Scott Miller on Why Most Therapists Are Just Average (and How We Can Improve)

Escape from Babel

Tony Rousmaniere: Many people know you as a Common Factors researcher, but recently you’ve transitioned away from that. Could you explain both what Common Factors is and your transition away from it?
Scott Miller: Sure. As old-fashioned as it sounds, I’m interested in the truth—what it is that really matters in the effectiveness of treatment. Early on in my career, I learned and promoted and helped develop a very specific model of treatment, solution-focused therapy. We had some researchers come in near the end of my tenure at the Family Therapy Center in Milwaukee who found that, while what we were doing was effective, it wasn’t any more effective than anything else. Now, for somebody who had been running around claiming that doing solution-focused work would make you more effective in a shorter period of time, that was a huge shock.
All models are equivalent. Pick one that appeals to you and your client.


It was at that point that I started to cast about looking for an alternate explanation for the findings, which concluded that virtually everything clinicians did, however it was named, seemed to work despite the differences. That led back to the Common Factors—the theory that there are components shared by the various psychotherapy methodologies and that those shared components account more for positive therapy outcomes than any components that are unique to an approach. It was something that one of my college professors, Mike Lambert, had talked about, but that I had dismissed as not very sexy or interesting. I thought, how could that possibly be true?

It was at that time that I ran into a couple of people that I worked with for some time, Mark Hubble and Barry Duncan, and we had written several books about this. If you read Escape from Babel, which we coauthored, the argument wasn’t that Common Factors were a way of doing therapy, but rather a frame for people—therapists speaking different languages—to share and meet with each other. They were a common ground.

But by 1999, it was very clear to me that Common Factors were being turned into a model by folks, including members of our own team, and viewed as a way to do therapy. But you can’t do a Common Factors model of therapy—it’s illogical. The Common Factors are based on all models. This caused a large amount of consternation and difficulty, numerous discussions, and eventually I suggested to the team that the way therapists work didn’t make much of a difference.

What was critical was whether it worked with a particular client and a particular therapist at a particular time. Mike Lambert was already moving in this direction and said, “Let’s just measure them. Let’s find out. Who cares what model you use? Let’s make sure that the client is engaged by it and that it’s helping them.” So we began measuring, and what became clear very quickly was that some therapists were better at it than others.

So, since about 2004, Mark Hubble and others at the International Center for Clinical Excellence (ICCE) have been researching the practice patterns of top performing therapists. It’s not that I don’t believe, and in fact know, that the Common Factors are what accounts for effective psychotherapy. It’s just that an explanation is not the same as a strategy for effecting change. And the Common Factors can never be used as such. All models are equivalent. Pick one that appeals to you and your client.

The Siren Song

TR: So Common Factors are a way of studying the effects of psychotherapy, but not a way of actually implementing it.
SM: Well, by definition, you can’t do a Common Factors model because then it’s a specific factor. I’m not saying the Common Factors don’t matter—what I’m saying is that they are a therapeutic dead end. They will not help you do therapy. You still have to have a method for doing the therapy, and the Common Factors are not a method. Why?
What I say is, pick one of the 400 that appeals to you and then measure and see: Does your client like it, too? If not, then it’s time for you to change, not your client.
All treatment approaches return equal efficacy when the data is aggregated and methods compared in a randomized controlled trial. So you still need some kind of way to operationalize the Common Factors.

Since we have 400 or so different models of therapy, why invent a new one? It seems to be because in our field, each person has to have it their own way. The promise of a new model is a siren song in our profession that we have a hard time not turning our ship towards. What I say is, pick one of the 400 that appeals to you and then measure and see: Does your client like it, too? If not, then it’s time for you to change, not your client.
TR: You have an article out in Psychotherapy where you mentioned three keys for therapists to improve their work. Your major focus now seems to be how therapists improve their work with each client. Can you describe those three keys?
SM: The first one is knowing your baseline. You can’t get any better at an activity until you actually know how good you are at it now. We therapists think we know, but it turns out that data indicates that we generally, as a group, inflate our effectiveness by as much as 65%. So you really have to know just how effective you are in the aggregate. That means you’re going to have to use some kind of outcome tool to measure the effectiveness of your work with clients over time.
We generally, as a group, inflate our effectiveness by as much as 65%.


The second step is to get deliberate feedback. So once you know how effective you are, then it’s time to get some coaching, get some feedback, and you can do that in two ways. Number one, you can use the very same measures that you used to determine your effectiveness to get feedback from your clients on a case-by-case basis. Meaning that you can actually see when you’re helping and when you’re not, and use that to alter the course of the services provided to that individual client.

The second kind of feedback to get is from somebody whose work you admire, who has a slightly broader skill base than you do, and have them look at your work and comment specifically about those particular cases where your work falls short. In other words, you begin to look for patterns in your data about when it is you’re not particularly helpful to people, and seek out somebody who can provide you with coaching. It’s like in golf, once you know what your handicap is you can hire a coach who can look at your game and make fine tweaks. It’s not about revamping your whole style, or about learning an entirely new method of treatment, but pushing your skills and abilities to the next level of performance.

The third piece is deliberate practice. The key word in that expression is “deliberate.” All of us practice. We go to work. But it turns out the number of hours spent on a job is not a good predictor. In fact, it’s a poor predictor of treatment effectiveness. So what you have to do is identify the edge of your current realm of reliable performance. In other words, where’s the next spot where you don’t do your work quite as well? And then develop a plan, acquire the skills, practice those skills and then put them into place. Then measure again to see, have you made any improvement?

I can’t take credit for coming up with these three steps. We’ve simply borrowed them lock, stock, and barrel from the performance literature, and in particular, Anders Ericsson’s work, which has been applied in fields like the training of pilots, chess masters, computer programmers, surgeons, etc. If we have any sort of claim to fame, it’s that we’ve begun applying these to psychotherapy for the first time.
TR: One of my first reactions to this is, aren’t some people just born better therapists?
SM: Well Ericsson notes that the search for genetic factors responsible for the performance of eminent individuals has been surprisingly unsuccessful. In sports we often think, “Oh, there must be some genetic component involved here,” or “he just has the gift of music.” But it turns out that virtually everyone that researchers looked at where the “gift” is implied, even with Mozart—he had been playing the piano for 17 years before he wrote anything that was unique, which happened at about age 21. He’d been playing since he was 4. His father had been doing music scales with him since he was in the crib. So once you remove the practice component, you just don’t find any evidence for genetic factors—with very few exceptions.

