Data Mining: The Brave New World of Mental Health

‘There will come a time when it isn’t ‘They're spying on me through my phone’ anymore. Eventually, it will be ‘My phone is spying on me.’

Philip K. Dick
 

Our smartphones spy on us day and night. They know where we go, who we know, what we buy, what we read, how much we exercise, our vital signs, the meds we take, even our patterns of sleep. So it's no great leap for savvy tech entrepreneurs to hype the idea that our smartphones can be the missing link to better mental health.
 

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Numerous therapy apps are already available. Most were developed for profit, with greatly varying quality, little testing, and no regulation. Commercial apps often push outlandish claims: “Once you download our app, our technology starts to get an idea for how you tap, scroll and type on your smartphone—a new way to measure things like your stress, mental health symptoms, and well-being.” “You can track your measurements in the mobile app, and they’re shared with your clinical team, so they can provide you with more personalized care.” Therapy apps are pretty scary stuff, but it’s the mining of big data sets using machine learning that really terrifies me.

The idea seems so superficially appealing. Machine learning allows computers to analyze huge data sets, revealing patterns too subtle and obscure to be picked up by us mere humans. Promoters promise a brave new world of more rapid, rational, and personalized diagnosis and treatment for mental and substance use disorders. Why depend on error-prone humans when we can substitute the precision of hi-tech data science?

The possible benefits are so obvious.

Tracking how people use the internet might identify who has psychiatric problems even before they become aware of them; might help prevent suicides or violent behavior; might determine risk factors for mental illness; might improve treatment selection; and might be used to evaluate progress and identify relapse.

The hype is so easy to spin. Data mining is an inexpensive way to improve the individual patient’s mental health and the overall mental health of our society. Machine learning can even predict the future—identifying people at risk for later mental disorders, allowing us to intervene to prevent them.

Well, folks, what looks too good to be true is almost never true. In my view, mining big data sets with machine learning to diagnose psychiatric disorder is a disaster waiting to happen.

Why is it so scary and potentially evil? First off, follow the money. Big private equity money is being put into the big data mining startups. This encourages the exuberant “fake it until you make it” hype pumping up future technical potentials and ignoring obvious risks. The main customers for findings of big data analytics will be drug companies, insurance companies, and big healthcare systems—industries that have in common a terrible track record when it comes to choosing greedy profit over patient welfare.

Second, the hype is hype. Screening for psychiatric disorders in the general population has a long and doleful record of inaccuracy, misuse, and misallocation of scarce resources. There is always a huge false positive rate, falsely identifying as mentally ill individuals who have some psychiatric/psychological symptoms, but not at a level of severity or duration to produce clinically significant impairment or to require professional attention.

My nightmare scenario: the worried well will be misidentified as psychiatrically sick and start receiving repetitive pop-ups announcing that their pattern of smart-phone use suggests they may need mental health help. Soon they are flooded with ads promoting therapy apps, treatment centers, and psych medications. An incredible 12% of adults already take psychotropic medication, many without clear indication, often causing more harm than good. Data mining will help dig out an ever-larger pool of people stigmatized by false diagnosis and mistreated by psychotropic over-medication. And meanwhile, services for people with severe mental illness (who desperately do need help) will continue to be shamefully underfunded (because there’s no profit to be gained in treating them).

And finally, data mining digging for psychiatric disorders is an incredible invasion of privacy and a very slippery slope toward a dangerous surveillance state. The idea of an ever-vigilant Big Brother monitoring your every click to determine your state of mind terrifies me and should terrify you.

It is very easy to make diagnostic mistakes, very hard to correct them—and people are often haunted for life by the mislabels they carry. Rather than improving precision, I fear that machine learning will provide a pseudo-precise profusion of mistaken mislabeling. Diagnoses should always be individual, cautious, carefully done, and written in pencil—not based on untried, unregulated, overinclusive, obscenely profitable, computer algorithms.

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

Return on Investment

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

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

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

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

A Crisis of Care

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making Psychotherapy Better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People, Place, & Purpose

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best of Both Worlds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bridging the Divide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reclaiming Our Artistry, One Session at a Time

“Who, me, an artist? But I’m not going to drop an album, release a book, or be in a movie anytime soon.”

Yes, you, an artist! Hear me out before you wave this one away, as did Irvin Yalom when I initially posed the question to him at a Psychotherapy Networker conference. I had asked him if he realized how he had taught so many therapists to be artists like himself, when he quickly demurred that he wasn’t really an artist in the way we usually think of it and in the way he admired so many artists himself. In a subsequent communication, he acknowledged the connection I had attempted to make when I posed the question to him at the conference.

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Wait, master clinician Irvin Yalom doesn’t see himself as an artist, either, at least not in the traditional sense or strict definition of the word, or the way in which I am asking you to consider in this essay? That’s right, even the best therapists out there don’t always appreciate the “artistry” in what they do. Sound familiar?

So many of us fail to see ourselves as artists, and yet it’s also crucial so we remain solidly confident and regularly inspired in our day to day work. And don’t even get me started on how it cushions against the rampant burnout happening on both sides of the couch during this pandemic.

We conduct intakes for a reason. We are implicitly asked all the time to figure out the unique music our clients are playing without even having a score or knowing the key, tempo, or composer. Imagine yourself as a jazz player reading the chord changes, making something interesting and musical out of the sadness, anxiety, fear, pride, and desire all trying to express themselves in your client’s unique pain and possibility.

Isn’t this what we do?

Every day, we summon ourselves like actors into the role of deeply imagining and empathizing what our clients are experiencing and playing it back to them, so they can vary it and try on new roles, so they can have more freedom, fulfillment, and hope.

It’s easy for us to see ourselves as authors, helping clients tell their stories more fully, switching back from present drama to flashbacks and, of course, the future dreams they only wish someone could help them see more clearly. What is it that I really wish to happen, and why, like a dream, can’t I grasp it? We write and revise with and alongside our clients, and it’s about time that we see ourselves as the artists we truly are.

Starting to get convinced? Don’t feel bad, even the high-level musicians I work with at the Manhattan School of Music don’t see themselves as artists, either. In their personal lives, that is. As a culture, we lop off our personal creativity from our artistic creativity and only reserve the term “artist” for a small subsegment of the population: painters, actors, musicians, dancers. But this is a disservice, not only to the general public but even more so to we therapists who need to lead the way, showcasing mental health as the art of living life creatively.

Therapists, like artists, make new forms out of old, familiar ones and, better yet, they take liberties and become subversive with them. Think Bansky. His punny painting Show Me the Monet reimagines and refashions Monet’s iconic Waterlilies strewn with toppled grocery carts and a jarring orange construction-site cone. It’s a tour de force commentary of the ways in which humankind pollutes the environment it wishes to glorify and how we overconsume and lose contact with what is most essential. And yet it also echoes and builds on the work of the masters, paying homage to Monet’s capacity to see the beauty in his world and challenge it with his realism. As therapists, we, too, help our clients to both connect and complicate what is both possible and real in their family stories, relationships, and unfolding selves.

