then the teachers tried to get him to see a school counsellor who turned out to be a real wanker. I am cast in the role of the eager listener to his tales of schoolboy derring-do. He tells a good story and I think I could just let him do that. But where would we have got to and what purpose would it have served other than to pass the time? The dilemma with the passive stance of the psychodynamic psychotherapist is that someone like Matthew could entertain the troops all day long. At a pause I venture to stir things up, unsure if I am doing the right thing and wary of how he will react.

“From what I’ve heard so far everything seems so hunky-dory that I wonder why you are here in psychotherapy at all. It hasn’t been all sweetness and light, has it?”
Matthew does not say anything, which causes my heart to beat faster. I run through the statement I have just made and castigate myself for its anodyne quality. Could I not have been more incisive?
Hunky-dory,” he says, drawing out the word in a laconic manner. “Now that’s not a word in the psychotherapist’s lexicon, I would have thought? Or is it?” ” He looks at me expectantly, all sweetness and light of course.I feel the stiletto sliding subtly into me.” I tell myself to stay mum and then wonder at my choice of words. Mum’s the word. The phrase floats through my mind as though magically Matthew has projected it into me. Is this an unconscious communication? Do the words mean that we will be okay as long as I mother him, admire his precocity and wit, but if I, taking the paternal role, challenge him, he will hit back? All this flits through my mind in seconds, a blur of semi-conscious thought, as Matthew looks me straight in the eye and waits for me to respond. I say nothing, holding his gaze until he looks away. My beating heart gradually slows. In my previous persona as a cognitive-behavioural therapist, I would have been more active. I would have probably said that hunky-dory was certainly not a psychotherapeutic term, just a word that seemed appropriate. I would have smiled, wanting to maintain good rapport. I would have asked Matthew whether he minded the word or if he preferred another. Why do I not do this now? Because my primary role is not to be Matthew’s friendly helper, not to make him feel at ease. As a psychodynamic psychotherapist I am seeking to create a space in which we can explore deeper feelings. For that to happen I have to dispense with the niceties and tolerate the discomfort just as Matthew has to do too. I am finding this difficult. It is not just that Matthew, with his air of vulnerability and his boyish charm, invites me (and others, I imagine) to look after him. I realize I like looking after people. That is why I am in this job. Only in this instance looking after people means something very different. It is not about making them feel better, at least not immediately, but getting through their defences to the heart of their problems. To achieve this I shall have to use a few stilettos of my own.

The session stutters on. Matthew’s breezy insouciance dissolves. He retreats into scowling silences. When he speaks, there is anger and more than a hint of despair. He rails against both his parents, his father for his crass insensitivity and his mother because she is a very silly woman. I hear nothing of his brothers and sisters. He brightens up only when he talks about his best friend, Tom, who is about to return from college. Tom is going to stay with Matthew and they’ll have fun together again. I cannot help thinking that the fun will be rather hollow. A feeling of sadness pervades the room. Matthew’s defences are pretty brittle, I realize. I feel daunted at the task of treating him. After all, I am a novice at this form of therapy. Yet I desperately want to help him, not just because I am on a course and anxious to do well, but because I sense his despair. I end by saying a few words about the task ahead.
“These are your sessions, Matthew. We have up to a year to work together.”
“But what’s the point? It’s just talking. What can talking do?”
“It’s an opportunity for you to take a look at yourself, to explore how you feel, to examine what has happened to bring you to this point.”
“But I’ve told you all I know.”
“I don’t think so,” I say more assertively than I had intended. “Do you really think you have?”
A pause. “No. There are other things. Stuff I haven’t talked about. Horrible stuff. But I don’t think I’ll ever talk about that.”
“Let’s see. Next week at the same time?”
“Okay,” Matthew says. A flutter of hope, faint and tenuous. “I sit for a while in silence after Matthew leaves. I feel drained and empty.” Then I pull myself together, reach for my pen and start making the detailed notes I shall need for supervision.
 
John Marzillier
28 February, 2011

Nancy McWilliams on Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis

Making Psychoanalytic Theory Accessible

Louis Roussel: In all of your books—Psychoanalytic Diagnosis, Psychoanalytic Case Formulation, and Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy—you're able to bring the essential features of psychoanalytic thinking into a language that is both accessible and practically useful, particularly for clinicians who are just beginning to familiarize themselves with these concepts. This is a vital project, in my opinion, particularly given the many misunderstandings and prejudices against psychoanalysis in contemporary Western culture. I wonder if you could say something about why this is so personally meaningful for you.
Nancy McWilliams: I come from a whole family of teachers, and I have had a teaching component to my career since the early 1960s if you count my years as a camp counselor, and at the college level since about 1970 in one form or another. So for a very long time, if I wanted to get people interested in the stuff that fascinated me I had to make it accessible to them.

