Jung At Heart Archive July 2009

Memory

I am doing a lot of reading of memoirs and about memory this summer. I remember discovering biographies when I was in 3rd grade -- remember Landmark Books? I found them and began to eagerly read biographies of people like Clara Barton. But there weren't many about women. In fact women's lives seemed not to be deemed interesting until the women's movement began to encourage women to speak in our own voices about our lives. Among the many wonderful memoirs by women I have read in the last 25 years or so are:

Fierce Attachments by Vivian Gornick

The Road to Coorain by Jill Ker Conway

A Chorus of Stones by Susan Griffin

Skating to Antarctica By Jenny Diski.

I recently re-read Diski's book, a double expedition into the whiteness of Antarctica and of herself. I have yet to meet anyone else who has read this book though I recommend it often. 

Memoir necessarily engages in the problem of memory. Is what is remembered what happened or a narrative created on a mesh of emotion, images, and sensations? Diski says, "Memory is not false in the sense that it is willfully bad, but it is excitingly corrupt in its inclination to make a proper story of the past."

Jung tells us: "The function of memory, or reproduction, links us up with things that have faded out of consciousness, things that became subliminal or were cast away or repressed. What we call memory is this faculty to reproduce unconscious contents, and it is the first function we can clearly distinguish in its relationship between our consciousness and the contents that are actually not in view." (CW 18, p.39)

Now here is an example from my own life that I believe is a memory --

I am old enough that when I was in elementary school, we had a Christmas pageant in school, complete with angels and shepherds and everything. And I always remember the pageant when I was in second grade.

In my class, the best reader was to be made the head angel and would read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. Well, I *knew* I was the best reader because I was reading several levels ahead of everyone in my class. My nearest competitor, Martha S., was a good reader, but I knew she was not the best. So I was absolutely certain that the head angel position was mine.

Imagine my shock, my horror, my outrage when on the day when parts were assigned, it was not I who was to be head angel, it was to be Martha S.! In my mind, this was a terrible injustice. Here I was, the very best reader in the second grade and I was to be consigned to the ranks of the ordinary angels! As it happened, Martha was a very pretty little girl with blonde while I was chubby and brunette so maybe Martha fit the picture of an angel better than i did. Outwardly I accepted this injustice and quietly took my place in the ranks of the angels.

My mother made my costume, complete with glittery wings and a halo. We rehearsed. And then came the day of the pageant.

Martha stepped one step in front of the ranks of angels and took a breath to begin her reading. And then, just one word ahead of her came another voice from the back of the angels, reciting the story perfectly word for word. Martha got flustered but I continued on. Yes, I had memorized the whole story. I knew I was the best reader.

To my mother's great credit, she did not get angry or make me feel bad. And what I did became the stuff of a story my family told about me, always with an affectionate laugh.

BUT -- is what I remember what actually happened? I certainly wanted to be the head angel. And to this day, I still know the words to the story. But if we could talk with Martha S., would she remember it the way I do? Or is it a narrative developed to fit the story of myself that I was weaving, the story of a spunky little girl who could make things go her way?


Happy Birthday!


                                Happy Birthday to Carl Jung, born July 26, 1875.

jung


Unasked Questions

When I first started out in my career, I worked in community mental health, back in the heyday of the community mental health care movement. Each mental health center funded under NIMH grants was to offer 5 categories of service: inpatient, outpatient, emergency services, education, and outreach -- the last 2 being the prevention component. So we set about starting all kinds of programs in mental health education and outreach, from pairing foster grandmothers with teen mothers to teaching cooperative games to middle schoolers to consulting with tenants' rights groups. We were certain that these kinds of activities would make a difference and reduce the incidence of mental illness. 

There is no doubt in my mind that the people who participated in those programs benefitted. But I seriously doubt that they made any impact at all on the need for primary and secondary mental health care. We had a couple of problems -- even then we had no theory underlying diagnosis as the move toward behavioral observation had already begun. So we had no idea what caused the problems that brought people to treatment in the first place.