We are neurologically built to be artists, as Pablo Picasso once noted when he suggested that all children start out being artists but merely forget as adults. Our right brain’s capacity for imagination, empathy, metaphor, humor, and dreams is the true maestro, to paraphrase writer Iain McGilchrist, and our left brain, the home of our vaunted logic, language, and linear view of ourselves, is the emissary. Albert Einstein once said, “The intuitive mind is a sacred gift, and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.” Nowhere is this more important and more lacking than in therapists.
We need to reclaim the notion of our work as art and take pride again in the unique music, narrative, and drama that our work produces, and how it changes us, them, and our world, one session at a time.
If not now, when?

Survival Strategies

Survival Strategies

Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die,
we can’t remember who we are or why we’re here.
–SUE MONK KIDD
 

A few years ago, I was giving a presentation about mental illness to a group of schizophrenic clients and their families. My hour-long talk included a description of symptoms, medications, and various forms of available treatment. After I was done with my talk, I took some questions, the group had a brief discussion, and we ended for the evening. As I was putting away my notes, one client came up, vigorously shook my hand, and said, “Good job, Doc. You’re just a suppository of information!” He then spun on his heels and left.

At first, I thought this might be a loose association. Then I began to suspect that he was telling me where I could put my “expertise” concerning his illness. Regardless of his true intent, whenever I begin to take myself too seriously, remembering that I am a suppository of information helps me to put things into perspective.

We do serious work. At times it can overwhelm us. Too often we are left to discover the risks and pitfalls of the profession on our own. Therefore, it is helpful to begin training with some strategies to increase our chances of having long and enjoyable careers. Following are a few “survival strategies” that I have found to be particularly helpful.

Don’t Panic in the Face of the Pathology

When I reflect on my past experiences, the clinical situations that have most challenged my ability to remain calm and centered have involved the following:

  • Suicidal threats and behaviors
  • Self-mutilation
  • Child sexual or physical abuse
  • The reporting of traumatic experiences
  • Dealing with a client’s sexual interests and/or advances
  • Bizarre psychotic beliefs

If you are facing any of these, you need to remember survival strategy Number One: Don’t panic! A competent clinician remains competent in the face of these kinds of challenges. Anxiety is the enemy of rational problem solving, and panic leads even experienced clinicians to operate from survival reflexes instead of therapeutic knowledge.

Clients with painful experiences and frightening symptoms are accustomed to living in a world where others avoid and reject them. Our ability to remain empathically connected to them through the expression of their suffering sets the stage for therapy to be a qualitatively different relationship experience—?one where they are accepted, pain and all. Whether they are telling stories of their traumas or acting out their struggles in the therapeutic relationship, remaining centered, attentive, and connected is the foundation of our ability to provide a healing relationship.

Another reason not to panic is more subtle and more profound. Victims of trauma and abuse often find that sharing their experiences is extremely upsetting to listeners, so much so that they end up having to take care of the very people who are supposed to be taking care of them. Many victims report that others can’t tolerate knowing what they have been through and, sadly, this is often true. Victims learn to edit or silence themselves to avoid upsetting others, being rejected, and having to cope with the emotional reaction their victimization engenders. Not telling their story is the most untherapeutic outcome possible. By not panicking, you allow your clients to share their painful experiences, which frees them from slipping into the familiar but untherapeutic caretaker role.

One of my first clients was a young man named Shaun. He had a flair for the dramatic and would stride around the consulting room making grand gesticulations while wrapping his problems in eloquent words. On one occasion, he threw open the window and sat on the sill. He took the cord from the blinds, performed some clever knot making, and came up with a perfect hangman’s noose. He dangled the noose from his hand, swinging it back and forth like an executioner. Every so often he would look over to check out my reaction to his nonverbal communication. Alternately, he would lean out the third-?story window to the point where most of his torso hung outside.

This was my first clinical panic. I thought, “Oh, great, I’m going to be known as the intern with the client who jumped out the window during a session. There will probably be a famous lawsuit with my name on it. How will that look in my evaluations?!” Each time his head disappeared out the window, I turned around to look at the one-?way mirror, behind which my supervisor and other students were observing the session. With the expressiveness of a tragic opera character, I mouthed the word “help!”

In his wisdom, my supervisor chose not to intervene, and Shaun, fortunately, never jumped out the window. I later came to realize that Shaun was testing my ability to cope with his behaviors; he knew he was a handful. He wanted to see if I had the courage and centeredness to remain calm and stick with him in ways that his family and friends could not.

Over the years, I have had to deal with clients showing up at my door with gashes in their wrists, fathers threatening violence because I reported them for abusing their children, and tales of the most depraved human behaviors (the latter while working with victims of political torture and sadistic child abuse). Clients have had seizures, gone into diabetic comas, and experienced long and painful flashbacks during sessions. Although I haven’t always known the best thing to do, I always remember survival strategy Number One – – don’t panic. If I don’t panic, I can think about what is happening and what I can do.

Experience counts. The more you deal with situations like this, the easier it is to stay calm. Part of this is developing a “memory for the future” – – ?meaning that, over time, we become accustomed to facing frightening and dangerous situations, which are followed by conscious problem solving and good outcomes. Repetitive experiences like this form an emotional memory that we have access to in crisis situations and that reminds us that things will work out.

In addition to a growing sense of confidence, it also helps to have crisis – situation action plans prepared in advance. For example:

  • Early in supervision, discuss with your supervisor, in detail, what you should do in case of various emergencies such as when a client is a danger to himself or others.
  • Put emergency phone numbers, including your supervisor’s, on speed dial.
  • Schedule potentially problematic or dangerous clients for times when your supervisor or other backup professionals are present.
  • Alert others around you when you are meeting with a client who makes you uneasy so that they are on alert and can serve as backup if needed.
  • Pay attention to your subtle feelings and instincts about a client and discuss them in supervision

Expect the Unexpected

Never underestimate the value of preparation in being able to successfully deal with crises and problem situations. This leads to survival strategy Number Two: Expect the unexpected. When extreme situations do arise, keep some of the following principles in mind:

  • Don’t catastrophize. A client’s strong emotions such as angry outbursts and uncontrollable sobbing tend to shift in a matter of a minute or two.
  • Maintain boundaries. If a client has a feeling, it does not mean you also have to have it.
  • Stay centered. If you sit calmly, it will provide a sense of safety and calm to your client.
  • Provide structure. When a client is emotionally out of control, it is often helpful to provide gentle but firm instructions, such as “I think it would be helpful if you would sit down and focus on your breathing – – let’s do it together.”
  • Provide hope. While understanding your client’s feelings, also remind him or her that things will get better. Many clients find hope in the fact that you have helped others with problems similar to theirs. Tell them stories of clients similar to them who had positive outcomes.
  • Discuss strengths and resources. It is easy to forget our strengths, resources, and accomplishment when in a crisis. Taking a couple of minutes to discuss these at the end of a difficult session not only provides hope but also yields clues for additional interventions, such as the reestablishment of relationships and activities that have been forgotten during difficult periods.

