L is for Listening, or Oh? How Do You Feel About That?

LI can’t think of anything better than having a conversation with someone and really being heard. Walking away from an intimate exchange with another human being and leaving with that warm, fuzzy feeling that not only did that person give me the time and the space to express what was on my mind, but they really listened to me.

How do I know if someone has listened? Well, they reflect back to me what they heard me say. They ask questions related to what I’ve said, and they engage in active listening skills—nodding when appropriate, making sympathetic noises, maybe reaching out to touch my arm, hand, or leg in empathy and understanding. I had a therapist once who would get teary-eyed when I told a particularly poignant story about my child custody struggles. Her tears made me feel heard and validated.

One of the most challenging aspects of training to become a therapist has been learning to listen in a way that will help my clients not only feel heard, but helped, assisted, valued, and worthy. I remember when I used to think that being a therapist would be so easy—how hard could it be to sit and listen to people all day, throwing out only the occasional, “how does that make you feel?”

I didn't have a happy childhood, I was often misquoted.
I didn’t have a happy childhood, I was often misquoted.

Ha. If only. At school we practice on each other quite a bit. I’ve listened to my fellow students in nearly all of my classes thus far, learning to hone my listening skills, learning to take in what they say and ask relevant, useful, insightful questions in an effort to help them move forward. It’s not easy. There’s so much to hold in my head and pay attention to. Details to notice. Key words to focus in on. Facts to track.

We’re learning not how to give advice, but how to ask good questions, open-ended questions, questions that will encourage our clients to explore their feelings. For example, if a client were to tell me they’re anxious about a weekend outing with their partner and the partner’s family, what might I say in order to help the client better understand and deal with the anxiety?

If I were practicing gestalt, I might ask where in the body the client feels the anxiety and if they could talk to it, what might they say? What would the anxiety say? What does the anxiety look like? What color is it? How big is it?

If I were practicing narrative therapy, I might ask the client to give the anxiety a name and to imagine a world in which the anxiety no longer existed. What would that world look like? I’d ask the client to tell me about a time they didn’t experience the anxiety and ask them what was different about that time.peanuts-cartoon-about-listening

I have so many theories and approaches rattling around in my head, sometimes I think it might explode. What theory to use? What words to zero in on? And then, in one class, the instructor told us to not work harder than the client. And, yes, that makes sense, but oy vey.

The best approach might be Carl Roger’s—he believed that the therapist should always give the client unconditional positive regard. His approach, Person Centered Therapy, came in response to psychoanalytical models popular at the turn of the last century. He believed the therapist should be warm, genuine, and understanding.

He said, “It is that the individual has within himself or herself vast resources for self-understanding, for altering his or her self-concept, attitudes and self-directed behavior – and that these resources can be tapped if only a definable climate of facilitative psychological attitudes can be provided.”

I no longer think that being a therapist will be an easy job—in fact, I’m pretty sure it will prove to be one of the more difficult I take on. Listening to people, actually hearing them and reflecting back what I’ve heard, will take practice, time, and focus. I can’t afford to space out or daydream halfway through a session.

Maybe Stephen Covey said it best: “Most people don’t listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”

My success as a counselor will not be measured by what I have to say, but in how much I understand.

 

 

 

D is for Distal Contextual Affordances (ha ha, just kidding). D is for Diagnosis and DSM 5

Each quarter, as I take new classes and learn new material, I analyze and diagnose myself accordingly. I generally text a friend of mine who is a marriage and family therapist (MFT) during class. Our exchange goes something like this:

Me: OMG, I so have this.
MFT: what?
Me: I wasn’t properly attuned to as a baby. That’s why I’m so fucked up.
MFT: gawd
Me: well, it could be that or it could be that I experienced a trauma as an infant.narcissist chicken
MFT: maybe
Me: I was dropped on my head once.
MFT: well, that explains it.
Me: I know, right?
MFT: it’s just one lens, Pam. A theory.
Me: oh. Sorry for being so narcissistic.
MFT: You’re not a narcissist.
Me: borderline?
MFT: ugh.