Now in the current debate over funding health care and health insurance, there is a great deal of ballyhoo given to prevention. Obama and Sibelius and Harkin and all the others involved are pushing for greatly increased funding for prevention because, they say, this will reduce the need for and thus the costs of treatment. One hearing I watched had Harkin advocating funding for sidewalks as part of a prevention strategy because, he said, more sidewalks would lead more people to walk more and thus be healthier. 

Why in these days of outcome based treatment guidelines is no one asking if there is evidence to support the efficacy of these prevention programs? I did a casual Google search to see what is readily available out there on the efficacy of prevention strategies and immediately turned up the following 2 articles: Does Preventive Care Save Money? Health Economics and the Presidential Candidates  and Preventive care: so many recommendations, so little time. Both indicate what I have suspected -- that there is not much evidence to support a lot of the prevention activities being proposed now and very little to suggest that they will reduce costs. Am I missing something or is this push for prevention a bandwagon? And whose interests does it serve? Wouldn't putting the money into actual coverage for care and treatment accomplish more?

What lies beneath

I was poking around the other day looking for material to use in a course I am considering teaching next spring. I stopped for a while and re-read  some selected papers by Andrew Samuels, one of my favorite Jungian theorists and writers. His book, Jung and the Post Jungians, is one I turn to again and again as I sort through my own thoughts about analytical psychology.

Today though what catches me eye is this, from "Will the post-Jungians survive?"

It’s time to stop moaning about attacks on psychotherapy, whether it is about the managed care crisis in the United States or a media onslaught in the UK. The managed care situation, in which insurers have declined to pay for long-term psychotherapy, is a disaster in one sense. But it is also a terrific opportunity for American Jungian analysts to redefine their professional identities, and also, in my view, to do something that will be good for their souls. As fees in the United States had got too high, and hence the incomes of some of the analysts had become too large. This was not just a Jungian problem, it is also a psychoanalytic one. It has to do with the professional self-image of the psychotherapists being aligned with the professional self-image and hence income expectations of gynaecologists, ophthalmologists, surgeons and the like. Is that really where analysts are, in terms of their location in culture and in society? Are we not in fact more healthily and usefully and accurately aligned with pastoral counsellors, ministers of religion, social workers, academics, and so forth? I think that if fees are cut, people in the United States will continue to seek out Jungian and indeed other forms of depth therapy in spite of the fact that the bill is not being picked up - or at least not very significantly being picked up - by an insurance company.

He is right that a major consequence of psychotherapy aligning itself with the medical model has been this expectation that we should earn what medical specialists earn. Now whether or not what they earn is excessive is another issue altogether and one I don't want to tackle just now. And yes, I know all about the economics of malpractice insurance costs and the expense of an office staff and all of that, none of which accounts for the fact that every surgeon I know has a bigger house and far more expensive car than I will ever have or even want and that means that there is plenty left over after all that onerous overhead is covered.

Many of us speak of doing "soul work"  but we do not see ourselves aligned with those other soul workers and their less lucrative salaries and fees. Greed is one of the great hidden elements in this whole mess and it is not one that we, collectively, want to face. It's hard not to want more and better things -- a nice  house, a new car, the means to travel. It's harder still to find a sense of what is enough and not keep reaching for more, past the point of enough into greed. Somehow this all fits together with an emerging movement toward sustainability -- determining how much is enough to have a reasonably good life while still living within the means of where we are and who we serve.

Very little is written for therapists and by therapists about fees and money, about their meaning and our relationship to them. How to find that balance between charging enough without it being either too much or too little. How to align that with the value of what we do. Is therapy charged at $200/hr better or worth more than an hour billed at $50.00? What is enough?

For a little fun...

Do check out We Feel Fine -- you'll enjoy it.