I received a call on a Sunday morning with a request that I meet a young girl for an emergency consultation that afternoon. When I arrived at my office, I found Sandy slumped down in a chair, looking half asleep and half in shock. She looked so emaciated, her color so bad, that I felt immediate concern for her physical health. Once in my office she told me in an emotionless tone that she thought that she had been raped the night before in a parking lot outside of a nightclub. She was home for a week from her East Coast prep school and had gone out dancing with some friends. As was her habit, she had drunk to the point of unconsciousness, so she couldn’t recall whether the sex she had was consensual or not.

Sandy’s words flowed like water from a cracking dam; she wanted and needed to tell me everything on her mind and in her heart. She described a long history of bulimia, cocaine use, binge drinking, a number of serious automobile accidents, failing grades at school, and her victimization at the hands of numerous boyfriends. Sandy also told me of her loveless childhood and her parents’ sending her off to boarding schools from a very young age. She spoke for almost 90 minutes and I didn’t interrupt because I sensed her need to finally share all of her pain with someone who might be able to help.

Sandy said that she had “half a dozen” problems, many diagnoses, needed to be in several support groups, and felt that there was no hope for her. What had happened to her the night before wasn’t atypical for her; what was different was her feeling of hopelessness and thoughts of suicide. After this, she became silent, glanced over at me, sat back into the couch, and gave me a look that said, “Okay, your turn.” I was so immersed in her story and so impressed with her emptiness and pain that it took me a while to turn my attention to what I would say.

Sandy’s life clearly felt out of control. What I wanted to do was to take all that she had told me and to present it back to her in a way that demonstrated to her that I had heard what she said, understood the depth of her suffering, and could provide a perspective and plan that would give her hope of having a better life. I thought about all she had told me and came up with some ideas. This is what I told her: “Sandy, although it feels like you have many different problems, it seems to me that you have one core struggle – – the need to feel loved and cared for.” I thought that this might be correct because I could see Sandy’s posture change as the first tears poured from her eyes. “My sense is that although your eating disorder, alcohol and drug use, and bad relationships all seem like different problems, they may all be attempts to cope with the loneliness and anxiety you feel every day. Even your car accidents, where you drive your new car into a tree, may be a way to tell your parents something is wrong. With each accident, instead of hearing your pain, they only have another car delivered to your school.”

Having one central problem as opposed to “half a dozen” made Sandy feel a sense of hope. She took off time from school and I began to work with her and her family around issues of attachment, bonding, parenting, caring, and love. Sandy’s family wasn’t ideal for her, but she needed to learn that many of her parents’ emotional inadequacies were not because she was unlovable but because of their own limitations. They needed to learn that their daughter needed more than money from them and Sandy had to learn a healthier way of asking for what she needed.

Having one central problem as opposed to “half a dozen” made Sandy feel a sense of hope. She took off time from school and I began to work with her and her family around issues of attachment, bonding, parenting, caring, and love. Sandy’s family wasn’t ideal for her, but she needed to learn that many of her parents’ emotional inadequacies were not because she was unlovable but because of their own limitations. They needed to learn that their daughter needed more than money from them and Sandy had to learn a healthier way of asking for what she needed.

Crisis as Communication

As with Sandy, crises are often forms of communication–ways of communicating when words can’t be found or aren’t heeded. Many clients struggle with suicide and there are few clinical situations more difficult to deal with. Suicidal acts, gestures, and ideation make us concerned for our clients and ourselves. We are all told that we have a duty to protect our clients, but what is the best way to do this and still preserve the therapeutic relationship and the client’s confidentiality? These are difficult clinical situations that we learn to cope with but never get easy.

Roberta had been depressed for years. She told me that every few years she would try to kill herself in ways that were fairly lethal. Over the years, Roberta had come to understand that her suicidal actions were desperate attempts to gain the love and attention that she never felt she was given by her parents, siblings, or friends. Although it was clear to me that she wanted to live, I was concerned that she would someday miscalculate these calls for help and accidentally kill herself. One afternoon, she came to my office with a clear plan to commit suicide later that evening. As she described her detailed plan of getting a gun, going down into her basement, and setting the stage for her death, I grew more and more frightened. Her description was so detailed, I could vividly picture every stage of the process. I raced through options in my mind: barring her from leaving my office, calling the police, taking her to a hospital, and so on. I tried not to panic, stay calm, and think through the logistics, complications, and risks of these options. All of the interventions that came to mind had been done by Roberta’s previous therapists and had led to her ending each relationship. Was there something else I could do?

Still struggling to remain calm, I asked Roberta what she hoped to accomplish by attempting suicide. As she spoke, it became clear that she wanted her brother to know how alone and hurt she felt. She wanted him to feel guilty for not paying better attention to her. This soon flowed into a discussion of her wanting me to know these things about her inner experience and my empathic shortcomings. Roberta somehow felt that a suicide attempt was the only way she could make me understand the intensity of her pain.

By the end of the session, I had somehow assured her that I understood the depth of her suffering and why she would commit suicide, but that a suicide attempt (as a form of communication) would be redundant to what I already knew. I also assured her that I wanted our relationship to continue and that her past hospitalizations always resulted in so much shame that she discontinued her work with her therapist. Roberta and I made a standard suicide contract and scheduled extra meetings to help her through this difficult time. For me, the most important aspect of this session was my ability to avoid panicking, remember my training, stay in the role of a therapist, and hang in there with Roberta’s experience.

Don’t Try to Reason with an Irrational Person

This is survival strategy Number Three. It will save you hours of wasted energy and keep you from missing the important emotional realities behind much irrational behavior. Although we can generally rely on reason to aid us in finding solutions to complex problems, it doesn’t always work. Some people have such a firm image of what is true that they cannot be swayed by reason. The emotional circuits of the brain are easily capable of inhibiting or overriding rational thought; some clients only see things that fall in line with their prejudices and beliefs. Those fighting with God on their side seldom stop to think about the god leading their enemies into battle.

For a number of years, I worked in a hospital ward with actively psychotic individuals. I saw clients in both individual and group therapy and participated in many ward activities. During a session with a woman named Wanda, I became aware that she believed she was a few months pregnant. In discussion with the nurses, I was assured that this could not possibly be the case and that Wanda was suffering from a delusional belief. It made no difference that the nurses had told this to Wanda; she remained steadfast in her belief that she would soon be a mother.

