I recently broke my foot, a fracture that occurred as I missed a step on my front porch. The break occurred on the outside part of my foot- the fifth metatarsal. My doctor provided some good news in that I wouldn’t need a cast and I proceeded to adjust to my broken foot. Or so I thought. In deference to the pain on the outer perimeter of my foot I shifted my weight toward my other side, compensating for the damage.

By the following week later I had developed a new and more painful problem. I had stressed the unbroken part of my foot by placing an inordinate amount of pressure on it. I actually experienced more acute pain in that area than in the break itself. A month later the broken bone had essentially healed–but the damage I caused to the inner part of my foot still lingers. This is an issue of compensation. And nowhere does this tendency provoke more havoc than in our emotional and psychological lives.

At different times in life—and most particularly in childhood—we develop coping mechanisms to adjust to the challenges and travails that we encounter. Coping mechanisms are the adjustments that we make to our personalities, typically in our childhood. We’re not usually aware that we’re developing them as they assimilate into our being in very subtle ways. We craft them so that we might deal with the challenges, wounds, rejections or other stressors that life brings us. Coping mechanisms are our way of defending against stressors.

An abusive or unloving parent may cause us to act indifferent to the hurt so that we can survive the pain. So we fashion a personality to protect us from being vulnerable. And in so doing we preclude having more open and intimate relationships.

A chaotic or turbulent home environment may induce us to fashion the mask of being a people pleaser, as we try to placate everyone so that peace may reign. We might also seek the security of predictability to compensate for the uncertainty of childhood. Over time, becoming rooted to the need for that predictability, we dull the growth and creativity that only comes from embracing uncertainty.

We might be simply compensating for not feeling good enough, popular enough or loved enough. In most cases the temporary defensive formation can be a helpful mechanism. It assists us in getting through a difficult transition. Over time, however, the coping mechanism becomes a fixed and habitual feature of our persona, which limits our growth.

These adaptive techniques are reasonably purposeful when we first adorn them. The problem is that most of us struggle to shed these previously adaptive parts of our personality and over time they become hardened. In other words, they burden us and they block our greater emergence. What was once a coping mechanism becomes a suit of armor—and we clank through life wearing it.

Due to the subtle nature of these coping mechanisms, we lose sight of the fact that we constructed them in the first place. Eventually, they tend to become masks, blocking us from our higher, more authentic self. The coping mechanism becomes habituated and inveterate over time. What was at first compensation cements into a rigid restriction. When this occurs, as it often does, it blocks the developmental progress that people require in their personal evolution.

These coping mechanisms are no different than my compensating for my broken foot—causing stress to another part of the foot. When we compensate, physically or emotionally, we become imbalanced. If you check the air pressure in your tires and it’s too low, it would be nonsensical to over inflate the tires and go to the other extreme. Yet, that is precisely what we tend to do in our lives.

Coming into balance—the ultimate goal in achieving a well-lived life—requires noting where we are compensating. What part of you are you defending? What makes you feel vulnerable? What aspect of your personality are you overly identified with? The answers to these questions will illuminate the compensatory imbalance. The next question is how to proceed with the coming into balance.

The coping mechanism, so valuable to us at the time of its origination, eventually becomes a prominent roadblock to our growth. Once we’ve identified these blocks, loosing their grip can be quite challenging. One of the primary difficulties in achieving this unfettering revolves around our attachment to our identity. Although we clearly see the obstacle to our growth, the loss of this part of our identity is daunting. As counterintuitive as it may sound, the loss of an old and tired feature of our identity may provoke anxiety.

Positive Disintegration
The term, positive disintegration refers to the shedding of the old part of the personality that has outlived its function and no longer serves us. This flaying off of old coping mechanisms, which are no longer required is indeed, positive. Yet, the uncertainty of the new terrain often invokes discomfort. Learning to embrace that disquiet is essential in the process of positive disintegration. The unfolding of our self-actualizing requires the death knell of some of the primary coping mechanisms as they give way to higher forms of our self.

Shifting our identity—breaking free of old, worn out encumbrances—often induces anxiety if not fear. Permitting the disquiet that arises from shifting into the middle is essential into coming into balance in our lives. The pathway toward achieving this integration opens by not only tolerating, but by actually welcoming the discomfort. In other words, we need to change our relationship with anxiety, and literally welcome it into our lives, to fully integrate and come into balance. When we do so we shift from a fixed state of being into the unfolding process of becoming.