For example, in boxing it appears that people with a slightly longer reach have a slight advantage. But we also know that if baseball pitchers don’t start pitching at a particular age, their arms will not make the adjustment required to throw the ball as fast and accurately as professional pitchers do.

There was another study that looked at social skills. You often will hear, in addition to the genetic claims, that, “Good therapists just have great social skills.” Well, they’ve measured that. It turns out not to be the case, and the reason is that these kinds of ideas are too high or general a level of abstraction. The real difference between the best and the rest is that they possess more deep, domain-specific knowledge. They have a highly contextualized knowledge base that is much thicker than average performers, and much more accessible to them and responsive to contextual clues.

Deep Contextual Knowledge

TR: Could you give a specific example of what a deep contextual knowledge would look like in a therapy room?
SM: Well the classic one—and I say it to make fun of it—is suicide contracting. Or the suicide prevention interview.
Somebody comes in and says, “I’m going to commit suicide.” And we respond with, “Do you have a plan? Have you ever attempted this before?” Blah, blah, blah. That’s decontextualized knowledge. You could ask those questions to a stick.
Somebody comes in and says, “I’m going to commit suicide.” And we respond with, “Do you have a plan? Have you ever attempted this before?” Blah, blah, blah. That’s decontextualized knowledge. You could ask those questions to a stick.

What a top performer does is ask those questions very differently, nuanced by the client’s presentation, in ways that the rest of us can’t see. Because of their more complex and well-organized knowledge, they can actually see patterns in what clients present that the rest of us would miss and respond to in a much more generic fashion. Is this making sense?
TR: Absolutely.
SM: So the real question is how to help clinicians develop that highly contextualized knowledge. Because once you have it, not only can you retrieve that knowledge at the appropriate moment, but it turns out you can make unique combinations and use them in novel ways that would never occur to the rest of us, or would only occur to the rest of us by chance.
TR: This also doesn’t suggest that treatment manuals are necessarily the best way to train therapists.
SM: We know that following a treatment manual doesn’t result in better outcomes and it doesn’t decrease variability among clinicians using the same manual. So you still get a spread of outcomes, even when everybody is doing the same treatment.

At the same time, I think it’s critical that therapists learn a way of working, and, in the beginning at least, they hew to that approach. Why? Well, if you begin to introduce variation in your performance early on, you will not have the same ability to extend your performance in the future.

Let me give you an example. The first time I had a guitar lesson, I was taking classical guitar with this really interesting teacher. We spent the entire first lesson on how he wanted me to hold the neck of the guitar with my left hand—and I’m right handed. He said, “If you try to vary your hand grip from the outset, you’ll never have the same reach and ability to vary reliably when you need to in the future. So start with a common foundation, and then when we need to introduce variations later, we will.” My sense is that therapists instead begin in a highly complex, nuanced way and introduce variations into their style randomly and without much thought.
TR: So it would be better to begin with a frame or structure that provides a stable base, and then develop the deep contextualized knowledge later on.
SM: And to vary your work in ways that allow you to measure the impact of your variation against what you usually do. This is the key. Otherwise, what you have is a bag of tricks. You can do them all, but there’s no cohesiveness to it, and you can’t explain why you vary at certain times rather than others.
TR: Starting with a manual isn’t necessarily a bad idea then.
SM: Absolutely not. In fact, I would suggest grabbing a manual and going to a place where they are teaching a specific approach that will allow you to practice and also watch others in a two-way mirror. Once you have that foundation down, you can introduce your own variations.
TR: I hear therapists say, “I have 20 years experience,” or “I have 30 years experience.” Does this research find that experience, itself, makes someone better?
SM: No, it doesn’t. We know that not only in therapy, but in a variety of activities. If you think about it, you’ll understand why. While you’re doing your work, you don’t have time enough to correct your mistakes thoughtfully.
The difference between the best and the rest is what they do before they meet a client and after they’ve met them, not what they’re doing when they’re with them.
So what we found, which I think is quite shocking, is that the difference between the best and the rest is what they do before they meet a client and after they’ve met them, not what they’re doing when they’re with them.  Let me give you an example from a field that is similar—figure skating. If you watch a championship figure skater perform a gold medal winning performance, you can describe what they did, but it won’t tell you how to do it yourself. Do you follow me?
TR: Yeah.
SM: In order to be able to accomplish that performance, that figure skater must do something before they go on the ice, and after they leave the ice. It’s that time that leads to superior performance. You can go out and try to turn triple axels during the performances as much as you want. That experience will not make you better. You have to plan, practice, perform, and then reflect. Most of us don’t see all of the effort that goes into that great performance. We just appreciate how good it is.
TR: But one of the tricky differences is that we’re trying to help each client. And if we’re practicing new skills, invariably we’re going to make mistakes. And that’s emotionally harder because you’re making a mistake with a real person sitting across from you.
SM: Well, number one, we’re all already making these mistakes. And the ones that I’m referring to are generally small and not fatal. So your performance doesn’t improve by isolating gross mistakes, or gross skills. Your performance improves when your usual skills begin to break down—meaning they don’t deliver—and remembering those, thinking about them after the session, and making a plan for what to do instead. That’s where improvement takes place.

When I hear people mention this kind of objection, I think they’re thinking that the errors are far grosser than what I’m talking about. Once therapists assess their baseline, most are going to find out—to their, perhaps, surprise—that they’re average in terms of their outcome, or slightly less than average. So if we’re average, then it’s not about bringing your game up to the average level. It’s about extending it to the next. That requires a focus on small process errors.

Let me give you another example. We have a pianist come and perform at one of our conferences. She is eight years old and she is really unbelievably able as a concert pianist. She plays a very difficult piece. I ask her if she made any mistakes. She says, “Of course, I made a lot.” I tell her I didn’t hear any, to which she says, “Well, that’s because you’re no good at this.”

I then say, “What do you mean? And what do you do about your mistakes?”

She says, “Look. I made lots of mistakes, but you cannot get better at playing the piano while you’re performing.” This is an 8-year-old.

I say, “So what do you do?”

She says, “Well, I hear these small errors. I remember them. My coach in the audience remembers them, and then that’s what I isolate for periods of practice between performances.”