I taught an undergraduate course in theories in psychotherapy for several years with people who had really no background in psychoanalytic thinking, and I slowly developed a kind of skill, I guess, in making it relevant to people's ordinary lives, as opposed to talking to other scholars or theorists in the field.
LR: Speaking to other colleagues and scholars in the field, I was quite struck with one comment that you made in your most recent book, Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy, that the contemporary psychotherapy field is one that is incredibly pluralistic, with many competing theories of clinical work. And there was a point where you spoke of how each of these theoretical perspectives really represents a unique understanding of very complex, multifaceted human problems and dilemmas.

And you spoke about suggesting a style of listening to alternative theories that is analogous to how a clinician might actually listen to a client in psychotherapy. I was particularly moved by that, especially given that it seems like that's not an easy listening stance to achieve, particularly with colleagues.
NM: I learned that there are a lot of identity issues involved in people becoming therapists and they tend to get organized around one theory or sensibility when becoming being a therapist. But all of us are looking at the suffering human animal and trying to be helpful, and eventually we're all going to learn similar things and have different language for talking about it.
I have tried to fight the tendencies in me that presume a position of knowing more than other people or making them the devalued other.
I have tried to fight the tendencies in me that presume a position of knowing more than other people or making them the devalued other. It's a natural human thing to do, but a lot of grief comes from it.

I've learned enormous amounts from people of very different paradigms than my own. You not only find a lot of common ground, but you find the areas where your own particular point of view has blind spots.

LR: Absolutely. As I was looking through some of your writings, there were a number of points where it seemed that you linked psychoanalysis with larger social political issues. You quoted one of the local analysts here in San Francisco, Michael Guy Thompson, when he spoke about psychoanalysis as an unremittingly subversive practice which gives voice to that which is most denied by the larger prevailing culture.

I was struck by that, because I think psychoanalysis is characterized in some ways as more conformist than I think its true essential nature is.
NM: I came to psychoanalysis not through psychology but through political science. My first experience reading Freud was as a junior in college, when my political science professor suggested I had a kind of psychological sensibility, so perhaps for my honor's thesis in political theory I'd like to read Civilization and its Discontents and talk about Freud's political theory. That's what sort of started me down this path.

I really found in the psychoanalytic movement a very subversive kind of orientation toward the world, and there were only a couple of decades where, for various interacting reasons, psychoanalysis was highly prestigious in American culture. During those decades of roughly the 1950s and 1960s, it was a quick way to prestige in the medical establishment if you were a psychiatrist. The way to get moving ahead in your discipline was to get psychoanalytic training, and that pretty much guaranteed you eventually a leadership position in the department of psychiatry. But that was sort of a fluke of the times, and it's behind us now.

I'm actually kind of happy it's behind us, because during those years a lot of people were attracted to psychoanalysis not because they loved it or they were really curious about the unconscious. They were attracted to it for narcissistic reasons, and they didn't tend to make very good therapists because they liked being right. They didn't like being surprised. They took a superior position toward their patients and talked down to them.

Many of the current troubles in psychoanalysis come from an era where people spoke rather arrogantly. They felt they were in the chosen profession.
Many of the current troubles in psychoanalysis come from an era where people spoke rather arrogantly. They felt they were in the chosen profession. I don't think psychoanalysis does very well when it's culturally at the center; it does much better from a point of view of marginality in describing things that the culture doesn't necessarily see so easily.

Therapy on the Margins

LR: That’s an excellent point. It almost seems as if the loss of prestige and the marginalization of psychoanalysis in some ways is connecting us with the beginnings of the movement. In the early days, it was quite a risk to become an analyst, and involved sacrificing more established, secure careers. Today, psychoanalytic practice is not the most popular road to go down.
NM: I do think it's very hard on contemporary students who fall in love with psychoanalysis and want to work in depth with people. Corporate agendas tend to have an awful lot of power in this culture, and it's in the interest of both insurance companies and drug companies to describe human suffering in a fairly superficial way and to apply either a drug or a short-term treatment to it.

These are hard times economically. People who want to really get to know their patients in all their complexity have to fight against some of the pressures to oversimplify things and do some quick-fix intervention. I think we've seen a paradigm shift from a cultural understanding that psychotherapy is a healing relationship in which you might use several different kinds of techniques, but the healing relationship is the definitional part of it. It's been redefined as a set of techniques that are applied to discrete disorder categories. It's moved therapists from being healers to being technicians—and often technicians at the behest of the larger culture, which has an interest in putting people in the cogs that exist in the great commercial machine, and not necessarily increasing the meaningfulness of life or the satisfactions of life.
LR: In your most recent book, Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy, you spoke of how psychotherapists in general tend to devalue what we do—activities that we view as passive and receptive, like listening, for example—and overvalue those based on doing, producing, manufacturing, achieving.