Jung on a Sunday

Probably my favorite volume of Jung's Collected Works is number 16, The Practice of Psychotherapy -- which isn't surprising, I suppose. It is one of the first that I read all the way through. In his discussion of catharsis as a part of psychotherapy, Jung talks about the pernicious effect of secrets in our lives and says that they prolong our isolation from others.

Secrets, like an affair or a gambling problem or some misdeed or money problems -- the kind of thing we lie awake and worry about, worry about others discovering -- are often a big part of what brings people into therapy and what patients find most difficult to talk about. Shame and fear of judgment fill the room. The carefully cultivated image of respectability or responsibility or moral superiority will surely shatter into a thousand pieces the moment anyone, even the trusted therapist, finds out what is concealed beneath the facade. Each patient with such a secret imagines herself to be alone in the world, unlike and apart from all the rest of humanity, unable to imagine that the therapist has heard similar tales many times before. 

When we carry secrets like this, they become barriers between us and everyone in our lives, cutting us off from real intimacy. Anything which threatens to reveal what we seek so to hide becomes a source of anxiety and must be avoided. Maintaining the facade, the persona which covers the shame of the secret becomes paramount. In Japan I am told there is a saying that first the man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink then the drink takes the man. The same is true of secrets as the secret comes to own the life of the person carrying it.

Psychotherapy, like the confessional, offers a unique opportunity to break the secret and its hold on the life of the carrier. First comes the mustering of courage to say it, to tell the therapist what has been held in shame, to brave the condemnation and the rejection, the fear of which maintains the grip of the secret. And once spoken, then the work of discerning the meaning of the secret and opening to the shadow. 

I hear from people about things they are afraid to discuss with their therapists, secrets they carry and feel shame about. I know how hard it is to open up the dark corners of our lives and let another see in. It feels like a huge risk. But what is the point of being in therapy if, at some point, the secret is not told? If it remains untold and unexplored, the therapy is a very real sense is a lie because it never gets to the truth of the patients life and feelings.

So we say to patients that they should say whatever comes to mind and mean to include the secrets as well.

Here are some of Jung's thoughts, all taken from Vol. 16, pp.55-60:

Anything concealed is a secret. The possession of secrets acts like a psychic poison that alienates their possessor from the community.

All personal secrets ... have the effect of sin or guilt, whether or not they are, from the standpoint of popular morality, wrongful secrets.

...if this rediscovery of my wholeness remains private, it will only restore the earlier conditions from which the neurosis, i.e. the split off complex,  sprang.

All of us are somehow divided by our secrets but instead of  seeking to cross the gulf on the firm bridge of confession, we choose the treacherous makeshift of opinion and illusion.

The Silent Fight

One of the search terms I have set for Google News is "psychotherapy". It's interesting to me that I almost never see any articles about the battle that is being fought over the very existence of psychotherapy.

Someone I know recently interviewed for psychiatry positions and at most of the ones she visited, she was greeted with a proud declaration that they are all medical model and she was told of a wide array of support services for her and very little about what, if any, psychotherapeutic services are offered.

On the level of community mental health, this is the direction that things are going. Such centers depend on health insurance reimbursements and health insurance companies are less and less interested in paying for therapy, even when it is as effective as medication and more effective in combination with medication than is medication alone. So it is very cost effective to pay the high salary -- relative to what other mental health professionals earn -- for psychiatrists and have them see many patients a day in medication clinics. Far more cost effective than paying other professionals to see 6-8 patients a day in psychotherapy.

Psychotherapy is losing its place in community mental health. Because it does not fit well within the medical model. But even more than that, it is because psychotherapy has long been riven with turf battles of its own -- which theory is correct? who should be licensed? different training standards for each of the several disciplines involved. So instead of a single field, psychotherapy, we have the field Balkanized into social work, family systems, clinical psychology, counseling, nursing, psychoanalysis, cognitive behavioral therapy and on and on. There is no single voice, no single umbrella organization speaking up for psychotherapy.