Most of Us Are Average

TR: How many therapists really practice between sessions? I mean, that’s pretty rare, isn’t it?
SM: Most of us are average.
TR: Right.
SM: And 50% of us are below average, right?
The best performers spend significantly more time reading books and articles….and reviewing basic therapeutic texts.
So very few people do it, and this is the real mystery of expertise and excellence. Why do some go this extra mile? There’s no financial pay-off. I think this will change in the future, but at the present time, you don’t get paid one dime more if you’re average, crappy, or really good. The fees are set by the service provided.
TR: That is a great problem with our field and I hope that does change in the future.
SM: I think that we’re seeing movement in that direction. I think that our field will become like other fields, where outcome of the process is what leads to payment, rather than the delivery of it.
TR: So back to practicing. Therapists read books and go to workshops, but that’s kind of passive learning. What are your thoughts about that?
SM: That’s a component of practicing. A graduate student that I’ve been working with, Darryl Chow, who just finished his PhD at University of Perth in Australia, did his dissertation on this topic and found that the best performers spend significantly more time reading books and articles. We also know that the best performers spend more time reviewing basic therapeutic texts.

Therapists are often in search of the variation from their performance that will allow them to reach an individual client they’re struggling with. Top performers not only do that, but they’re also constantly going back to basics to make sure they’ve provided those. They spend time reading basic books that may be hugely boring but are nonetheless really helpful. Gerard Eagin’s The Skilled Helper, Corey Hammond’s book on therapeutic communication—these basic texts that remind us of things that we often forget in the flurry of cases we see every week.
TR: So reading counts. What about workshops?
SM:
We don’t know about workshops. I’m cynical about them, simply because they’re not set up in a way that respects any principles of the last 30 years of research on human learning.
We don’t know about workshops. I’m cynical about them, simply because they’re not set up in a way that respects any principles of the last 30 years of research on human learning. Six hours, chosen by the person who needs the continuing education, and there’s no testing of skills, acquisition of skills, no awareness of particular deficits in practice. Greg Neimeyer has done a fair bit of research on this and he finds no evidence that our current CE standards lead to improved performance. None.
TR: There’s a psychotherapy instructor I know, Jon Frederickson, who has his students go through psychotherapy drills, kind of like role-playing drills in a circle. Would that count as practice?
SM: It depends, but I like the sound of it. Not a scrimmage, where you do a whole game, but rather drilling people in very specific small skill sets again and again. That aligns with the principles of Ericsson’s researchers.

If you’re an experienced professional, your motivation for going to a CE event can be really varied. I know for me, I’m often just grateful to have a day off and hang out with friends. The particular content of the workshop, I’m ashamed to admit, is less important. The incentives are just all wrong.
TR: It goes back to your motivation question.
SM: I don’t think our field incentivizes that kind of stuff. In fact, you can be punished.
TR: Well, one incentive I discovered myself in my own private practice was my drop-out rate. That motivated me to get further training. Maybe other therapists don’t have the same problem I had, but I know that was a powerful motivation.
SM: Drop-out can be both a good and a bad thing. For example, our current system incentivizes therapists to have a butt in the seat every available, billable hour. What that means is that therapists may be incentivized—we have some data about this, too—to keep clients, whether they are changing or not. That’s what I mean when I say that the incentives are all screwed up. There are, every once in a while, motivated people like yourself who say, “Wait a second. There has to be something beyond this.” But that requires a degree of reflection that may be difficult for most of us, especially if we are well defended. For these folks, people drop out because they are in denial about their own problems, not because of anything they, themselves, might be doing.

You put those things together and it can be a fatal combination. We need to take a step back as payers for services and as consumers of services and think about the incentives in our current system. I know this sounds terribly economic, but I think it’s important for our field.
TR: That sounds sensible to me. What about watching psychotherapy videos by psychotherapy experts like the ones psychotherapy.net produces. Would that count as practice?
SM: Yes it would. Especially in the beginning, when you have identified a particular area or weakness in your skill set that you may need some help with. In essence, you’re spending more time swimming in it while reflecting, which is the key part.
TR: Do you have other examples of deliberate practice that you’ve heard of therapists engaging in?
SM: Well there’s the stop-start strategies that Darryl Chow has been talking about. And Chris Hall is doing a study at UNC that we’re involved with, where therapists will watch short segments of a video and then they have to respond in the moment in a way that is maximally empathic, collaborative, and non-distancing. So they’re training therapists to develop a certain degree of proficiency with fairly straightforward clients.

Then you begin to vary the emotional context, or the physical context, in which the service is delivered. So now the client’s not just saying, “Hey, I feel sad.” They’re threatening to drop out or to commit suicide. More difficult and challenging things. And then simply spending time outside of the office planning and discussing individual particular cases with peers or consultants is another strategy.

In Darryl Chow’s research, which I think is the most exciting stuff, he found that within the first eight years of practice, therapists with the best outcomes spend approximately seven times more hours than the bottom two-thirds of clinicians engaged in these kinds of activities. Seven times.
TR: Wow.
SM:
The key to this is really starting early and investing a little bit at a time. It’s sort of like how you’re advised to save for your retirement. Not in the last five years. Not in the first five years, but a little bit every year.
The good news is, now that we know this, we can start this process earlier. The bad news is, if you’ve been at this for awhile, it becomes impossible to catch up with the best. We just age out. We can’t do it. The key to this is really starting early and investing a little bit at a time. It’s sort of like how you’re advised to save for your retirement. Not in the last five years. Not in the first five years, but a little bit every year.
TR: One advantage that great athletes have is that their coaches gets to determine day by day what moves or what performances they’re going to practice. I run a training program here at University of Alaska, Fairbanks, at the University Center for Student Health and Counseling, and I don’t get to pick what clients come in day to day. It could be anxiety, depression, any number of different things, so I’ll do a training on, let’s say, working with anxiety, but the client that comes in will have depression. So what do you do about that?
SM: Well, in essence, we’re violating John Wooden’s primary rule, which is, we are allowing students to scrimmage before they drill. And I have to tell you, all students want to scrimmage, but what you need to do more of, before and during, is drilling. The kind of drilling that I think your colleague was talking about. Or you go back to, “Here’s how we hold the guitar.” And we play very simple songs and then we begin varying the drill with greater degrees of complexity once easier tasks are managed.
TR: So you’d recommend a longer period of training and practice and drills before seeing clients.
SM: I’d want to see that kind of mastery. Let me give you an example. Do you want the pilot to be proficient at flying in fair weather, as demonstrated on the simulator, before they fly a plane?
TR: Yes.
SM: You want them to be prepared for all the complications: “Wait a minute, it’s raining,” “Wait a minute, you’ve got problems with your rudder.” These are complex skills and, yes, we can teach people to manage them as one-offs, but then they never integrate it into a coherent package that makes it easier to retrieve from memory later on when they need that skill. If it’s viewed as a one-off—“With the anxiety client, I did this”—it’s not integrated into an organized structure for retrieval later on.
TR: So on a therapist’s resume, you’d want to see not just hours of direct service provided, but also hours spent practicing and learning.
SM: Or, better yet, somebody who has measured results, like yourself. All I need is an average pilot. I don’t need the best pilot in the world, because most of the time there’s not huge challenges. If you can document your results, and if you’re checking in with me, we’re going to catch most of the errors anyway. And then I want a therapist who has a professional development plan, that’s working on the aggregation of small improvements over a long period of time.
TR: So for tracking results, I know you recommend quantitative outcome measures, like the Outcome Rating Scale or the Outcome Questionnaire. But I have found that there are certain clients that quantitative measures just don’t seem valid for. It’s not a large percentage of clients, but there are some that underreport problems at first. So it can look like they’re deteriorating even while they’re improving. Can you recommend any kind of qualitative methods or other methods of trying to accurately assess outcome in addition to those measures?
SM: I don’t buy it. Personally, I just don’t see that stuff and I would offer a very different explanation for it. Let me give you an example.