This speaks a little bit to what you were just touching on in terms of what is most valued in our Zeitgeist, and yet, what may not be in the best interest of our psychic health.
NM: Yes. I seem to be seeing more and more people lately that are coming to me for anxiety or depression or an eating disorder or something Axis I-ish, who, when I actually listen to their story, they aren't living a livable life. They're commuting one and a half hours to work. They're staying at work from 8:00 in the morning until 7:00 at night. They barely see their children.

They're trying to take care of a house, a summer house, a couple of kids, a boat—if they're people of reasonable means—elderly parents, a dog. And they're just driven. The culture seems to tell them that they should be happy this way. And of course, that's not a livable life. It's just crazy.
LR: Exactly. It’s quite an alienated existence you just described.
NM: Yes.

Psychoanalytic Love

LR: I was also very interested in something that I don't think analysts necessarily speak enough about. You spoke about psychoanalytic love, and this tension that I think clinicians face: How is it that we can basically accept someone in a very deep way in terms of who they are as a person, but still be on the side of growth and change?
NM: I don't think that being a therapist is like being a parent in most respects. But in terms of the affects involved, it's not too different. You deeply love your kids, but you also have hopes that they'll be their best self—not be satisfied with living a kind of minimal existence.
So I don't think that deeply loving people means that you have no hopes for their doing better.
So I don't think that deeply loving people means that you have no hopes for their doing better.

I think all the empirical literature on what's effective in psychotherapy, not just psychoanalytic therapy, ends up emphasizing relationship and personality. And when you talk about relationship or about the working alliance, you're talking about the two parties making an attachment to each other, which is just a fancy word for love. It certainly includes hatred and all the other affects, but it's a commitment. There's a kind of devotion that characterizes a therapeutic relationship in which somebody can grow. And we haven't talked too much about that.

We have some theories of it that are sentimentalized. You can't decide you're going to love somebody into health, but if you make a genuine authentic relationship with somebody and try to be honest with them, be honest with yourself, and help them increase their honesty with themselves, you're talking about a relationship characterized by love. You're accepting who they are, including all their darker parts. They're tolerating who you are, including all your mistakes and failures. And that sounds like love to me.

On Failure

LR: There have been some analysts who have talked about how we can't accept a patient into analysis, especially given the nature of the deep intimacy and the depth of emotional involvement unless, we have a deep sense that we like them. And yet I can think of many examples from my own experience where that feeling wasn't there at the beginning but it emerged later.
NM: Yes. On the subject of experiences where I felt like somehow I couldn’t get a therapeutic relationship really going, that’s happened many times to me, where I have failed with somebody. Sometimes I thought I failed, and many years later I find out that the patient really felt that they got something important. And other times I thought I’ve done a pretty good job, and I later find out that I missed something important.
You can’t be in this business for too many years without getting humbled about how little you really know.
You can’t be in this business for too many years without getting humbled about how little you really know.
LR: Yes, definitely.
NM: One person recently came back to me after 30 years, and I thought I had bombed with her. I was surprised that she came back to me, and, I reminded her that we kind of fizzled out. We both decided at a certain point that the therapy didn't seem to be moving. I asked her to just think out loud about what had happened.

What came out was a story about how, when she was little, her mother wanted her to be a musician, and she had no musical ear at all. Her mother's agenda was that she was going to be a great performer. She practiced and practiced, and went through excruciating performances, and tried to be good–and just didn't quite succeed.

I realized as she was talking about this that when I first worked with her, I was so excited that I had somebody that I thought was a good candidate to put on the couch and do real psychoanalysis with, that what I had enacted was, I was like her mother in wanting to fit her to a technique that I wanted to do, that really didn't suit her.

When we talked about that 30 years later, we decided that we would work face to face, and I would be more disclosing. I think we worked much better the second time around. You don't usually get the chance to undo your original mistakes.

In that case, I think that was a narcissistic thing. I wanted to see myself as an analyst, and here was a person that I thought I could put on the couch and ask to free associate. And I ended up replicating a childhood scene where the agenda of the authority didn't fit the particular inclinations of the kid—or the patient, in this case.
LR: This is so interesting in terms of having a particular valued notion in mind of what we would like to see happen, and how that can compete with how the analysis is actually meant to unfold.