I wonder what would happen if someone presented at a conference suggesting that psychotherapy should not be in the medical model at all? That maybe psychotherapy belongs in a wholly different category, somewhere in the neighborhood of education, spiritual development, and personal growth? What if we stopped trying to prove scientifically that the relationship in therapy is healing? What if we gave credence to self-report by patients that therapy had helped them? What if we stopped considering problems in living, which is what most people coming for therapy are struggling with, as illnesses? What if we considered treatment of depression and other problems responsive to psychotropic medications as belonging to one field and psychotherapy to another one altogether, that the former is about brain problems while we address mind problems? What if?

Thinking about borderlines

About a month ago I read this piece, "An Emotional Hair Trigger, Often Misread" by Jane Brody in the New York Times. I have been meaning ever since to write about it, but only just got around to it. I was going to write about the limitations of DBT, which Brody extolls, but instead I want to report something I wrote a couple of years ago.

If you read here very often, you know I take issue with a lot of psychodiagnosis so it should come as no surprise that I have a lot of thoughts on this issue -- about the DSM IV, about the brain vs mind split in mental health and about application of the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder.

When I was writing my dissertation -- about Medea and Betrayal -- I read a lot of recent literature on borderlines, as Medea is often pointed to as an example of one. It is very tempting to assign a psychiatric diagnosis to Medea, an interesting endeavor given that she is a character of myth and not a human. In a society relatively tolerant of eccentricity, madness or psychopathology usually becomes of issue only when the person somehow offends or frightens others or breaks the law. The hermit who lives quietly alone, the person with the driven need to record every moment of life in journals, the cat lady with her dozens of cats, the dog man who walks like a Pied Piper of canines as he goes about are all free to live unfettered by diagnoses and encounters with the medico-legal establishment so long as they do not call too much attention to themselves by threatening others, endangering others, giving cause for concern among others, violating public health or other zoning laws. As soon as they do cross one of those lines, however, speculation begins about what kind of mental disorder they suffer from, as we do not have much tolerance for behavior too far off from consensus about what is normal and thus “right”.

Certainly, we can see in Medea signs and symptoms of disorder. We know the Greeks consider her an outsider, from beyond the borders. Medea, the foreigner, the outsider from beyond the borders of the well-ordered Greek world could well be considered Medea the borderline in the modern parlance of the neatly ordered world of psycho-diagnosis. Consider this  Jungian description of the borderline personality:

"The borderline person corrals the ecstasy of madness—not completely crazy, not incapable of making a point or decision, not dead. Some of the features of the borderline-personality organization unwittingly reveal the presence of ecstasy: intense affect, sometimes with depersonalization; impulsive behavior, sometimes directed against the self; brief psychotic experiences; disturbed personal relationships, sometimes exceedingly intimate and sometimes distant." (Andrew Samuels, 1988)

Borders and boundaries are devices we use to order the world. We make lines on a map and then find comfort in knowing that this is where our country ends and theirs begins. But boundaries are less lines than they are areas. Is there a clear line where the land ends and the sea begins? No, instead, we have wetlands that are neither wholly land nor sea, an area in-between. We might want to consider then, that there is an area of personality, present in all of us, which is between what we call sanity and madness, a borderline area.

While Medea does exhibit what we might consider borderline traits, the diagnosis itself poses problems. Where once hysteria was the diagnosis most frequently applied to problem women, today it is borderline personality disorder, which is applied to women about seven times more often than to men.

It would be nice to imagine that there were some scientific way to determine diagnosis. Absent biological or chemical tests to establish diagnoses, we fall back on consensus reality and struggle with the unevenness of such a standard. We look to mental health professionals to be in touch with society’s understanding of people and relationships between them, of relations between emotions and the self, and on local custom and ways of perceiving experiences. One outgrowth of this approach is the DSM IV – an attempt to develop, by consensus, descriptions of all disorders thought to be reflective of mental illness of one kind or another. Categories have been expanded and elaborated in the years since the first edition was published; yet, all but the rarest of categories still depends on the subjective judgment of the examiner. Local custom, training of the examiner, examiner biases, insurance coverage, perceived stigma carried by various diagnoses, and funding sources can all influence the diagnosis made as much as the behavior and history of the patient.