And so it goes. Each quarter I learn new and fascinating ways to make sense of human behavior.

A few years ago, when I began working on my memoir, I asked my (by then former) psychologist if I could have access to my records. I wanted to reconstruct a timeline of events and double-check my memories. Since she had seen me through some of my darkest hours I figured I would find a good record of events that I had been too depressed and distraught to remember. And I did. But I also discovered how I had been diagnosed, and I found it all a bit unsettling to see the DSM codes next to the list of my symptoms.

If you read yesterday’s blog, Dear Reader, you know that I was depressed. So it came as no surprise when I decoded the DSM codes to find variations on that theme: major depressive disorder, recurrent episode; major depressive disorder, recurrent episode in partial remission; major depressive disorder, severe. And so on. I was fine with these diagnoses and also with the occasional Adjustment Disorder diagnosis that I found. I knew enough by then to know that when a mental health provider doesn’t know what else to use, when a client just needs to chat a bit to clear things up, they use the somewhat ambiguous 309.9 (Adjustment Disorder, Unspecified).

Diagnosing someone with an illness or disorder that appears in the DSM 5 is an art, not a hard science. This latest version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual is arranged quite differently from its predecessors with disorders arranged according to lifespan. So, disorders that affect children come first—neurodevelopmental disorders, followed by illnesses that appear in adolescence and early adulthood: schizophrenia and psychosis, depression, anxiety, OCD. These are followed by trauma related disorders, dissociative disorders, somatic (body disorders), feeding and eating disorders, elimination disorders, sexual dysfunctions, substance abuse issues, personality disorders, and paraphilia.

Gone are Axis I, II, III, IV, and V. Used to be that the most acute and familiar disorders—those requiring immediate attention fell under Axis I: schizophrenia, major depressive disorder, panic attacks; ongoing personality issues—narcissism, borderline personality disorder, intellectual disabilities, obsessive/compulsive disorder—fell under Axis II. Axis III was reserved for related medical conditions such as terminal cancer, which might contribute to a client’s depression. Axis IV diagnoses included life events: marriage, job loss, promotions, divorce, death of a parent or child, and Axis V is used for the Global Assessment of Functioning Scale, a 100 point questionnaire evaluating the client’s ability to function in daily life.

What we CMHC (clinical mental health counseling) students all learn early on in our clinical program is that diagnosis is a necessary evil if a mental health care provider wants to take insurance. Insurance companies will not pay if we don’t attach a diagnosis to our clients. At the same time we learn that our clients are much more than walking bundles of diagnoses.

The bottom line is that when a person presents in my office and tells me what’s going on in their life, how they are coping day-to-day, and want to pay for their sessions with insurance, I have to give them a diagnosis. One counselor I’ve talked to diagnoses everyone with PTSD. After all, she says, we have all had trauma in our lives. Others consult the DSM and match the client’s presentation with the best diagnosis.

Failure to attend to details? Difficulty sustaining attention with tasks? Often lose things? Easily distracted? Often forgetful? ADHD 314.

Heart palpitations? Sweating? Trembling and/or shaking? Shortness of breath? Nausea? Choking feelings? Fear of losing control? Fear of dying? Panic Disorder 300.01

Marked distress? Significant impairment in social, occupational or other areas but doesn’t meet the criteria for another mental disorder? Adjustment Disorder 309

When I left the psychologist and started seeing the counselor, I stopped feeling like a hopelessly troubled person and more like a person with some troubles that could be resolved. Instead of being treated for my “mental illness,” I was treated like a person and we looked together at why I might be feeling depressed or anxious or sad or worried. I began to see that my inability to come off my meds for depression had more to do with the fact that in my case, I had been treating the symptoms, but not the root of the issue.