We know that each time there is a deterioration in scores, the probability of client drop-out goes up, whether or not the therapist thinks that it’s a good sign that the client is “getting in touch with reality and finally admitting their issues,” or had inflated how they really were doing for the first visit. So the key task here is not to say, “There must be another measure,” but to figure out what skills are required for me to get a higher score.

Dig Into the One You Know

TR: That’s a new perspective. To look at what I can change about my performance, rather than a new measure to assess it.
SM: Now you see why I think our field is forever chasing its tail. Because instead of becoming fully connected to our performance, we are constantly looking for the trick that will make us great.
Instead of becoming fully connected to our performance, we are constantly looking for the trick that will make us great.
It’s like a singer looking for the song that will make them famous rather than learning how to sing. We’re forever going to workshops, and the level of the workshops are often so basic even when they’ve claimed to be advanced. The truth is, you can’t do an advanced workshop on psychotherapy for 100 people. You can’t do it. The content is too abstract and too general. You need to see a clinician’s performance and fine-tune it. So therapists go around and around, constantly picking up these techniques that they use in an unreliable fashion, and their outcomes don’t improve, but their confidence does.
TR: So instead of picking up a new modality every year, dig into the one you know, preferably with a real expert, and get individualized or maybe small group training and practice.
SM: I think that once you’ve achieved a level of proficiency, the only hope for improvement is to get feedback on your specific deficits. And yours will be different from mine.
TR: It sounds like you’d definitely be a fan of videotaping sessions and reviewing them and that kind of thing.
SM: Not alone—with an expert eye reviewing small segments. Otherwise the flood of information from video will have you second-guessing yourself, which can actually interrupt the way you work in an unhelpful way.
TR: What about live supervision?
SM: I’m not averse to it, but I think it’s a little bit like a GPS—it can correct your moves in the moment, but you become GPS-dependent and you don’t learn the territory. What’s required in learning is reflection. If you don’t reflect, you can’t learn. As my uncle used to say, “You got to study that thang.”

I actually had great opportunities with live supervision when I was at the Family Therapy Center and got corrected in the moment by two really masterful clinicians. But I also think that what really made a difference was sitting behind a mirror, without any financial worries, watching endless hours of psychotherapy being done, and then talking about it afterwards. “This was said. What could you have said? How come we said this? What do you need to do?” It was a heavenly experience and as a result, I came away with a very highly nuanced and contextualized way of delivering that particular model.

And today, when I’m doing my Scott Miller way of working and I notice that a particular client wasn’t engaged or interested at a particular moment, I think, “What could I have said differently?” It’s at that small micro level that improved outcome is likely to be found. As opposed to just gross generic level.

People go to workshops and say, “I’ve had some traumatized clients. Maybe I’ll learn that EMDR thing.”

“Really?” I think. “Do you know how effective you are in working with these clients already?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What makes you think you need to do EMDR?”

“Well, it just seems so interesting.”

And I think, “Oh, you’re doomed.” Not that there’s anything wrong with EMDR, but I have to tell you, I watched Francine Shapiro do it and it looks a lot different than some other people I’ve seen doing it.
TR: So the problem there is switching modalities rather than getting a lot better at the one you’re currently using.
SM: It’s looking for a trick rather than thinking through, what else could I have said? What else could I have done that I already know how to do? Or getting a little bit of tweaking from a trusted mentor.
TR: I know you present this information all over the world. Do you find therapists are open and receptive to these ideas?
SM: Yes. I think that there are some very real barriers that we need to address, but yes, I do.
TR: This has been a really fascinating conversation. Thank you for making the time.
SM: I like this stuff. I’m fascinated by it and I’m very hopeful about the direction we’re going research-wise, so thank you for giving me the opportunity.

Talk is Cheap. Really.

A few days ago, I read yet another article comparing the costs and effectiveness of psychotherapy and medication. While both have benefits, the article stated, medication is cheaper. Hmm. I wondered. My insurance company has a handy calculator that allows me to estimate the costs of various types of care, so I figured I’d check it out.

Well, as it turns out, generic antidepressants are pretty inexpensive—definitely cheaper than psychotherapy for insured and insurer. But let’s consider my modal client. You’ve all worked with someone very much like her. She is a midlife woman with trauma, a history of addiction and/or an eating disorder, and a lifetime collection of upwards of a dozen other psychiatric diagnoses. She occupies that portion of the diagnostic map variously labeled as bipolar, borderline, or PTSD. She has had several therapists and hospitalizations, and has had numerous trials of medications. She is rarely just taking an inexpensive generic antidepressant.

Suppose, like many, she found that a brand name antidepressant was more effective for her than the generic? Or that she had already tried just about everything and needed something “new”” Ahh. Let us ask the expense calculator. Twenty dollars for a month’s supply quickly jumps into the $150-200 per month range for a newer drug such as Pristiq, or even for a brand medication that has been around for decades such as Effexor. And suppose that little black rain cloud is still following her around? Suppose she needs a little dash of Abilify to amplify the effects of her antidepressant? Well, now we’re talking. Adding the lowest dose of this medication would add just under $700 per month (sometimes used similarly, Geodon is about half this cost, Seroquel less than a quarter). So now the cost of her medication is up to $800-850 per month. If we create a pharmaceutical cocktail that is far from uncommon by throwing in a mood stabilizer, or maybe a benzodiazepine or sleep medication (Ambien and Lunesta are impressive at over $200 per month), the price tag soars even higher.

