Jung At Heart Archive February 2009

Notes to A Young Therapist, 2

I think the most frequent problem young therapists have is feeling they have to *do* something, especially something to make the patient feel better. It is difficult to allow a person sitting across from you to be sad, crying, unhappy, discouraged. The urge is strongly present to say something or suggest something that will make him feel better, because we therapists like to feel useful and helpful. Lacking procedures to perform, we attempt interventions of other kinds, assigning homework and the like in an effort to take away the sting, the weight of those feelings with which we ourselves are uncomfortable. I suspect one of the attractions of cognitive behavioral approaches, for new therapists especially, is that it provides interventions and strategies for alleviating discomfort.

But isn't that what therapy is all about, you may ask?

And the answer is sometimes.

"The principle aim of psychotherapy is not to transport one to an impossible state of happiness, but to help (the client) acquire steadfastness and patience in the face of suffering." -C.G. Jung

This notion does not sit well with most Americans, for we are a can-do people and it is not without reason that the psychology of happiness movement started here. We are a nation of people who originally came here to get away from unhappiness and suffering elsewhere and that is still the guiding image for immigrants here. The idea that suffering is a necessary and valuable aspect of life is incomprehensible for most Americans. In Ryan Howe's Seven Questions series, Judith Beck says:

4. In your opinion, what is the ultimate goal of therapy?

To reduce suffering as soon as possible, to help clients reach their goals, to facilitate a remission of clients' disorders, and to teach clients skills (particularly in changing their thinking and behavior) to prevent relapse.

Beck and Jung, along with most depth psychotherapists, inhabit very different psychotherapeutic universes.

It takes time to learn to handle our own discomfort in the face of another's pain, to allow the patient to be in and with those feelings. It is the same kind of discomfort and urge to rescue that parents feel when their child is having difficulty -- the best course is often to allow the child to wrestle with it, to feel the feelings and with as little intervention as possible, find her own solution. We therapists have to come to terms with the reality that our desire to help often comes from discomfort with our own difficult feelings and from a desire to have the patient feel grateful and to like us. 

"My work as a psychoanalyst is to help patients recover their lost wholeness and to strengthen the psyche so it can resist future dismemberment." -C.G. Jung

I'll be writing more about this in later notes.

Dream a little dream

After the parting of the ways with Freud, a period of inner uncertainty began for me. … I felt it necessary to develop a new attitude toward my patients. I resolved for the present not to bring any theoretical premises to bear upon them, but to wait and see what they would tell of their own accord. My aim became to leave things to chance. The result was that the patients would spontaneously report their dreams and fantasies to me, and I would merely ask, ‘What occurs to you in connection with that?’ or, ‘How do you mean that, where does that come from, what do you think about it?’ The interpretations seemed to follow of their own accord from the patients’ replies and associations. I avoided all theoretical points of view and simply helped the patients to understand the dream-images by themselves, without application of rules and theories. Soon I realized that it was right to take the dreams in this way as the basis of interpretation, for that is how dreams are intended. They are the facts from which we must proceed.” Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections Pp. 170-71)

It is very difficult for some of my patients to get it that I am not the expert on their dreams, that I have no magic wand to wave to magically reveal all that the dream contains. That they themselves are the experts for their dreams is a tough concept as many of them are so used to looking to experts for answers. But this is exactly what I like most about Jungian dream analysis, that we start from the patient and not from the theory. 

So forget about your books of dream symbols and just be with your dreams. Ask yourself the questions Jung asks in the quote above. Let the dream talk to you. And if you must have a book to help you, here are 2 that may give you some ideas:

Inner Work by Robert Johnson

The Art of Dreaming: Tools for Creative Dream Work  by Jill Mellick

Neither of them will tell you what your dreams mean, but they will give you some tools for understanding them better.

Notes to a Young Therapist

My children have the blessing/curse of having two psychotherapists as parents. We used to joke that one them would take up the family business but when they went off to college, both of them were history majors and it didn't look like there would be heirs to the family trade. But last fall, my son began an MSW program with the intent of becoming a therapist so it seems the joke was spot on.

It is delightful to talk with him as he moves into the field. He is coming to it from a different direction -- social work -- and so he has a different initiatory process to undergo than his dad and I had in clinical psychology. He chafes at courses that seem irrelevant, a focus that doesn't match his and I tell him that this part of becoming a therapist is about getting his ticket punched. Because part of the process is first taking on the identity of the profession and then refining that into something else, because psychotherapy does not belong to any of the disciplines whose members practice it. He must first become a social worker before he can discard those parts that don't belong. Many years ago, in one of the core courses in the clinical psychology program I was in, I was told by the professor that I lacked identity as a psychologist. I was angry when he said it, but in fact he was right because being a psychologist was not important to me as I knew all along I wanted to be a psychotherapist. My son is in this same place with social work.

Talking with him makes me think about the things I have learned along the way and after getting his permission, I decided I would write these Notes to a Young Therapist periodically as they grow out of our discussions. 