To complicate things even more, during one of our sessions, Wanda revealed to me that she was pregnant with a cat! I liked cats, but this one caught me by surprise – – I still hadn’t learned to expect the unexpected–and I decided that I definitely needed to do something. I suggested that she bring this belief up in group therapy later that day, assuming that when the other group members heard her story, they would help Wanda to realize the impossibility of her belief.

Based on my suggestion, she waited her turn in group and made her joyous announcement. Although there were some doubters at first, by the end of the hour Wanda had convinced the group that it was possible for a woman to become pregnant by a male cat if the conditions were right. Amazed and impressed by her skills of persuasion, I nevertheless refused to give up my reality campaign. After the group meeting, I asked the nurse to schedule a pregnancy exam so that Wanda could hear from a physician that she was not pregnant. That had to work!

The next week Wanda came back from her pregnancy test just beaming! She told everyone that she had been to the doctor and was happy to announce that her kitten was doing fine. In fact, she had even spotted a few whiskers during the pelvic exam. The group began planning a kitten shower and, under some pressure, I agreed to contribute a litter box. The nurses cried with laughter when I told them about the kitten shower my group was planning for Wanda. They had learned long ago not to argue with Wanda’s delusional beliefs. Apparently, I was not the first intern who had tried to get her to engage in “reality testing.” Wearing a sympathetic smile, one of the nurses suggested that I might have bumped up against the limits of psychotherapy.

We run into irrational beliefs all the time. The chronic alcoholic client will insist he can drink in moderation; the emaciated anorectic client will adamantly claim to be obese. Rather than feeling compelled to impose your reality, sit back and discover what the world looks like through their eyes. Be patient and understanding. As most people go through the process of therapy, they steadily reevaluate their beliefs with gentle, strategic, and well-timed doses of reality. As Wanda demonstrated, “in your face” reality testing doesn’t always work. Even very delusional clients often realize that their reality differs from yours. Your empathic availability may do more to bring them to consensual reality than any rational argument, and it will protect you from feelings of frustration that may be counterproductive.

Instead of trying to impose my reality on Wanda, I needed to learn that, despite her mental illness, she desired to be loving and nurturant. Wanda was coping with other realities – – separation from her family, getting older, and never having children of her own. Her needs to nurture and be fulfilled as a woman were the eventual foci of therapy, as they should have been from the beginning. She needed to take her medication on a regular basis, so she could be home with her family, and her family needed to know how to care for her illness. Perhaps now I would have started therapy by going to the animal shelter and getting Wanda a kitten.

Don’t Forget a Client’s Strengths

After you’ve spent years in classes focusing on abnormal psychology, diagnosis, and treatment, it is easy to see pathology in every action and behavior. But, as Freud suggested, not every cigar is a phallic symbol. Because people are coming to therapy for their problems, it is easy for both client and therapist to get tunnel vision and forget to see the positive aspects of their lives. If your client has struggled with anxiety, depression, or trauma for a long period of time, they may have lost sight of the people, accomplishments, and good things in their life.

In your quest to diagnose and treat pathology, remember that every client possesses at least one strength. Whether that strength is a musical talent, the love of a pet, or a burning passion to ride motorcycles, it may boost self-esteem or motivate change. A desire to see lions in their natural habitat–or to show up a high school counselor who said they would never amount to anything-can be used as leverage to take on new challenges and inspire new behaviors.

Describing resources and strengths may help to put the problems you plan to focus on in perspective. Keep in mind, however, that this needs to be done with great care. You run the risk of having your client think that you are not taking their problems seriously and that you want to avoid their negative feelings. They may actually have a point if, based on your discomfort with their troubles, you try to steer the therapy in a way that communicates to them “just look at the bright side” or “keep a stiff upper lip.” With this caution in mind, try to balance your attention to “problems” with attention to “strengths.”

I have been pleasantly surprised on a number of occasions at the positive results I’ve gained from encouraging (and sometimes even harassing) clients into describing their strengths. I’ve found that encouraging clients to review their past accomplishments, positive relationships, interests, hobbies, and passions will actually lift their spirits. Having them reconnect with activities of interest as soon as possible in the process of therapy can also enhance their receptivity to what is focused on during sessions. When people feel sad and guilty, they often deprive themselves of positive experiences. If you prescribe these as part of the therapy, they may feel less guilty about doing them and rationalize their enjoyment as “doctor’s orders.”

Attending to Attachment in the Treatment of Incarcerated Women

It was a sunny August day when I took a brisk walk across campus to get to the part of the facility that housed the incarcerated women with whom I would soon be working. I remember feeling fully ready for this new endeavor and eager to have a new clinical experience. As I entered the facility, waiting to be buzzed in through the double locked and heavily-reinforced doors, I immediately noticed how bustling the unit was. Looking around, I saw women hustling to their textile-industry jobs, rushing to their various group rooms, meeting for education classes, and heading outdoors to play volleyball. Taking in all of these varied activities, I became poignantly aware of one of the obvious similarities among the residents—most of these incarcerated women were of child-bearing age.

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In my clinical experience with incarcerated men, I have worked with some invested fathers, but the theme around children has tended to be less pronounced than it has been when working with their female counterparts. With the women, I conducted more grief and loss groups than I ever had before, with waitlists that never seemed to get any shorter. In those groups, I became immersed in the nuances of the lives that lead women to lose their parental rights. My heart broke for these women who found themselves in the position where they were perpetuating family traumas despite their best efforts not to.

Jillian, I will call her, was a woman similar in age to myself, whom I worked with up until her release. She and her child’s father both struggled with substance use, having been consumed by the nation’s opioid epidemic. Jillian came from an impoverished family in a rural area that was severely under-resourced, often having to make the decision between paying the electric bill or being able to afford prescription medications. Jillian was very candid that she used illicit drugs, but that she was drawn to selling them because doing so was a direct road to fast money, which in turn allowed her to provide for her daughter in a way that she had not been provided for herself. Jillian and I would meet weekly in sessions that almost always focused on her daughter. She was fortunate enough to have her daughter reside with a family member rather than lose custody of her, but in essence, she was one fragile relationship away from losing that precious custody, and that weighed on her like a boulder. I remember one conversation in which Jillian shared, “I’m so worried about my mother. She doesn’t have enough money for gas, her prescriptions, and the heating bill. If she doesn’t get her prescriptions, she will get sick and could end up not being able to take care of my daughter. If she goes to get the prescriptions, she won’t have money for both that and the gas to get there.”

Jillian is but one representation of the near-constant fear that incarcerated mothers experience. If they have a sentence longer than 15 months, it is completely likely their parental rights will be terminated, and most sentences for drug offenses, which are often non-violent crimes, typically carry more than 15 months. Pair this with the glacially slow legal system which leaves women like Jillian in limbo, waiting for their sentences to be assigned all the while knowing the custody of their children is at risk.