Granted, assuming you are fortunate enough to have insurance, this is not the out-of-pocket cost. A client with insurance will pay a co-pay that is generally tiered, with generics and “preferred” medications costing less than brand products. Brand products can easily cost $50 per month, often more. So let’s see, with a brand antidepressant tweaked with Abilify we get $100 per month for the client, and, so the insurance company tells us, $750 ($850 minus co-pays) for the insurance company, or $1200 per year for the client, and a whopping $9,000 per year cost for the insurance company. If I were an insurance company and I were telling the truth about my costs, I’d really be thinking about talking up talk therapy.

Now let’s look at the costs of psychotherapy and imagine that a therapist might be paid by an insurer at a “reasonable and customary” rate of $100 for an individual session (and for many areas of the country, this would be a very sweet dream indeed). Say you see your client once weekly. Perhaps your client’s co-pay is $40 per session, or $160 per month. The insurance company pays a balance of $240. Say, though, just for kicks, the insurance company has set its rates just a tad lower. Suppose they set their R&C at $65 per session. Let’s give our client a $25 co-pay, leaving the insurer responsible for the $40 balance. Anybody seen this? Checked out Medicare rates lately? At 44 sessions a year (the number of annual visits I estimate for a weekly client, given illnesses, vacations, etc.) the $100 session costs the client $1760 per year; the insurer $2640. The $65 session costs the client $1100; the insurer $1760. Now return to Paragraph Four and review the annual costs of a newer or brand antidepressant and Abilify.

You will say, fairly, that I’m comparing an expensive medication option to a typical psychotherapy option. Yes, I am. But this happens every day in my practice—I am providing a typical psychotherapy protocol to clients on complex and expensive psychiatric medications. You will also say that no one would treat this modal client with only medication or only talk therapy, and you would probably be right. It should not be an either/or issue. We could wonder, however, for the sake of argument, which option offers your client or their insurer the most bang for their buck? Is it one year of Abilify for $8400, or one year of weekly individual sessions at $100 for $4400, or one year of individual sessions at $65 for $2860, or, heaven forfend, one year of twice weekly sessions for $8800 (at $100) or $5720 (at $65)?

Co-pays of course increase the cost of psychotherapy to the client. Twice weekly sessions for our $40 co-pay client add up to a hefty $320 per month. This reality is probably partly where we get the idea that therapy costs more. But in the total dollars that someone is paying—insured and/or insurer—it is not always quite so clear. If the total cost is roughly the same, how do we assess the relative value of 365 pills vs. 88 sessions of psychotherapy for a complex client? A year of Pristiq and Ambien or a year of psychotherapy? What is their relative potential for healing? How do we measure their respective long term effectiveness? How do we compare potential side effects? Who is benefitting from the argument that medication is cheaper than psychotherapy? Who funds outcome research for medications? Who funds outcome research for psychotherapy? Who is framing our discourse? Let’s talk about it.

The Ones That Get Away

On sunny days, the koi rise to the surface of the pond. Occasionally a particularly interesting one rises through the murk, and for a few moments it is clearly visible in all its mottled, sun-dappled glory, fins lazily stroking the water, eyes unblinkingly assessing my shadow before it propels itself back into the depths.

That is the image that comes to mind when I think of Cassie. She contacted me initially through an email, sending me a clear, carefully composed assessment of her situation that ran to several lengthy paragraphs. She said she could not maintain relationships. She could go to work, but otherwise was almost unable to function. She had no close friends or family. She became dissociative and unbearably anxious whenever she tried to talk to anyone about changing her life. Beneath her insightful description of herself there was a barely muted, desperate plea for help. I was hooked, and I responded carefully, aware already that any hint of impatience or intrusion would send her back to the bottom of the pond. I offered an appointment time, and she accepted in just a few words: already I was becoming real, and real made her wary.

In my waiting room on the day of our first appointment I found an elfin, fair-skinned woman with a dancer’s grace and a mass of auburn curls piled loosely on her head, stray tendrils curling over her cheeks and forehead, a scatter of freckles on her nose, tight jeans, black boots, green sweater. She was as carefully composed as her prose. She was well spoken and seemingly calm in the session, except for the constant trembling of her slender, pale hands. I tried to negotiate an impossibly fine line between keeping the session safe (she had warned me that she could not talk about her experience of abuse without dissociating) and getting some kind of rough history and initial therapeutic conversation going. I suspect part of her would have preferred to just sit silently and observe me, getting used to me and my office, my odds and ends, my clothing, my books, my body language.

In fact, it was soon clear that she wanted me to divine her needs and tolerances as a mother would—a fantasy mother, the one she never had. She wanted me to guess when she was tired, hungry, overstimulated, playful. When I didn’t get it exactly right, she was irritated and frightened. Like an infant, she could only protest–no, no, no!–when I inevitably got it wrong, but she could not or would not give me further direction. If I tried to offer her something concrete like specific coping skills, for example, her quick and analytic mind rejected my suggestions as facile and superficial. When I tried to offer her something nurturing and digestible like a supportive comment, my shadow inevitably fell on her, and she flinched away, diving deep.

We managed two or three sessions before I went too far, discovering something she did and didn’t want me to know about her secret world. She admitted she had been binging and purging most nights for years.

Immediately it was as if I were a thief who had invaded her home, intent on stealing her treasures, in spite of my reassurance that I could not take her eating disorder from her against her will. She fled from the session and wrote me an email saying she would not return. I wrote her back, leaving the door as wide open as I could. It worked after a fashion: a few months later she returned, but again we lasted only two or three sessions before I got too close and received another emailed goodbye.

Starved and unentitled, it is her pattern to reach out and snatch hungrily, wanting and needing “too much”—an impossible attunement. Her “greediness” is then followed by feelings of regret and shame, exposure and humiliation. She punishes and protects herself by retreating from contact. Binge, purge, restrict. For her, food and relationship are interlocking metaphors for each other. I imagine a sort of psychic double helix that twists around and replicates itself wherever fear and longing converge.