How we experience our lives is very much informed by how we see reality operating. The prevailing mindset of most, still believe in a fixed, static and material universe. From that vantage, we construct a reality comprised of objects and see ourselves as things as well, albeit human things. As such we are beings. Human beings, perhaps somewhat stuck in our identity of being. This mindscape sees change as the exception and at times as undesirable; undesired change is something to be controlled if not warded off, yet not surprisingly we become mired in failure in our own attempts to change. Predictability and determinism still reign sovereign.

As I’ve noted in previous blogs, this mechanistic worldview has been entrenched since the 17th century. It is from this way of seeing that we have obfuscated flow and movement, impeded change and transformation, and settled upon states of being. So we become the things of the great machine-like universe. Can you begin to consider the enormity of this impact upon our humanness? As parts of the mechanistic model, we have essentially no relatedness to one another and meaning and purpose are bereft.

Yet, some have begun to see reality operating quite differently. The emerging worldview depicts a universe in which flow is the norm and all parts of the universe are evolving dynamically and inseparably. It is literally wholeness unfolding, whereby everything and necessarily, everyone participates. In a participatory universe the creative potential is the deity that supplants objectivity and rational thinking; the machine is replaced with wondrous meaning. This description evokes a spirit of perpetual movement, uncertain yet full of potential and inspiration. States of being are but temporary as the primary process is the phenomenon of becoming. Becoming what you might ask. But that very question is seeking a “thing” type answer. What are the waves in the ocean becoming?

For all conscious entities (and there is reasonable argument that all matter is indeed sentient, a belief known as pansychism)) the process of becoming puts us squarely in this new paradigm of personal evolution and participatory change. Much of my work is devoted to catalyzing and enabling people to change. Some people seek change and can’t wait to transform. Others often ask why they have to change. This difference in outlook depicts their worldview: being or becoming. The fear of movement or change is rooted in a very fixed attachment to one’s identity. If I’m not who I think I am, who am I? This view sees our identity as static, and hence sees us as a being. A more evolving consideration identifies core features and characteristics of our personality, yet sees them as a creative work, always adapting and evolving to new and higher levels. Our predominating worldview informs our sense of self—and others.

The process of becoming is forgiving. In the flow of becoming we are no longer rooted in the hardship of fear, insecurity or the notions of mistakes. The fuller participation in our unfolding life assists us in the art of living well. Becoming is open and unlimited, being is structured and limiting. As the artist crafts their art, so might we look at our life. Learning to live artfully has us see our lives as a process open to inquiry and learning, always receptive to new meaning. Thus, we are always becoming. I recently attended a lecture by a self-proclaimed guru. He spoke of himself as being enlightened. It would have been far more sagacious if he referred to his commitment to the process of enlightenment, for enlightened speaks of a permanent state.

It would also be helpful if we looked at our relationships from this flow of becoming. Our tendency is to see one another as fixed and hence our relationship is stuck as well. As two individuals, each devoted to their becoming, engage one another, we have a relationship that is indeed evolving. Contrast that with two beings, locked in a relationship burdened by their states of being.

The paradigm of simply being burdens and constrains our lives as it deprives us of a fuller and richer participation with life. It is absent the deeper meaning to be found in the evolving worldview of becoming. All of nature and the universe are apparently evolving into higher levels of complexity and order. Isn’t it a shame to leave ourselves out of that scenario?

Beginning a new year often brings forth a review of our expectations and I thought it might be a good idea to briefly examine this topic.  As with many concepts in our culture, we tend to fall well short of fully appreciating what these terms truly suggest and at times, the apparent contradictions that they may evoke. This is certainly the case with the word expectations. Are they to be valued and embraced or do they impede us and distort our life experiences? The answer depends on a host of things. One size doesn’t typically fit all and we need to look at how we employ the word expectations. From the perspective of some spiritual traditions we should be disinclined to attach to expectations as they may block our direct experience of life and impose a bondage of belief upon us. Traditional western values that inculcate and reward achievement honor high expectations, for they drive our culture and our economy.