I used to tell new therapists that I supervised that it takes ten years to become a therapist. In fact, I wish sometimes I could issue recall notices to the people I saw in my first years when I was really feeling my way and in a pretty constant state of uncertainty and anxiety about what I was doing. I am amused to see that Malcolm Gladwell's latest book, Outliers, takes up this same idea with his assertion that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become great at something. I figure that is about equal to carrying a pretty full caseload for ten years so my rule of thumb was well founded. In those ten years, the therapist builds her own database to begin to know what is expectable and what falls outside the range of usual. It takes time.

I would tell these supervisees that what graduate school does is give you just enough to start seeing people, just enough to sit across from someone who has come to you and dare to believe you and the patient can survive this journey together. The real learning comes in the doing and in getting really good clinical supervision. By clinical supervision, I don't mean the kind of oversight new clinicians get in new jobs. I mean finding the best clinician you can and buying supervision time from that person -- because supervision is as much about the therapist as it is the patient. In supervision we have a chance to see where we tend to make errors, begin to understand why we make those errors, and get support for the work we are doing. A good supervisor should challenge us, critique us, support us and teach us. It's not CYA for risk management. 

I also tell supervisees they should give serious thought to finding a good therapist for themselves if they don't already have one. Because the errors we make arise from our own internal conflicts and history and the more conscious we can become, the better we are able not to fall into these potholes. 


Healing splits

Recently I have been thinking about the way I have this site organized, with Jung At Heart as an umbrella over both this section for my professional life and thoughts and the knitting/everyday life blog . And someone suggested to me that having them together undercut my professional presentation.

This brought to mind a quote from Marie Louise von Franz on knitting :

Everybody who has knitted or done weaving or embroidery knows what an agreeable effect this can have, for you can be quiet and lazy and also spin your own thoughts while working. You can relax and follow your fantasy and then get up and say you have done something! Also the work exercises patience...Only those who have done such work know of all the catastrophes which can happen -- such as losing a row of stitches just when you are decreasing! It is a very self-educative activity and brings out feminine nature. It is immensely important for women to do such work and not give it up in the modern rush. (The Feminine in Fairy Tales, Spring Publications, 1972, p. 40)

So I thought about it all for a good while and even considered briefly taking the knitting part down, but the thought of that made me sad. So I thought some more. And talked with some friends. One of my friends sent me this poem:

Vision begins to happen in such a life
as if a woman quietly walked away
from the argument and jargon in a room
and sitting down in the kitchen, began turning in her lap
bits of yarn, calico and velvet scraps,
laying them out absently on the scrubbed boards
in the lamplight, with small rainbow-colored shells
sent in cotton-wool from somewhere far away,
and skeins of milkweed from the nearest meadow —
original domestic silk, the finest findings —
and the darkblue petal of the petunia,
amid the dry darkbrown lace of seaweed;
not forgotten either, the shed silver
whisker of the cat, 
the spiral of paper-wasp-nest curling
beside the finch’s yellow feather.
Such a composition has nothing to do with eternity,
the striving for greatness, brilliance —
only with the musing of a mind
one with her body, experienced fingers quietly pushing
dark against bright, silk against roughness,
pulling the tenets of a life together
with no mere will to mastery,
only care for the many-lived, unending
forms in which she finds herself,
becoming now the shard of broken glass
slicing light in a corner, dangerous
to flesh, now the plentiful, soft leaf
that wrapped round the throbbing finger, soothes the wound;
and now the stone foundation, rockshelf further
forming underneath everything that grows.

—Adrienne Rich “Transcendental Etude,” in The Dream of a Common Language, 1978


I love the poem and it helped me to see that, though this juxtaposition is uncommon, the way this blog is set up is just right for me. It is how I understand my work and my life. My office is at home, in the middle of my domestic life. I have a basket of yarn in my office -- because I think it is beautiful. I also have there a couple of throws that I knit. I have a tea kettle and offer tea. I used to fantasize having a house that had a big kitchen with a fireplace and I would see my patients there, in front of the fire, sitting at the table and drinking tea. Because for me the kitchen is the place of transformation. So the homey part of my blog, with photos, posts about knitting, recipes and everyday life, is where I locate my work, even the serious part of my work. It’s feminine, it’s me and it belongs. There are things in my professional life that I want to explore more deeply. But those things have grown out of ordinary life -- aging, figuring out what it is to be a woman, working at my story, divorce, all of it. 

When I was in my 20's, in the heydays of second wave feminism, I always felt I had to hide my interest in things domestic. To acknowledge having a domestic life -- cooking, knitting and the like -- was all but a betrayal of what we women were striving for: to be taken seriously as thinkers and doers and not be only relegated to hearth and home. I don't think my friends in graduate school then even knew I loved to cook or that I knitted and crocheted and sewed. And when I got married, it was a point of honor that I do half of the work around the house and not a bit more. 

But that was then. And in the course of growing older and growing up more, I seem to have lost that need to split my life as I did. Maybe this is the gift of third wave feminism to women like me -- that we can bring the parts of our lives together. And in mending the splits in our lives, perhaps we can move toward mending  splits in our husband's and son's lives as well.

As Jung said,

Individuation means becoming an "in-dividual," and, in so far as "individuality" embraces our innermost, last and most incomparable uniqueness, it also implies becoming one's own self. We could therefore translate individuation as "coming to selfhood" or "self-realization." (C.G. Jung, CW 7, para. 266)

© Cheryl Fuller, 2007. All  rights reserved.