We are in another pause now. Maybe she has burrowed in the mud for a season, maybe she will never return. If I am honest, I am a little impatient, a little frustrated. She has given me a shorter glimpse, a smaller fraction than I am usually granted as a therapist, and I want more, even knowing as I do that getting Cassie in the office regularly will only be a small part of the challenges we are likely to face. Though I am prone to self doubt, I do not dwell on my possible failures with her. She knows I’ve done my best; I know she wishes for the courage to come back. There are no magic words or techniques or interpretations for coaxing her. I just remember her, and hope for her to return to the surface.

The “L” Word

Lisa hefts herself heavily up the stairs to my office. She must come up two feet to a stair, like a small child. She is breathless by the time she gets to my office and has to take a few moments to collect herself. As she settles in, I realize she has gained even more weight in the few weeks since I last saw her.

She is huge, solemn, powerful, inert. Once she is seated, nothing moves but her head and hands and her big, expressive eyes. Her pace in therapy has been glacial. I wheedle, nudge, poke, prod, shove, usually with very little effect. My anxiety stimulated by her apparent weight gain, today I shove, for all the good it does me. A boulder slammed into the earth by the gravity of her rage, she is immovable.

During the session, she makes some small, wry, self-aware and self-deprecating joke about her resistance to change. I can’t even remember what she said, but flooded with affection for her—impulse and action melded together, racing along the same neurons in tandem—I burst out with, “Oh Lisa, I love you.” I am a little shocked to hear my own voice saying the words. It is true enough, but I did not expect to say it. Had those synapses fired at any distance from each other, I would not have.
She does not look shocked. She has, in fact, a small smile. I would guess that in her half century of living she has heard these words spoken to her fewer times than I could count on one hand. I can practically hear the tectonic rumble of pack ice shifting.

I have so flustered myself that I just carry on with our conversation, ignoring my own exclamation. As we talk, I ask her a question that I have asked her many, many times. “What do you imagine would happen if you stopped bingeing?”

This time she responds differently. Her eyes widen. She looks so frightened I want to turn and look behind myself. “I can’t,” she says. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I am just like them. I am just the same.” I know exactly what she means. She means she is like her brothers, her mother.

Looking at her, I feel as though I am both seeing and imagining a child in her bed, piled high with blankets of flesh, her big, wide eyes peering out at me from beneath her coverings. She is not fully present—her eyes are shifting rapidly back and forth. She has the terrified look on her face of someone who has received a blow and is expecting another. I have been sitting with one leg crossed under me, but I shift both my feet squarely to the floor in an unconscious effort to ground her.
“No,” I say, “you are not like them. You are afraid of being like them.”

“If I wasn’t bingeing,” she says, her eyes still flicking, one shoulder slightly hunched as if to protect herself, “I could really hurt someone. I could kill someone.” Usually, she talks about how her fatness protects her from others, but she has never before talked about how she believes it protects others from her.

I speak to her in the low, soothing voice that you would use with an injured person or a frightened child. In a few moments, I can see her breaths start to even out. Her eyes stop moving and focus back on me. She smiles shyly, almost in greeting. She has been gone, but not gone. The session moves on and before the end, she commits to what is for her a big step.

I have never said “I love you” to a client before. I do not understand what unconscious imperative drew those words out of me. It felt as if I had no choice at all. I am as easily blinded to myself as the next person, but I can think of nothing in my life or day, no need of my own, that drove me to share those words with her in that moment. If my assessment of myself is correct, what then in her impelled those words from me, and what did they mean to her? Did I frighten her into a dissociated state, given that her experience of love is so deeply intertwined with violence? Did my expression of love for her provide her with some increased security so she could reveal more about her experience of herself? Did she want to warn me what a dangerous person she is to love? I am inclined to believe all of the above are true. Clinical error or simple human caring, countertransference enactment or empathy, I believe that in the session our separate continents shifted just a little, perhaps even measurably, toward each other.
 

Continuous outcome assessment

One of the enjoyable side-benefits of attending international psychotherapy trainings is the opportunity to meet bright clinicians and discover exciting new projects. At a recent training on ISTDP by Allan Abbass in Halifax, I met two British psychotherapists and researchers, Stephen Buller and Susan Hajkowski, who are starting an innovative project in the United Kingdom: the Psychotherapy
Foundation
. The overall goal of the Foundation is to promote procedures that improve the quality of psychotherapy. One aspect of their project I find particularly interesting is the focus on the  importance of continuous self-supervision and peer-supervision by therapists, via videotapes of therapy sessions and continuous outcome assessment. In my opinion, it is vital for therapists to get continuous critical feedback on their work from peers or mentors after formal training has ended: your last day in school should be your first day in consultation. Work in any field that does not include  frequent objective (and ideally data-based) assessment is inherently prone to quality deterioration, and psychotherapy is no exception. Our field in particular has a propensity for isolation, with so many therapists working alone in solo practice. For example, it has always seemed strange to me that therapists are required to get Continuing Education training but not required to get feedback on their actual work. Additionally, as has been discussed previously on this blog, a side-benefit of practice-based outcome assessment is that it provides a data set that can be used to inform the public about the benefits of psychotherapy, and help potential clients make informed decisions about which therapist they want to work with.

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

Last Sunday night I dropped a pot of boiling water on my hand. My quick thinking teen aged son who was standing near by promptly grabbed me, led me to the sink and held my burned wrist under perfectly tepid running water. Shortly there after we took a quick trip to the ER where they wrapped me up and sent me back home.

I’m healing nicely. But the white bandage around my left hand has been good fodder all week in my office. There’s been an interesting hodgepodge of reactions from my clients, from not noticing at all to “Wow! What happened to you?”

It’s brought me back to the several pregnancies I’ve had while in private practice when my body was inflating in front of me, and in front of my clients. Some noticed early on, and others were shocked when – toward the end of the pregnancy – I said I would be out of the office for a bit. Some wanted to know why, others just wanted to know when I’d be back. It was indeed an interesting study in narcissistic transferences, object relations, relationships and character.

So here I am with white gauze wrapped around my literal wound debating about which figurative hat to wear in session. My own analyst, if wounded, (would I want her wounded? If so, why?) would most likely nod slightly and say something like “What do you think happened?” And then we might spend the session in some sort of fantasy exploration of my ideas, associations or feelings about what may have happened, about knowing or not knowing, and what that would or would not mean to me. Depending on my mood I would find this either interesting and helpful or downright annoying and useless. Probably some of both. But I would tell her that too.