Some people suffer from a lack of healthy expectations and thus limit their potential and others set unattainably high expectations for themselves and thus assure their frustration and unhappiness. Often, expectations get in the way of our being present as our mind distorts our current experience through the filter of our needs. In this case, we are confronted with a paradox. Are expectations good or bad? The zen answer to this questions is simply, yes. The seeming paradox around this term that may lead to much confusion. A good starting point is to ask if your expectations–or lack thereof—enhance your life experience? Do they assist you in the unfolding of your life or do they justify your unhappiness?

The paradox of expectation shouldn’t be resolved by simply saying that they are good or bad. They are neither and they are both. They are what me make them and what we make of them. The responsibility lies within us. As the architects of our lives, we need to be the master of our expectations, rather than be ruled by them. If after a thorough examination, we conclude that our expectations are authentic and self-generated and yet we still struggle in their attainment, we have an opportunity to look at why that is so. On the other hand, if these wishes are not of our own making but merely imposed upon us, we can unshackle ourselves from this burden.

I was recently having a conversation with a young man about his passion in certain sports. As we talked further it became very evident that he would only engage in activities in which he excelled. I inquired why that was so and he seemed taken aback by my question. It was nonsensical to him to play at a sport with which he wasn’t superlative. His protested, “what would be the point?” “To have fun,” was my quick retort. He stated that having fun at something he wasn’t good at would be an anomaly. How could he have fun if he were judging himself on his poor performance, he wondered? And perhaps more to the point, I wondered if he were truly having fun if he had to be so intent on the execution of his skills? His play became as challenging as taking a test at school. He had to be the best.

I have never been a top athlete, but have had immeasurable joy and treasured memories from the pure enjoyment of play. If while playing at a sport I were busily judging whether I were good enough to play, I’d never be present for the bliss of the experience. We all want to do well — and most of us want to be the best–that’s quite natural. But to refuse to participate because you’re not top tier is quite sad.

I see our culture inexorably moving in this direction, and it screams to me in alarm that we are heading into a very dysfunctional area. When high levels of performance become the goal, and simple playful pleasure is no longer desirable, let alone permissible, I fear that our society is falling into a pathological condition. A recent article in Scientific Mind suggests that the emotional and psychological well being of a person might well correlate with how much free play they had in their childhood. If this is valid, we are in deep trouble.

If you’re of a certain age, you might well recall the notion of free play. My friends and I used to have pick up games of baseball, basketball or football. They were spontaneously motivated. One kid’s inspiration led to a chain of phone calls and we all managed to meet at a ball field. The immediate concern was whether we had enough players. So the effort to round up sufficient people was inspired.There was a co-operative communal effort, which felt really satisfying. And of course, we tried real hard to have our team win. But nobody stayed home because they weren’t good enough. It was simple, unadulterated fun. And it taught us so much about social skills. No coaches, parents or organizations to dictate the rules. We had the opportunity to create them for ourselves. And we certainly benefited from that.

The current generation of children and adolescents are deprived of play. Their experience of what should be play becomes more work, as it is overorganized, scheduled and ultimately graded upon performance. The absence of play in a child’s life is somewhat cruel. In fact, it may be unintentionally abusive. To rob our children of being children, as we propel them toward the cultural edict of excellence needs some serious reconsideration.

A young woman in her mid-twenties recently came in for her first visit with me.  Three months earlier she had experienced her first bout of anxiety and it had become more acute thereafter. She went on to explain that she had been seeing a psychiatrist who had prescribed four different psychotropic medications, simultaneously. Complaining of a blurred and disconnected feeling, she offered that she was uncertain as to whether the cause was physical, emotional and psychological—or a symptom of the gross invasion of this massive drugging.

I asked her if she had engaged in any therapy with either this psychiatrist or anyone else. “ He told me I didn’t need any therapy, just take the medication.” I gathered myself as I felt my ire arising. This medical professional seemingly appeared indifferent as to what conspired to set off this disorder and equally removed from any healing intervention, other than submitting her to an avalanche of very serious medication. I am increasingly witnessing such abhorrent behavior by many practitioners in the mental health profession.

I must note that I am not opposed to psychotropic medication; simply the indiscriminate and flagrant abuse of it. Moreover, I find the reliance upon and dominance of prescription medication over psychotherapy to be alarming.

During the course of our first meeting it become rather apparent as to why her life had unfolded in this manner and in fact, the anxiety made sense, as she had always struggled with her self value and her relentless measuring and judging of herself had more or less assured such a crisis. We are now working effectively toward reframing her beliefs and thoughts as she seeks to transform her life experience.