I wonder if that also comes up in teaching, particularly teaching psychoanalysis. I have discovered that teaching psychoanalysis today requires a much greater level of flexibility and attunement to how students are, including some of the resistances that they sometimes come in with, related to stereotypical notions about psychoanalysis.
NM:

Teaching Psychoanalysis

I'm finding that students know a lot less about psychoanalytic ideas. Some of them have been very explicitly told that psychoanalysis has been empirically discredited, which is patently untrue. But there are a lot of academics that believe that.

Part of the reason for that is that there is an increased schism between academics and therapists at this point, for numerous sociological reasons. It used to be common that people who taught abnormal psychology might have a small private practice and know what it's like to be in the trenches trying to help suffering people. Now, it's so much harder to get promotion and tenure that they'd be crazy to do that. They have to chase grants. They have to turn out short-term studies and get a publications list.

So academics' image of therapists is often wildly off base from the therapeutic community as it actually exists. They tend to think that therapists apply their theory uncritically rather than try to adapt to every patient flexibly. So students are taught all that old psychoanalytic stuff, especially drive theory.
I haven't heard an analyst talk in terms of drive theory for at least 30 years. But the academics tend to think that psychoanalysis stopped in 1923.
I haven't heard an analyst talk in terms of drive theory for at least 30 years. But the academics tend to think that psychoanalysis stopped in 1923.

So students come in not knowing that there has been a whole scholarly evolution of psychoanalytic theory. One of the reasons they don't know this is that analysts pretty much pursue their interests in freestanding institutes and not in the academy, so there hasn't been cross-fertilization there. Analysts, I think, are to a great extent responsible for some of the estrangement with academic psychologists, because they wanted to develop in communities of their own.

So students now come to us with very little exposure to what's central to the psychoanalytic community. And we have to adapt to that. I've been asked in recent years, “What is the meaning of the term ‘transference’?” — something that any graduate student would have known 10 years ago. One student not long ago asked me what the term “ambivalent” meant.

On the other hand, as they get taught various cognitive behavioral techniques and so forth, they are often learning stuff that's very parallel to psychoanalytic learning. Some of what Marcia Linehan does is not too different from what Peter Fonagy or Otto Kernberg does. She just speaks a very different language. Jeffrey Young’s schema therapy is not too different from psychoanalytic ideas about organizing motifs in people. But students tend not to know that.

On Political Involvement

LR: Going back to something we talked about a before regarding the political and social dimension of psychoanalysis, it seems like in some ways the analyst is in a position where she or he could potentially make a valuable contribution in terms of speaking on the larger societal level, and yet it seems to rarely occur.
NM: Yes. It's an interesting thing. It used to occur. Certainly, Erich Fromm spoke a lot at that level. Robert Lifton and Karen Horney certainly did. There were a lot of social commentaries from analysts a few decades back—not so much now. Eric Erikson would be another good example, or Robert Coles addressing the problems of the poor and the marginal. But I think that was part of that European sensibility.

We're a little bit more narrow in the United States. We're a little bit more pragmatic. We're more optimistic—"let's figure out what this is and fix it."
A big part of the psychoanalytic sensibility is trying to help people accept what can't be changed. But that goes contrary to an American conceit that you can be anything you want to be, which, to me, is a pretty psychotic belief.
A big part of the psychoanalytic sensibility is trying to help people accept what can't be changed. But that goes contrary to an American conceit that you can be anything you want to be, which, to me, is a pretty psychotic belief. I might want to be a giraffe; I'm not going to get there. But we actually raise our kids saying, "You can be anything you want to be."

And that's the kind of language of a young country that has enormous resources and not too many limits. I don't think it's the best language for us anymore, but we're kind of stuck with it. The sensibility of people who've lived with more limitation than Americans have is, I think, good for us to take in.

But I have to say that an awful lot of what psychoanalysis contributed to the United States had to do with people coming over before or during the Holocaust and having a kind of broad European learning that's not that common in the United States. And that whole generation has pretty much died off now. But they enriched not just psychology—they enriched the social sciences, the natural sciences, mathematics. We had an awful lot of very, very bright people who had a more wide-ranging set of interests than is typical for the pragmatic American sensibility.

The Future of Psychoanalysis

LR: Yes, that's so true. I wonder if you could say something about your sense of the future of psychoanalysis. Since its inception, since Freud's early days, psychoanalysis has been declared dead many times, and the decade within which we live is no exception.