That’s part of the freedom of being able to say everything and anything in therapy. It includes saying whatever you feel about the therapy and the therapist, which does often lead to better feeling states and more insight. So what’s better for my clients? To know? To guess? To talk and see what comes up? Or to satisfy the question if asked? Feed the desire, gratify the need? Or perhaps just to engage in the righteous social norm of polite dialogue? After all if I tell too soon, are we missing out on a memory of a mother being hauled off in an ambulance, or the time they cut their own finger? Maybe if I don’t answer too quickly I will find out that they feel concerned about me, that I mean a lot to them, or the opposite. Some folks just want to know that I am able to do my job or continue to take care of them or both. With some, the exchange has been sweetly and simplistically human, a currency of concern and connection that flows naturally through both the therapeutic and real relationship that exists between us.

Perhaps too, my injury offers an opportunity to explore empathy and to learn more about how aware we are of each other, of others, of ourselves. And for some, my injury means that I must know now, for sure, what it feels like to be hurt.

Mostly, my clients have been satisfied to know that my attention to them has not been affected by whatever has happened to my wrist, even though it does bring home, on some conscious or unconscious level the registration that I exist outside of the office and am susceptible to the perils of life just as they are. And that I too might benefit from an analysis of why I hurt myself, unconscious though it was.

Not mistreating the treatment seems to be the most important thing. That and taking very good care of the relationship. So, to satisfy or to analyze? It’s hard to know exactly all the time, but it seems to me that a little bit of both usually goes a long way toward healing and avoiding burns.

Free Psychotherapy Training

As a psychotherapy training nerd, I’m always looking for good training opportunities.  What’s the most training one can find on a limited time and budget?  I recently talked about this with Carol Odsess, PhD.  Dr. Odsess is a psychotherapy trainer in Albany, California who specializes in EMDR and Energy Psychology. 

What trainings have the best cost/benefit ratio?  A good place to start are the many excellent articles and interviews with master therapists available at psychotherapy.net, which are free to read.  (You only have to pay if you want the CEs.)  In addition, Dr. Odsess offered a few recommendations to stretch your training dollars. 

  • Instead of going to a conference, consider buying the audio recording of the conference instead.  You save the costs of airfare and hotel, and keep your weekend!  Additionally, you get to experience every training at the conference, which is more than you would get if you went in person.  Dr. Odsess recommends listening to audios of conferences while commuting (which has the side benefit of reducing road-rage.)  I’ve been working my way through 200 hours of the 2009 Evolution of Psychotherapy Conference during my commute for the past year.  She also pointed out that having the trainings on audio makes it easier to refer to them when writing or teaching.
  • A free way to enhance your training is to videotape your own therapy sessions and review them later.  There’s nothing like getting an un-edited view of your work to improve effectiveness.  Likewise, many consultation groups are free to join, or you can start your own.
  • Dr. David Nuys produces two excellent podcasts on psychology:  Shrink Rap Radio and Wise Counsel.  All past talks on both podcasts are available for download.
  • Check with your local library to see if they can order psychotherapy books or videos through their national link system. 
  • Join a listserv related to your specialties.  Many listservs have fascinating ongoing discussions about psychotherapy theory and technique.
  • Check out the great psychology blog mindhacks.
  • A few other websites offer free trainings via the internet or teleseminars, including traumasoma, wisebrain, and dharmaseat.
                Another issue to consider is the effectiveness of trainings.  For the most powerful and effective training, Dr. Odsess recommends live supervision, where the trainer observes (and sometimes intervenes in) a live therapy session.  Live supervision activates experiential learning, which she considers much more powerful than didactic or passive learning.  I myself prefer live supervision, as I wrote about here.  Live supervision is usually not cheap, however, so those on a budget might prefer the resources above.
 
 

Fact and Fiction in Psychology

In 1992 I was a Visiting Fellow in the Psychology Department at the University of Western Australia in Perth. For two months nothing was demanded of me other than to talk to the staff and students of the Department in a learned and wise manner, which is easy to do even if you are neither. I was asked one favour which was to give a lecture to the whole department on a subject of my choosing. Can it be any subject, I recall asking the Chairman? Yes, he said, what did you have in mind? An exploration of the psychoanalytic theories of narcissism as illustrated in Oscar Wilde’s novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, I replied. At that time the UWA Psychology Department was staffed by hard core scientists whose idea of psychology was to do controlled laboratory experiments and high-powered statistical testing. That sounds fascinating, said the Chairman. Too optimistically as it turned out for fascination was not quite the word to describe the stunned and horrified silence that met the end of my eloquent, literary disquisition. I remember one questioner spluttering angrily that psychology was about data, about hard facts in the real world, and I was talking about a work of fiction, the last word spoken with contemptuous disdain. But why have psychologists ignored fiction? What is wrong with studying the works of good novelists and poets for the illumination they provide about the human condition?

Psychoanalysts have long recognised the value of fiction. Freud delved into Greek mythology to explicate analytical theory, the Oedipus complex being the most famous example. Narcissism, the subject I was studying at the time, is founded, as its name indicates, on the myth of Narcissus who was transfixed by the beauty of his own image in a pool, and, depending on which version of the myth you follow, faded away or was transformed into the narcissus flower. Dorian Gray’s intense fascination with his own portrait is an echo of that story. His self-obsession and relentless pleasure-seeking lead to his gruesome death, exemplifying how narcissism is, in the final analysis, self-destructive.

Like many psychotherapists I would pepper my words of wisdom with extracts from favourite novels and stories. I was fond of an episode from Lewis Carroll’s Alice Through the Looking Glass though I now think that my recollection of it may not be totally accurate. Alice is in a garden with paths leading in all directions. Her earnest wish is to get to a house she can see in the distance. She takes a path that apparently goes towards the house but inexplicably it vanishes and reappears to her right. She then takes that path but again the house vanishes and appears elsewhere. After a few more futile attempts like this she says ‘Oh blow,’ for she is a well brought up girl, ‘I shall not bother with the house.’ She turns and walks off in the opposite direction only to run straight into it.  It is a good metaphor and the great value of metaphors is that they enable us to see the world differently. However, for academic psychologists seeing the world differently was not at all what they wanted. In fact, they wanted to see the world as it is. That is, they would claim, what psychological science is about. But that too is an illusion for we can never see the world as it is. We are always looking through the prism of our ideas. Facts do not exist in isolation from our interpretations as all good scientists should know.