Over time, I came to understand that my behaviors, moods, and thought patterns had more to do with how I had learned, over the course of the last few decades, to deal with the world. Starting in infancy we all learn how to get our needs met. Some of us learn to trust that we will be taken care of, that our needs are important, that our voices are valued. Others not so much.

There are many lenses through which to evaluate human behavior: family systems, attachment theory, behaviorism, post-modernism, Jungian. There are many schools of thought on how to best help people: cognitive behavior therapy, exposure therapy, psychoanalysis, narrative therapy, play therapy, art therapy, drama therapy.

There are a multitude of diagnoses I could apply to my future clients, but my clients deserve more than a label and to be compared against a checklist of criteria.

I must to remember Carl Rogers and not ask, ”How can I treat, or cure, or change this person?” But instead,“How can I provide a relationship which this person may use for [her] own personal growth?”

Getting My Counseling Feet Under Me (or I’m Two Years into This Program, are We Done Yet?)

Writers and therapists live twice—first when they experience events and a second time when they use them in their work. Mary Pipher, Letters to a Young Therapist

A few months ago, I met up with a former therapist, a woman I hadn’t been to see in about 20 years and who had since retired. I wanted to talk to her about adoption and addiction since she had been known as something of an adoption guru while she was still practicing. As I explained my course of study and my intentions for becoming a counselor, she exhorted me to pick a theory, a modality to call my own. “You need to decide which theoretical model you’ll work from,” she said. “You need to pick one to ground yourself in and work from there.” She then ticked off a list: Bowen, Adler, Rogers, Jung. I looked across the table at her and shrugged. “I think they all have something to offer,” I said. “I guess if I had to describe my orientation, it would be diverse.”

“That won’t do,” she exclaimed. “You need to be grounded in something. Anything. Just pick one. Bowen is good.”

parents cartoonI shook my head slowly at the thought of Murray Bowen taking up permanent residence in my head. Sure, I can see the value in looking at a person’s issues through the lens of intergenerational patterns and family systems, but as my only, primary orientation? No. So many others had much more to offer, from Jung’s wounded healer to the post modernists and narrative therapy, feminist theory, attachment theory. I couldn’t imagine latching onto just one way of being a counselor when so many modalities offered so many ways to work with people with a variety of needs.

And now this quarter we added Carl Rogers’ Person Centered Therapy and his Unconditional Positive Regard, along with Fritz Perls and Gestalt, John Cabot-Zinn’s mindfulness as well as Pema Chodron to the mix. I am even more convinced that limiting myself to one theoretical lens would be a mistake. Shortsighted.

The metaphor is overdone, but apt—the more tools I have in my tool belt, the more useful I can be to more people. Every client is going to be different. I need to be able to adapt. There aren’t many similarities between working in technology and working as a counselor, except this one: sometimes there are a variety of ways to approach a problem and finding a good solution is often a matter of “testing and tweaking” to see what works best.

As a writer, reader, and storyteller, I’ve always found narrative therapy to be the modality that draws me in. I am attracted to counseling for the same reasons I am a writer—I want my misery, and indeed everyone’s—to be meaningful. As Mary Pipher writes in her Letters to a Young Therapist, as counselors and writers, we get to use our experiences twice and encourage others to do the same. Additionally, I am attracted to narrative therapy’s post-modernist bent, the idea that it is not the individual who is sick, but the culture in which the individual lives. That depression, anxiety, PTSD for example, are legitimate responses to living in a culture that too often demands we abandon our authentic selves. Not to mention that we live in a world that insists on dividing us by race, socioeconomic status, ability, sexual orientation, gender, ethnicity, religion, and more.chickencouch

I began this graduate program with the vague notion that I would emerge in two years, somehow qualified to sit and listen to people for a living. As I progress through each quarter, I become evermore convinced that two years is not nearly enough time in which to prepare me to not just listen to people’s stories, but to help them make sense of their stories, make meaning in their lives, forge on into the future with hope and a sense of purpose, with a deeper understanding of what serves them, what doesn’t, how to make good choices, how to hold onto their dreams, how to have a voice, leave an abuser, nurture their children, their relationships, find meaningful work.