If you are both a therapist and parent, the following is likely not difficult to appreciate. In my clinical experience, mothers who lose custody of their children are at risk to reoffend because they lose what is very often their entire sense of purpose. Oftentimes, although women such as Jillian use and sell drugs—which is obviously an unsafe atmosphere in which to raise children—they engage in far less risky behavior than if they were childless. Not uncommonly, the women with whom I have worked in correctional custody have been victims of human trafficking, sometimes even prostituted by their own family members while adolescents. Many of them grew up in poverty, having experienced horrific abuse, multiple pregnancies, school dropout, addiction, and the absence of their own parents, who were often imprisoned.

To highlight the dark hues of this already bleak picture, I remember a client I will call Mary-Beth, who took a five-year sentence rather than accepting probation so that she would have a chance of being able to spend some quantum of time with her mother, who was also incarcerated and would be released within nine months. Mary-Beth had her own daughter at home, but this did not waive her choice to take a prison bid over probation, because she was that entrenched in trying to have an interaction with her mother.

It has been relatively easy for me to see how the patterns of familial and often multigenerational trauma have played out in Mary-Beth’s life, and the lives of other women who have desperately tried to salvage their parental identities and bonds while behind bars. Had Mary-Beth not spent her childhood chasing her mother out of bars, waiting in cars in the dark while her mother turned tricks, or watching her use substances in between prison bids, Mary-Beth might have been able to develop an identity grounded in secure attachment that could have protected her from imprisonment and resulted in a tangible, rather than ephemeral, relationship with her own child. Now as a young woman, she is perpetuating the same scenario she experienced in the past with her own daughter, which inescapably manifests in pathology around abandonment and paves a direct route to addiction high-risk relationships and self-destruction in seemingly futile attempts to fill the void left by disrupted attachments.

***

I learned more than I ever would have thought possible from this clinical work with incarcerated women and mothers. Whenever possible, I work on parenting skills and psychoeducation around attachment theory with these clients so that together, we prioritize maternal and self-care skills they can utilize upon release. The additional work of helping promote mother-child bonds, even from behind bars, is critical in helping them break the vicious cycles that will inevitably undermine the attachment security of future generations. The last I heard, Jillian had completed her probation, maintained a job in the community, and was upholding her parenting responsibilities. She seems to be one of the lucky ones, and the implications for her daughter will hopefully be tenfold. The next chapter in Mary-Beth’s story is yet to be written.

Encouraging Clients to be Preventative

Stephen Covey, author of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, said in his book, 

Look at the word responsibility—“response-ability”—the ability to choose your response. Highly proactive people recognize that responsibility. They do not blame circumstances, conditions, or conditioning for their behavior. Their behavior is a product of their own conscious choice, based on values, rather than a product of their conditions, based on feeling.

Covey is not a psychotherapist, but as a therapist I find it beneficial to take a page out of his playbook. I encourage clients to assume a proactive stance when it comes to the challenges they may face in life. I do this in a sober-minded manner, not sugarcoating the fact that they will indeed face hardships. In my own practice, I’ve found that upon hearing this uncomfortable message, clients find hearing the truth spoken ennobling, even if it hurts. Clients bring an abundance of untapped strength, fortitude, and resilience, which can be accessed and drawn forth in therapy, a fact that motivates me to candidly share with clients that problems only get worse when ignored. My goal is not to be obvious or annoying, but to lovingly embody the role Socrates played, to be the gadfly in the ointment; to assume the role no one wants to play, the bearer of bad, but truthful, news.

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Out of a sense of compassion, I ask my clients to directly face those ignorable “what-ifs.” In the absence of a plan, in the absence of daily health-promoting routines and rituals, what will happen if a client misses too many days of work? What will happen when a client’s spouse finds them drunk again? What will happen when a client forgets to pick their kid up at school once again? What will happen if a client consistently shrugs off opportunities to support their closest friends? Clients may rationalize and answer that yes, they are prepared to face certain contingencies. But when a problem is up close and personal, I’ve witnessed client after client ignore and avoid problems at all costs. Why do clients do this? Despite my best efforts, clients manage to play out the same pattern of avoidance, over and over again. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that clients are scared. To admit their marriage is struggling, to acknowledge their addiction is out of hand, to recognize their imperfect parenting, to confess their social shyness is causing isolation and loneliness, is truly terrifying. Facing a problem comes with the necessity of change, so, it’s easier to pretend like the problem isn’t there. I see this fear manifest in clients in one way or another, but I see it most clearly with couples.

In my experience based on the clients with whom I’ve worked, and in discussion with colleagues, couples tend to engage counseling services six years after the problem has been going on. Six years! That’s a long time to live with a problem. That kind of time allows resentment, bitterness, and hurt to accumulate to the point of no return. Neurologically speaking, allowing a problem to go on like that creates reinforced neural pathways that are hard to rewire. Relationally speaking, permitting a harmful relational pattern to persist unabated leads to irrevocable harm to intimacy, trust, and communication. So what’s the solution? How can I navigate this and motivate my clients to nip a problem in the bud? My way of approaching this issue is to encourage clients to be preventative, to seek a solution when the problem is in its infancy.

For example, couples who proactively work towards solutions before problems have reared their ugly heads make a commitment to attend maintenance sessions with a therapist once every few years or sooner. They do this habitually not because of a crisis, but because they want to make sure they are on the right track. That’s the ideal scenario, but not every client is at that stage. To get my clients thinking along these lines, I ask clients to take a moment and reflect on the fact that they see a dentist every six months for a cleaning. Why should they attend these appointments if they aren’t experiencing any dental problems? If you don’t have a toothache, why go? I usually get a range of answers, but the theme is usually prevention. It takes little effort to understand the benefit of preventing physical issues, but this logic fails to map onto mental health. So I gently nudge my clients to consider the logical contradiction, asking them to be consistent and apply the same logic to mental, emotional, and relational issues.

The alternative to being proactive is being reactive, I explain to clients. Reactivity, as I have observed over the past several years of doing clinical work, is defined as jumping to conclusions, being on the defense, only seeking solutions when problems are reeling out of control. In other words, it’s a bad strategy that doesn’t work, and it’s no way to live your life. I make the case to clients that if they are being reactive, they are only adding to the problem instead of working towards a solution; reactivity compounds problems. It is so much easier to fix a problem before it starts or in its infancy, instead of when it’s lingered, done damage, and been compounded by time and resentment.