That such factors as funding sources and examiner bias influence diagnosis goes against the image of the medical model as scientific. However, subjective and external factors often matter more than the symptoms displayed. In private practice, the fact that medical and insurance records cannot be guaranteed to be private, the tendency is to choose the least stigmatizing diagnosis possible.

Occasionally a professional might apply a more serious diagnosis to someone they find irritating, in an unconscious attempt at retaliation. Or a facility has beds for patients with one kind of diagnosis but not another, so the effort is made to fit the patient where the space is. Or health insurance severely limits coverage for treatment for minor disorders but is more generous for ones that are more serious, resulting in the push to gain coverage, not strive for accuracy in diagnosis. All of these disturbances, in what we might like to believe is an orderly and scientifically based process, reflect variations in the consensus reality and its deviance from the ideal.

Research on bias in diagnosis suggests that one factor operating in the application of the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder to so many women is what behavior is regarded as “normal” for a woman. One of the features of BPD is aggression, which is viewed with suspicion when displayed by women. It has also been noted that BPD is most frequently applied to women under 40 and to patients that therapists seem not to like. The patient suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is viewed sympathetically and as the “good” patient, while the patient with BPD, with her anger, aggression and resistance, is the “bad” patient. The criteria for the BPD diagnosis are so fluid that one researcher found 93 ways the criteria could be combined and reach a diagnosis of BPD (Stone, 1990). “In fact, borderline has become the most pejorative of all personality labels, and it is now little more than shorthand for a difficult, angry female client certain to give the therapist countertransferential headaches”(Becker, 2000)

Nearly sixty years ago, Jung was expressing doubts about the value of establishing a diagnosis:

It is generally assumed in medical circles that the examination of a patient should lead to the diagnosis of his illness, so far as this is possible at all, and that with the establishment of the diagnosis an important decision has been arrived at as regards prognosis and therapy. Psychotherapy forms a startling exception to this rule: the diagnosis is a highly irrelevant affair since, apart from affixing a more or less lucky label to a neurotic condition, nothing is gained by it, least of all as regards prognosis and therapy. (Jung, CW, v16)

To diagnose Medea as a borderline, then, is to distance her from ourselves in much the same way the Greeks did by considering her a foreigner, an outsider, a barbarian. If we can see her as Other and not like ourselves, then we can ignore her presence in any of us. What is a borderline after all but a barbarian in modern dress? 

Note: Contact me for complete bibliographic references mentioned in this post.

Brief correction

Someone told to me the other day that she believes I am anti-medication. And I can see how that might seem to be the case. But in fact I am not at all. I am opposed to casual prescription of psychotropic drugs for problems that can be better dealt with other ways. And I am deeply concerned about the overwhelming influence of pharmaceutical companies on mental health policy, research, and even the DSM. 

I am also very much interested in the meaning of the widespread use of medications for problems which not that many years ago were seen as ordinary issues -- like shyness. It is this creation of a market by developing a diagnostic category that seems off to me, among other things. Why is it people are so willing to take on a psychiatric diagnosis, which they will never lose, in order to maybe get symptom relief? What does that mean? What does it mean that so many people would rather think of themselves as "ill" than work at changing behaviors and patterns in their lives? What is it about Americans that we are so enamored of quick fixes, even when they don't work all that well?

And I am concerned about the emerging evidence of negative consequences of taking these drugs over long periods of time. People who insist on organic food yet happily take drugs which can have serious adverse effects on their health -- this puzzles me.

*And* for people struggling with major depression or psychosis, medication is a godsend. I know that and would not think of opposing it. I favor pairing a medication regime with psychotherapy to increase the likelihood of improved living. And I recommend trying therapy and other non-medical approaches first for those who are mildly or moderately depressed. But that doesn't make me *anti-medication* -- it makes me cautious.