There are certainly many who speak about psychoanalysis disparagingly as something antiquated, as no longer relevant. And there are those who even go so far as to say that psychoanalysis has reached a tipping point and we're on the decline and facing extinction. I don't share those views, but I wonder what about your sense of what psychoanalysis's future might hold.
NM: I'm not sure. I have my optimistic days and my pessimistic days. I think psychoanalysis will endure because we help people. They know it. They tell their friends. I see many people who've tried many other things, and they eventually come for analytic therapy and they get a lot out of it. But I don't think we're going to survive in the mainstream healthcare system.

I don't see any sign of that—at least not the more intensive, long-term, open-ended work that most of us like to do in the psychoanalytic community. I think it's hard to imagine, under the current circumstances, that the culture at large is going to support that being available for anybody but people who can afford it out-of-pocket. In the Scandinavian countries it's a little different, but they have a single-payer system.

Sweden, a few years ago, decided not to offer psychoanalysis—meaning several-times-a-week psychoanalytic work—on the national health plan, and there was a kind of grassroots objection to it and they put it back in. But I can't imagine that happening in this country. And in a few years, I think it's going to be unlikely in Sweden, because although it used to be a wealthy country, it's been stressed a little bit more in recent years. And as countries struggle, they try to cut down what they offer. So I just can't imagine that intensive long-term work is going to be supported in general.

Susan Lazar's recent book, Psychotherapy Is Worth It, really documents how cost-saving it is to get a lot of psychotherapy, even intensive psychotherapy. It saves on jail time, on sick days from work, on addictions. But most of the ways we measure the cost of healthcare is very long-term.

Insurance companies ask their benefits' managers, "How much money did you save us this year?" And people change their jobs, so they change their insurance. So they don't really have a 50-year view, or even a 10-year view, of putting out money now to do prevention in the long run.

I'm quite convinced—and there's plenty of empirical data to support this—that psychotherapy and intensive psychotherapy and psychoanalysis are very cost effective for the culture, but I don't see politically that we can make that argument effectively. So I think we'll become a kind of therapy that people will get privately.

Advice to Aspiring Therapists

LR: Yes, that’s true. If you had to give one piece of advice, maybe something you only discovered through a lot of personal struggle and pain, what do you think it would be? What advice would you give to somebody thinking about entering the field today?
NM: I don't know that I can honestly say that I have had to go through a lot of personal struggle and pain. I have loved my work. As soon as I discovered you could actually make a living by listening to people and getting close to them and trying to help them, I was thrilled. I feel very fortunate to have been able to have the kind of career that I've had. And I don't feel it's been Sturm und Drang at all. I've had very good teachers myself. I had a very good analyst. As I'm older, I realize more than I did when I was younger how lucky I was about that, because if I had a person who was a bad match—it's a powerful kind of relationship, and it can do harm as well as good. But I had good supervisors, good teachers, good colleagues, a good analyst, and I've been just constantly fascinated by the work. I guess I would tell students to follow their passion: if this is what they want to do, they can make a living doing it.
LR: Well, that’s great. Yes, that’s certainly been my experience. It seems like we’ve covered a lot of ground here. Is there anything else that you’d like to speak to?
NM:

Take to the Streets

The sermon I've been giving to psychoanalytic audiences lately is get out of your offices and talk to people outside the psychoanalytic community.

We have something very precious and valuable, and we can talk to each other about it until the cows come home, but
I think we have some responsibility to be socially useful and apply some of the knowledge to social problems and to making people's lives better—not just in the consultation room, but in the culture as a whole.
I think we have some responsibility to be socially useful and apply some of the knowledge to social problems and to making people's lives better—not just in the consultation room, but in the culture as a whole.

We should be talking about things like why the teenage suicide rate has gone up so high, and what our ideas are about the obesity epidemic, and what are the strains of contemporary life. When you were asked before about people who have commented more on the social level, and I was naming people like Erich Fromm, there are a few people now.

Christopher Lasch is dead, but he was trying to talk about that in recent decades. Jonathan Lear tries to talk about it. There are people that are trying to talk to the larger public about some of the knowledge that we've accrued over 100 years of listening carefully to people and their struggles, and I'd like to see us take to the streets more than we typically do.
LR: Do you have a sense of why we don’t?
NM: Part of it, I think, is that it involves being quite visible, including to our patients, and some of our patients are terribly upset when they see us out of role. I think analysts get very conservative about what they do because we’ve all had experiences of a patient being devastated when they find out when we have a different political belief from them, or that they disagree with something, or they’re ashamed of us. I think it’s very inhibiting being a therapist.
LR: I really appreciate your talking with me. This has been very enjoyable, and I've learned a lot.
NM: Thank you. I loved your questions and it was fun to have this conversation.