I remember working with a mother and son who lived in a small apartment in the rough part of town. Their relationship could be defined as challenging. Mom fought the urge to not feel disappointed, but she felt like everything her son did made her mad. She was angry at him for getting poor grades, hanging out with the wrong crowd, playing too many video games, and getting into fights at school. She found that it was easier to be mad at him than to look at her own behavior and examine the reasons why their relationship had gotten so rocky. Keeping the focus on him kept the focus off her. Deep down, she was terrified to look in the mirror and acknowledge how her past and present actions had affected her son. I cautioned her that if things didn’t change between them, his behavior would likely worsen. I made the case that she had to come to the table and work on herself and the relationship before having any expectation of seeing him shape up. Despite my urging and pleading, I couldn’t convince her to let go of the blame and evaluate her behavior. Over time, the strain on their relationship grew too strong. He decided to move out of his mother’s apartment, drop out of high school and live with a friend whom she felt like was a bad influence. The day he left, they didn’t even say goodbye to each other.

***

So I urge you to encourage your clients to avoid living a life of reactivity and instead, to adopt a proactive, solution-seeking, adaptive, contingency-based, response-ability mindset towards current and future problems. You will find that when they do, they will be happy, and you will feel gratified.

Excerpt from: The 7 habits of highly effective people: Powerful lessons in personal change (25th Anniversary Edition). Rosetta Books.

Healing Wounded Images of Self and God

Carl Jung famously reflected that many of his older patients suffered due to disconnection from religion and sought to find or re-establish a spiritual outlook in later life.

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Grace was 103 years old and living in a rest home. She was referred to me for psychotherapy for possible depression. “You know what it’s like to be 103,” Grace said.

“You’ll have to tell me what it’s like,” I responded.

“I don’t know if I’m depressed or not, I just can no longer do all the things I love. I love to read but my eyes are bad, and my fingers can’t hold a book or turn the page,” she said and held up her fingers gnarled by arthritis. “I always did needlework, knitting and crocheting, but look, I can’t do that anymore.” Using her walker to get to the bathroom was a slow and painful excursion for Grace because of her arthritis.

“I do have something I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy,” Grace said. “I have a vision, it’s the same thing over and over, and it’s not a dream—it happens when I’m awake, like this, sitting up in bed. There is an old man standing in my door, and he slowly shuffles to the foot of the bed, and in a deep voice that sounds like it’s coming from under the earth, he says, ‘We have to get together in the midst of this pain and work it out.’ Well, this same thing keeps happening again and again,” Grace explained.

Grace had earlier referred to her history of religious faith and her current questions. I inquired further about her beliefs and doubts. She had always been a person of faith, yet now she felt inadequate and unlovable because she could no longer be the active and productive person she had previously been. We explored what the visionary experience might mean for her if she considered it in light of that cluster of feelings and thoughts. Perhaps she might come to consider that God was mirroring her current pain and asking to be close to her in its midst, and to allow that, rather than judging and dismissing her worth. This might be the solution to her troubles. With that understanding she suggested, “I think I’ll be okay now, Tom, I don’t have to think I’m no good just because I’m not like I used to be.”

Larry was 74-year-old who had spent the last three years in a nursing home. He was nearing the end of his life and was dreading it. He was born with a deformed hand. He said his father had been alcoholic and abusive. Larry both loved and hated his father. During nearly every psychotherapy session, he made comments about hating God. If his earthly father had been so cruel, how could he trust a heavenly father? Psychologically, he could partly hold onto the affectionate side of his father-conflict by projecting the hurtful side upward.

“But I did see the light one time, Tom,” he said. Larry had been scuba diving, doing restoration work beneath a large ship—and he became stuck, ran out of oxygen, and knew he was about to die. “Suddenly there was a beautiful light all around, and I had never felt better in all my life, and I was loose, and I came to the top.”

“Did that change any of your thoughts about God,” I wondered?

“Aw, no, I still hated God; but I did see the light two more times.” Larry went on to describe two additional near-death experiences, with bright light and peaceful feelings—but he was not able to consciously draw comfort from those experiences as he neared the end of life.

Chris was a 64-year-old resident in a nursing facility, and in one therapy session shared an essay he’d written about mental illness and religious faith. “In our struggle with schizophrenia, we have much to contend with. The many highs and lows, confusions and crises in the life of a schizophrenic. We try medication, psychiatrists, and the like. These work to a degree, but are not something that sustains you or makes you stable. God is good for the mentally ill. The only concern is we have to be careful not to confuse spirituality with our mental illness. Mental illness makes it difficult to believe in God. We are so confused and not sure what to believe anyway with hallucinations and such. God is aware of this and He knows the plight of the mentally ill.”

Ah, but there’s the rub—how to distinguish mental illness from spirituality? Certainly, some persons with a mental illness do confuse the two. So what might be characteristics of a wholesome religious outlook versus psychopathological distortions? The unhelpful and pathological elements may be characterized by fear, anxiety, avoidance, grandiosity, aggression, subjective idiosyncrasy, irrationality, and hatred. Whereas productive and encouraging spiritual viewpoints might include humility, patience, peace, insight, fortitude, and may be conventional, doctrinal, rational, and foster love.

***

I have worked with many thousands of clients over my 40-year career, the great number of whom have passed away. For many of these clients, facing death was always more distressing for those lacking a religious outlook. Many of them, as well as my current clients of all adult ages, have also struggled to endure disability, and/or chronic pain, or past trauma, and sometimes profound loneliness. When asked how they survive, and where they find encouragement, the common response has been—“God.” It has been quite rare for someone to disavow all questions of religious faith; more commonly, these individuals struggle with unexamined doubts and spiritual conflicts associated with past relationship issues. We often hear the phrase “the fog of war,” referring to the challenge of sustaining clarity during moments of danger and chaos. Many of my clients encounter a fog of faith as they grapple with spiritual doubts made worse by illness and isolation.

The unanswered questions and doubts are invariably present and may be withheld if I don’t notice or respond to their indirect emergence. I find that I can aid the conflicted client in their quest for new perspective, for a renewed outlook that might offer them meaning and hope. Faith was regained for Grace when she humbly allowed God’s comfort to overtake her fears of being unlovable due to infirmity. Dozens of my clients have reported near-death experiences, and all of them described spiritual comfort and a dissolution of their fears of dying; all, that is, except for Larry, who had been wounded too deeply and too early in life. Chris had a major mental illness, but also a vibrant religious faith and the wisdom to understand the need to keep each as distinct as possible.

In psychotherapy with these clients, I have followed the lead of the spiritual symptoms, signals, questions, and comments, and helped them to sort through possible distortions in order to create space for a life-affirming and personality-broadening outlook on our shared existential challenges regarding illness, aging, and death.
 

Psychotherapists Do Not Cry Here: Hope During the War in Ukraine

Alina

Over the last few days, she has slept and eaten very little. She advises her audience to see the bright side of everything. “I just discovered that I have cheekbones,” she says with a sense of unanticipated pleasure. Her voice is otherwise quiet and calm, with slow, thoughtful tones that strike a peaceful chord in me and no doubt the rest of her audience, like a friendly and familiar echo. Her name is Alina, and she is a fellow psychotherapist who works in Ukraine. Though her face reveals neither panic nor despair, there is something more profound and deep about her that hints at fatigue and sorrow, but also of hope.