How do I become that mirror, sounding board, holder of stories, cheerleader, confidant, advocate?

From the client side of the couch, I have found Gestalt and mindfulness to be the most effective therapeutic methods. Most breakthroughs in my personal therapy have come when I’ve been talking to the chair, role playing, or acting something out with my therapist. Mindfulness and meditation have worked for me outside of the therapist’s office as a way to self-regulate and deepen personal awareness. So, it’s not really surprising that over the course of this quarter I have gravitated to both, though I see Gestalt methods as being more relevant to therapy and mindfulness as a useful (and indeed maybe even necessary) adjunct for clients to use between sessions.

Gestalt therapy with its focus on the body/mind connection, lends itself well to supporting other interventions and modalities. Rogerian Person-Centered Therapy (PCT) with its mandate for unconditional positive regard seems like it should underlie every therapeutic encounter, particularly the initial few sessions.

chairGestalt works well, too, with mindfulness, attachment, and sensorimotor therapies, which focus not only on how the body holds trauma and past experiences, but also on awareness and connection between the client and therapist. By encouraging clients to stay in the here and now, Gestalt leaves room for the therapist to introduce the client to mindfulness techniques which support being present and staying in the moment when things get emotional or difficult in session.

In my initial session with my practice client, employing PCT worked well to establish rapport and an initial baseline of trust. Once we got to the primary issue, however, Gestalt would have been a great way in to exploring how she was feeling in the “here and now.” I might have employed the empty chair technique had the session gone longer—I could have had my client talk to any number of representatives from her past: her parents, her younger self.

I also might have had her explore her stress about her issue and how it was sitting in her body—what does the stress feel like? Look like? How big is the stress? What color is it? Where does she feel it the most? My therapist often tells me to invite my distressing emotion in rather than trying to banish it. “Invite the stress in,” she says. “Ask it what it wants. Have tea with it.” This technique, of anthropomorphizing the disturbing emotion or feeling and dwelling on it, illustrates one way of working with an issue. When we avoid something, it gets bigger and more intense. By inviting our distressing emotion in and asking it to stay, by getting to know it, we rob it of its power.

In our second practice session, I employed both Gestalt and mindfulness (as well as Roger’s unconditional positive regard), encouraging the client to make her physical agitation bigger (I had her stand up and shake out her anxious feelings) and to incorporate some breathing techniques. This session took the client deeper emotionally than the first session, even though both sessions lasted about 20 minutes and demonstrated my improved ability to sit with a client in their discomfort. I was able to witness her experiencing emotion and hold the experience rather than try to rush her through it in order to alleviate my own discomfort.

As always, I need to be mindful of my clients’ particular culture. Every client, regardless of how they present at first glance, brings with them an individual set of circumstances that sets them apart from every other client. To be an effective therapist, I must refrain from making assumptions, and instead listen, learn, ask clarifying questions, and give the client the space and safety they need in order to fully reveal themselves, their wants, their needs, their problems.lucy

Probably one of the most challenging aspects of counseling this quarter has been keeping tabs on my biases, assumptions, and privileges. While I am nearly always aware of my sexual orientation, my age, and do think a lot about race and how these parts of my identity might influence my interactions with a client, I’m not always thinking about ethnicity, socioeconomic status, or disability. We are, often and on the surface, a homogenous population at Antioch. I have not counseled a person of color or a person with a visible disability. I’m sure I’ve worked with clients who come from a different socioeconomic background, and though I am currently as broke as the next graduate student, I do have to remind myself that I come from a relatively privileged background and have robust support systems should I need them.

As this quarter wraps up, I feel as if I am finally getting my counselor feet under me, that I can work effectively and comfortably within a specific therapeutic framework. This quarter is the first time I have experienced authentic connection with a client, where I seem to have actually helped another person via a counseling session. I am excited to hear my clients’ stories, to listen to them as together we find meaning in and a way out of their suffering.