It can be said of a novel or story that it is not true by which is meant that someone has created it from their imagination. This is why my talk angered the UWA psychologists; the subject matter was not observable reality, the world of facts, but a story, a fiction. But truth has many forms; it is not always literal. There is truth in fiction; you only have to make sure you look at it in a certain way. In the story of Anna Karenina, for example, Tolstoy shows us how an intelligent and beautiful woman can lose everything for the sake of love that is at heart narcissistic. Towards the end of the novel, Anna is in deep despair. In a remarkable passage, Tolstoy enters her self-consciousness as she is driven to the station by her coachman, Pyotr. It is the best account of depressive, self-destructive thinking I have come across. Anna throws herself under a train. It was reading about just such an incident, of a young upper class woman killing herself in that way, that prompted Tolstoy to write the novel. A fact led to fiction which in turn illuminates the truth about certain types of relationships.

I have just finished reading Jonathon Franzen’s novel, Freedom. One its strengths is how real the characters feel; I am sorry that I shall not be there with them anymore. If I look at the novel from a psychotherapist’s perspective, I see how well Franzen has captured the way people unconsciously replay the scripts of their childhood. For example, Patty’s overweening love of her son, Joey, derives from the casual indifference of her parents to her own achievements. But just as she was driven away from her family by that neglect, so Joey is driven away by the intense scrutiny of his mother’s love. I think anyone reading this novel would learn more about the psychology of family life that they would from reading any psychology textbook. It is fiction of course but it tells a certain truth.

The Lake Wobegon Effect

How good a therapist are you?

Odds are, you think you’re pretty good. A recent study[i] of 129 therapists found that over 90% self-rated their psychotherapy skills at the 75th percentile or greater.  All of the therapists rated themselves above the 50th percentile.

In his fascinating new book on therapy outcome, Michael Lambert calls this positive self-assessment bias the “Lake Wobegon effect”. While it is true that the overall industry-wide effectiveness rates for psychotherapy are very good, our blindness to our weaknesses is dangerous.
 
Lambert points out that 30% to 50% of our clients don’t improve in treatment. Even more alarming, roughly 8% of clients get worse in treatment.  (Deterioration rates of children and adolescents may be as high as 12% to 24%.)
 
If all of us are above average, then who is causing the problems?  

Lambert cites a study in which 20 experienced therapists and 20 therapist trainees were asked to predict the progress of current clients in their caseloads. Of the 550 total clients, the therapists in the study predicted that only three were deteriorating. The actual number of clients who got worse was 40.

Notably, none of the experienced therapists predicted any of the clients in their caseload getting worse, even though they were reminded at the beginning of the study that the industry-wide average deterioration rate is 8%.

How can we fix our blindness towards our weaknesses?  The traditional method of addressing therapist deficits is supervision and consultation, but those only work when we can correctly identify which clients in our caseload are deteriorating.

Lambert proposes using an intriguing actuarial model, in which the clients’ session-by-session data on outcome measures is entered into a computer program. Using a large database of client outcome data, the program is able to alert the therapist when the probability of client deterioration is high. In his book, Lambert cites a few studies that indicate promise with this method.

Understandably, many therapists will be loath to make clinical decisions based on a computer’s calculations. But then how else do we overcome our self-assessment bias and seriously deal with the risk of client deterioration? Whatever tool we choose, this is an important question for our field to address.



[i] Walfish, S., McAlister, B., O’Donnell, P. & Lambert, M. Are all psychotherapists from Lake Wobegon?: An investigation of self-assessment bias in mental health providers. Submitted for publication.

Eysenck, Rogers and Psychotherapy Effectiveness

In the 1970s I worked as a psychology lecturer in Hans Eysenck’s department at the Institute of Psychiatry, London. He was a controversial figure, quiet and introverted when met face to face, but on the academic stage a formidable and ruthless opponent. Rod Buchanan’s recent biography, Playing with Fire:The Controversial Career of Hans J Eysenck, nicely captures the complexity of the man, part prolific scientist, and part inveterate showman. Whether it was race and IQ, cancer and smoking or the effectiveness of psychotherapy, Eysenck did not hold back from taking the unpopular position. His 1952 paper challenging the effectiveness of psychotherapy triggered off a fierce debate that resonates today. How do we determine that psychotherapy works? Many therapists believe the question is either meaningless – like asking if medicine works – or has been loudly answered in the affirmative following thousands upon thousands of research trials. But the question is not as simple as it sounds.

In the 1970s I recall researching into Encounter groups that were all the rage then and coming across a statement by Carl Rogers. He claimed that a positive consequence of a successful Encounter group was for the members to become aware of their psychological problems and go on to have individual therapy for them. So the measure of success in Rogers’ terms was (a) having a problem and (b) going into therapy, the opposite of what most people see as psychotherapy’s goals! What Rogers claim illustrates is that any notion of outcome is based upon a set of values. For him authenticity was paramount and therapy was not a means of getting rid of symptoms but a chance to explore oneself, a process of self actualisation that was the key to the well-lived life. To be happy was not to be free of problems but to feel comfortable in oneself and to relate to others in a genuine and empathic way. Attractive as this philosophy may be, it is not one that the researchers into the effectiveness of psychotherapy have adopted. On the contrary, a quasi-medical model has been all powerful. Researchers have sought to prove that any specific therapy works in terms of making people feel better and enabling them to get rid of depression, anxiety, addictions or whatever ‘illness’ they are deemed to have. The problem I have with that it does not describe psychotherapy as I know it. Most psychotherapists realise that these simplicities mask the truly interesting part of therapy which is determining what the client’s problem actually is.

In my memoir, The Gossamer Thread. My Life as a Psychotherapist, I describe my first therapy case whom I call Peter. Peter’s problem was a phobia about using public toilets. His anxiety would rise exponentially when any men came in so he avoided public toilets altogether and led a restricted social life. I took over the therapy from another clinical psychologist (who went on to become a distinguished researcher into psychotherapy) and plugged away at Wolpe’s systematic desensitisation, first in imagination then in reality. The reality I chose was to see Peter in a bar where we would chat and drink beer in a way that is unthinkable today. In the course of these conversations I got to know him well, and he me, since I had no idea about boundaries being young and totally inexperienced. The result was a great success but it was in Rogerian not quasi-medical terms. When by chance two years later I met Peter again, he was a changed man, relaxed, happy in himself, content in his career. When I asked him about the original problem, at first he looked puzzled and then said, ‘Oh, that. I still have it but it doesn’t bother me anymore.’ There was a lesson to be learned about what psychotherapy outcome really means but it took me many years to learn it.