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Alina webcasts live every day in order to support her people. To support those who need to be in the presence of a kind and compassionate face in the midst of pitch-black darkness. You can almost feel the touch of her cold hands, which she desperately tries to warm by clutching a mug of hot tea. “You need to drink a lot of water, friends, it helps to fight against the stress,” she says, while at the same time listening to the sounds of regular explosions, whose proximity she tries to determine in order to decide whether to rush to the nearest shelter. In her webcast, Alina is “ready to take tender care” of any suffering soul, regardless of nationality or current place of residence. “Please just don’t swear in the chat. Everyone is suffering right now. I understand all of you, but please let’s love and take care of each other,” she says so gently, as if she is gently stroking each one in her audience.

Mikhail

“I don't know what to talk about…,” Mikhail, my own client, says after a long pause. And along with the words, tears that were just moments before frozen within him melt and cascade freely. Yet he cries in complete silence. His face is twisted by pain and horror. But I can see by the position of his neck, shoulders, and arms that something inside of him has been released, opening a space which later may be filled with something other than those tormenting feelings. Three days ago, he found out that his only son had died in Kharkov. From that day, he has known nothing of the simple comforts of sleeping, eating, or any other “normal” part of his previous life. He only knows that his child was killed. “He… was… ki-i-i-illed… killed…” Again, a speechless yet deafening grief which starts my own hands trembling, so I hide them away from the screen. “What would I do if Mikhail was actually sitting right in front of me?” a thorny voice echoes from deep within me. Mikhail blames himself. It was he who left his child in Kharkov several years ago when he moved to Moscow for work. It was he, the father who could not protect his son. It was he who did not die in place of his son.

Long before I became a therapist, my own great-grandmother told me how she had survived the orphanage, World War II, the evacuations, tuberculosis, breast cancer, and her only husband by 50 years. She was the most cheerful and resilient person I have ever known. She always had something to tell me, something to share. However, she almost never talked about the war, only briefly mentioning it. Whenever I cried over some trifle, she would look at me in surprise with her gentle blue eyes and admonish: “Why are you crying? Has a war begun? No. No reason to cry, then, right?” “Okay,” I remember thinking at the age of seven, “should the war start, I’ll cry then to my heart’s content.” That calmed me.

Now I can't cry. During the worst of my life’s upheavals, I have never cried. This has helped in my work. Who needs a tear-stained psychotherapist?

Alina

While Alina's voice sounds more subdued over the following days, there is an increasing power in it. She sniffles but does not cry. Maybe it’s just a cold. Alina will not leave her homeland. Ukraine is her home, this is where her family is with whom she will stay to the end, and “this is not a subject for debate.” Alina promises to go live whenever possible. This is how she chooses to create, or perhaps re-create, the world around her. And there are more and more participants with each of her webcasts, which means the boundaries of her world are getting wider, rather than smaller. This is her contribution, her mission. Over the ensuing days, it seems harder for her to choose words, but they are becoming more precise, and her message is becoming clearer. “Take care of your loved ones, hug them, take care of yourself.” It is amazing how much sense shapes these simple messages. “Do your everyday routine, physical exercise, drink herbal teas.” During one of the live chats, someone asks, “Do you drink tea with or without sugar?” Alina replies, “I drink mine without sugar.” Suddenly, her eyes widen and twinkle as she says, “You know, the most delicious tea is served in trains! There it is served with sugar and lemon. I normally don’t drink tea with sugar, but I just love that one they serve on the trains! You are traveling somewhere far, far away with your tea in tea cup holders…” It is not only the Ukrainian audience that is warmed by the cordial human flame that is Alina. This flame spreads well beyond her Ukrainian audience. By the end of the nearly two-hour webcast, someone who is not from Ukraine suddenly calls in and says, “It is we who should support you, not the other way around.” Alina shrugs it off and sends air kisses.

Mikhail

Again, Mikhail doesn't know what to say. The pauses are the longest we’ve had in our sessions. I hear my heart pounding in anticipation of what he will say. Even through the screen, I seem to be able to hear his heart as well. I follow his chest as he slowly but rhythmically draws in and then out. It seems labored and pained. I know from our work together that he needs a doctor and medicine. But right now, he is here. And I'm here with him. I feel the urgency of helping right here and right now. “And you are,” an inner voice confirms that I am, indeed, already helping. Although I am a cognitive behavioral therapist as a last resort in the most difficult situations, I reach far up my sleeve now and pull out what I believe will be the most useful therapeutic offerings—trance techniques, light hypnosis. Slowly and carefully, I calibrate my voice and tone. I follow his facial expressions, his posture. It is as if I am conducting open-heart surgery. He starts following me. Or perhaps it only seems so to me? No, he is definitely following, his eyes are closed, his lower jaw has slightly slipped down. Good. We go ahead.

That 60-minute session with Mikhail seems to last for weeks. Towards its end, I ask him about his feelings or whether he has anything he wants to say. “When I closed my eyes, I saw his face so clearly, as if he was standing in front of me. I was asking for forgiveness; asking again and again.” At that very moment, Mikhail’s face falls below the sweep of the camera, and he quietly slips away from view. My hands shake, but this time, there is nobody to hide them from. After an instant, I see Mikhail's face again on my screen. He says, “…and you know what? He forgave me, my son forgave me.”

Alina

Alina did not go live today. In the chat, she hurried once again to calm everyone in her audience. “Don't worry, my friends, the connection is acting up. But know this! I believe we will all meet in person in some wonderful place and hug each other.”

Russian Shame

The Russian invasion of Ukraine muted me for several days. Shame has a powerful silencing capacity. The words with which to talk about this war come to me in English and not in Russian, my mother tongue.

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I spent the first weekend after the Russian invasion of Ukraine with two Russian friends (things are not that straightforward, one is actually better described as an American Jew and the other as a half-Ukrainian, half-Russian living in France) and one of their children. Their car still has Russian plates, and as they stopped to refuel, an Eastern European truck driver approached them to insult them for being “Russian murderers.” They had to rush away, mostly to avoid scaring the children any further.

As he recounted the incident, my friend was hiding his eyes; his shame was palpable. His pain resonated with me, amplifying my own. Walking in silence on the windy Normandy beach, we looked at the reddish sunset, which evoked for us the cruel bloodshed taking place in Ukraine. In the evening, with a glass of wine around the fireplace, we talked. Before leaving, one of them went out in the night to put white tape above the small Russian flag on his plates. His hands were shaking as he came back.

“Dogili—this is what we have come to,” he kept repeating, his whispering sounding like sobbing.

His young son was incredulous, confused about his father’s meddling with the car plates. He did his best to explain, avoiding his son’s inquisitive eyes.

“I am terrified about him being bullied at school,” he whispered.