Life Writing, Life Review

I am a long-time journal writer and great fan of keeping a journal. I might even be called an evangelist for a daily journal writing practice. This past spring I designed and taught a course, Conversations in the Third Act, for our Senior College. A component of that course was looking back over the life lived and forward to what lies ahead and doing so in writing.

In drama, the third act features the resolution of the story and its subplots. In this act, the main tensions of the story are brought to their most intense point and the dramatic question answered, leaving the protagonist and other characters with a new sense of who they really are. Our fifth or sixth or seventh decade of life is the Third Act of our lives. 

The goal of all life, the end point, death is what lies in front of us. In the third act of life it looms larger than it has before and is much more a part of consciousness. To be fully alive is to know that death lies ahead.

Between here and death, there is a lot of territory. Work to be done to deal with things left undone, to reconcile ourselves to our past, to seriously consider the story we have been living with an eye especially toward any changes we want to make in the remaining years.

A friend of mine, a woman in her mid-70's, told me that she wishes she could read about this life period as she could about midlife. The issues of midlife are not hers. She wrestles with the conflict between the desire to do and the body that no longer wants to. With the bubbling up of creative possibilities that she does not know she can bring to fruition. All of us in the third act are faced with having to prioritize in a new way, to come to terms with the certain knowledge that if there is something we want to do, want to create, we have to get down to work now because time is passing swiftly.

How to wrestle with these issues without succumbing to despair or melancholy and regret is a major concern. What does it mean to become old? How do we come to terms with a body, a face that is not the face or body I carry in my mind's eye of myself? How do we make sense of the story we have lived and consider how we want to live the last chapters?

janus_coin

Think of Janus, the Roman god of the threshold, who looks back where we have been and forward to where we are going. This is the god of the Third Act.

Life review writing is a means of intentionally reflecting on the experiences and events from our past and drawing meaning from those experiences, especially as it affects our present lives and the future. Think of Janus, the Roman god of the threshold, looking backward and forward at the same time. In life writing, we look back at the life we have lived and forward to the life yet to be lived.

Psychologist James Pennebaker, a professor in the Department of Psychology at The University of Texas at Austin is a pioneer in the study of using expressive writing as a route to healing. His research has shown that short-term focused writing can have a beneficial effect.

Life review is important for many reasons . . . it can help us deal with unfinished business, to plan for retirement, for pursuing goals that we would still like to achieve and for sharing what we have learned from the past with our children, grandchildren and generations yet to come. In life writing you will have an opportunity to reflect on

who you are now

 how you got here 

where you are going


Shrinks in Flix

For a long time I have thought about doing a class on the portrayal of therapy in movies. Our local library has a film series and it occurred to me that I could propose a series  and have discussion after each film. So I started to gather titles. I thought about calling it Psyche goes to the Movies, but my husband tells me people might not get the point from that title. A friend suggested Shrinks in Flix. What do you think?

I am reading Celluloid Couches, Cinematic Clients: Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy in the Movies edited by Jerrold Brandell and Psychiatry and the Cinema by Gabbard and Gabbard just to see what is out there. 

Some films I am considering:

1. What About Bob?

2. Analyze This

3. Ordinary People

4. Mumford

5.  Prince of Tides  

6. Don Juan De Marco

7. When a Man Loves a Woman

8. The Caveman's Valentine

9.  Girl Interrupted

10. Behind the Lines

11. What Dreams May Come

12. The Three Faces of Eve

13. Agnes of God

14. The Sopranos: selected episodes

15. Prime

16. The Treatment

17. Selected episodes of In Treatment


Now some of these films offer interesting looks at mental illness more than at therapy, but I like them so I have them on the list. My very favorite, "Lady in the Dark", is, alas, not available on DVD. 

Got any suggestions for other titles? I think I have more than one series here, if a series runs for 6 weeks or so.

© Cheryl Fuller, 2007. All  rights reserved.