When my friends left to return to their lives, shattered by the consequences of this pointless war, the house felt empty. In the silence, the question of the highest dramatic order resounded within me with a sense of great urgency: Who am I in relation to these events?

Even though I left Russia more than two decades ago, in the eclectic construction of my emigrant self, the ‘Russian me’ has been a structural and defining element. Even if other multiple self-narratives have developed over time, sometimes taking precedence over the original simpler version—the ‘me-therapist,’ the ‘me-mother,’ the ‘me-French,’ etc.… Today this foundation pillar of my identity has been undermined, sending my whole self into turmoil.

This is not the first time I have not exactly been proud to be Russian. My original place, like an abusive parent, keeps rocking my sense of self-worth, constantly tainting it with shame.

As a therapist, I do know that the emotional axis of shame and pride is central to the human psyche. I also guess that one of the secrets of Putin’s political success and longevity has been his promise to restore the greatness of Russia, give a sense of national and perhaps personal pride back to Russians—a pride of belonging to a great place. Rebuilding an empire is the easiest narrative trick that a politician can perform- to create and then dangle this alluring psychological carrot before the masses.

The days that followed the beginning of the war sent waves of shock through my life and my therapy practice. Some of my clients are Russian, and they are in disbelief. Some of them have been to street protests, some have just sat in their kitchens until the grayish Moscow morning, drinking and talking with their friends, sharing their confusion, their fear, but mostly trying to cope with their shame.

With their lives wrecked by the dirty war initiated by their motherland, they are wrestling with the immediate questions of survival, not only pragmatic but also psychological.

They will find different ways to cope with their humiliation. Some are leaving Russia in a desperate attempt to escape this feeling. Creating enough geographical distance can alleviate shame temporarily, but it never quite does the trick of entirely canceling it. The shame we were made to feel by our parents has the lingering power to transcend time and space and forever undermine our self-worth. This is what many of my emigrant clients wrestle with.

Russia will remain the pariah of the West and the world for the foreseeable future. We, the Russians living inside and outside of the country, will have to bear the shame of this situation for years to come. We can do very little to turn down the volume of this feeling, no matter how many Ukrainian flags we display on our social media feeds or either publicly or privately in our daily lives.

We will have to learn how to live with this shame, and if we listen to it carefully, we may gain a chance to do better, to learn from the terrible mistake of giving power to a monster, letting him take over our country, and use our language and our history for personal gratification, propaganda, and war.
 

Corrective Emotional Experience Is the Key to Therapeutic Effectiveness

During my early training in psychotherapy, I was struggling to understand my role and what to say to patients. A wise supervisor introduced me to the term “corrective emotional experience” and said that once I fully understood its implications, my job would seem a whole lot simpler and I’d have much less trouble finding useful things to say to patients. He taught me that the main and unifying goal of all psychotherapies is to help patients have new and better experiences, both in the sessions and also in the rest of their lives. Such experiences could heal wounds from the past, change perceptions and attitudes in the present, and result in healthier behaviors and virtuous cycles in the future. Virtuous cycles are positive mirror images of the negative vicious cycles that so often grease a slippery downward slope for people with emotional problems. A virtuous cycle starts with a small corrective emotional experience which triggers a chain of other desirable experiences in a continuous cycle of improvement. An example would be where someone afraid of socializing screws up the courage to take a tennis lesson and gets invited to a party, which results in a new friendship, which makes it easier to approach other people socially in a variety of other social relationships, which improves job performance, which results in a raise, which increases confidence, and so on. This advice hit home, stuck with me, and has ever since guided all my clinical work and teaching. Corrective emotional experience is, I think, the best way to understand the mechanism of psychotherapy process and change—and also to integrate the bewildering variety of therapy techniques into one unified and harmonious psychotherapy. The process best explains the process of change as it occurs across all forms of psychotherapy. Sandor Ferenczi introduced this experiential way of viewing psychotherapy change in the 1920s. He was a master clinician who understood and made use of the healing power of the therapeutic relationship. His suggestion, radical at the time, was that emotional experiences in therapy, not intellectual insights, are the real drivers of change. As his student Sandor Rado would put it much later, “Insight alone never cured anything but ignorance.” It’s fair to say that Ferenczi, not Freud, had the most important influence on psychotherapy as it is practiced today. Freud readily admitted that he found clinical work interesting mostly as a research tool, necessary to build and test his theories of mental functioning, but was much less engaged in the human and healing elements of therapy. His patients were often disappointed, describing Freud as talking too much, too abstractly, and too didactically. In 1946, Franz Alexander (another of Ferenczi’s students) named and concisely defined Ferenczi’s theory of change: “The patient, in order to be helped, must undergo a corrective emotional experience suitable to repair the traumatic influence of previous experiences. It is of secondary importance whether this corrective experience takes place during treatment in the transference relationship, or parallel with the treatment in the daily life of the patient.” In answering the crucial therapy question of how best to promote corrective emotional experiences, the first insight I have is that psychotherapy sessions are not all created equal. Change tends to occur in leaps, not in small steady increments. I have treated some patients intensely for years—with absolutely no discernable progress. In contrast, I have seen many patients for only fifteen minutes in the emergency room who years later said something along the lines of “you probably don’t remember me, but you said something I’ve never forgotten that changed my life.” This makes every patient contact an adventure, potentially ripe with opportunity, never routine. There is always the possibility of a magic moment in therapy—saying something that promotes a corrective emotional experience and sets off a virtuous cycle. We can’t expect magic moments to happen often, we can’t predict them, we probably won’t even know that they have happened—but we can and should always be alert for the potential and try to create favorable conditions through our relationship with the patient. While the unifying goal of all therapies is, or at least should be, to help patients have corrective emotional experiences, there are many different ways of getting there. Sometimes the corrective emotional experience comes from an insight that clarifies how the past is influencing the present or how unconscious conflicts are causing self-destructive behaviors. Sometimes it comes from changed behavior, such as facing phobic situations instead of avoiding them. Sometimes from testing and correcting cognitive distortions. Sometimes from emotional catharsis. Sometimes from a paradoxical injunction. And sometimes from the simple therapeutic act of validation. These are just to name a few. Corrective emotional experiences are also, of course, constantly happening as part of everyday life—a new friend or love relationship, adopting a pet, beginning an exercise regimen, getting acquainted with nature, a better job, an act of resilience in the face of stress and disappointment, or just about any other positive new experience. Therapy is just a way to increase the odds of having (or noticing) corrective emotional experiences, speeding things up, and triggering virtuous vs. vicious cycles. Too often these days, therapists adhere slavishly to one or another therapy school, and schools compete with one rather than join forces. This guild warfare is bad for psychotherapy, bad for therapists, and, most of all, bad for patients. Every therapist should have eclectic training that provides a full tool kit of techniques that promote corrective emotional experiences. No one school has a monopoly on wisdom or therapeutic power.