Depression, anxiety and other symptoms of emotional and mental distress have become so commonplace that they are literally being institutionalized. What was once considered an abnormality has now become quite normal. We should be asking why that is so. The rates of occurrence are staggering. They indicate the emergence of an epidemic. There is something terribly amiss here. This data indicates that what we refer to as mental disorder is, in fact, quite normative. It’s beginning to look as if the disorder is, in fact, the order.

I am suggesting that in part it is the pathologizing of stressful, yet normal human experience, that we indeed create a culture of pathology. I would offer that what would otherwise be a normal experience of the ups and downs of being human, are now viewed through the prism of dysfunction. Every challenge and travail has a diagnostic label affixed to it and we become a nation of victims–both to the malaise and the pathologizing of what it means to be human. Having said this, there are no doubt other contributing factors to this problem—primarily cultural— that will be the subject of my next blog.

The hegemony of the pharmaceutical industry

The pharmaceutical industry is second only to the military industrial complex in terms of size and revenue. This industry has taken a leading role in the education and training of psychiatrists and the field has become for the most part a profession of diagnosis and medication, marginalizing actual psychotherapy. The overarching force in American culture is profit and there is enormous profit earned from the business of medicating people.

At times, life simply presents challenges and struggles that very understandably cause distress. Yet, when we drug away the symptoms we invariably weaken the individual’s capacity to cope and to grow, as they become habituated to the medication and disempowered in their own ability to transcend their struggle.

Recently, I heard a colleague recount the following story: A new client came in to see him and told him that her husband had just left her and their three young children. She was overwhelmed and anxious about finances. She indicated to him that her previous therapist had recommended anti-depressants. A pill can’t cure or alleviate the circumstances that her life presented. Yes, this woman was likely depressed, but for a very good reason. Her depression isn’t clinical, but situational and due to real life stressors. She doesn’t need medication; she needs support and encouragement to face her challenges. We need to look more circumspectly at the automatic default of prescribing pharmaceuticals and selectively determine when medication is truly advantageous, yet not subscribe blindly to the medicating of a population.

The dysfunction of diagnosis

A diagnosis has become confused with being an actual entity. Diagnosis should be a practitioner’s best effort to describe and summarize an individual’s challenges and circumstances and correlate that evaluation to a DSM descriptor. Instead it has become concretized to be an actual thing. Last week, as I was walking down the corridor from my office I overheard a therapist speaking with another about their client. “Jane has ADD,” she offered. Tongue in cheek, I inquired, “What do you mean?” “My client Jane has ADD,” she once again proclaimed, bewildered by my feigned ignorance.

I corrected her as I asked, “You mean you see behaviors in Jane that conform to what we call ADD?” Diagnoses should not be confused with an actual material essence as much as they ought to be accurate descriptions for the purpose of coherent communication about a person’s circumstances. The diagnosis is a description, our best attempts to summarize the great complexity and inestimable variables that account for a person’s life. The only certainty is a prevailing uncertainty in this most subjective science. It is a cardinal error to aggrandize our inclination to categorize and play master of the universe with people’s lives. When the board of psychiatrists convene to construct new diagnostic language to describe disorders that they see occuring in the mental health community, it may serve a useful purpose; one of describing prevailing circumstances seen through a subjective filter. But we loose sight of the intention to describe rather than to construct. When the person becomes the diagnosis, we loose the ability to see that thought created the diagnosis, makes an attribution of that thought to a human life and then steps back in denial of the whole process.

Of course, this error of categorization or what Alfred North Whitehead referred to as the fallacy of misplaced concreteness, aligns perfectly with the profit driven goals of the pharmaceutical industry. I would offer that an unconscious conspiracy occurs between the hegemony of the drug industry and the loss of the healing capacity of the therapist. They result in what I refer to as the pathologizing of a culture.

Year after year, so many people make New Year’s resolutions that over time wither and fade into another failed attempt to transform some aspect of their lives. What begins with a hopeful optimism unravels in yet another unmet aspiration.

It’s always a curiosity to me how we come to try to evoke change in the same way that gives us the same failure. I imagine that if we conducted a survey six months after the New Year and asked people about the success of their resolutions, we’d find an abysmal rate of failure. Our struggle with change is resoundingly difficult and scant attention is devoted toward understanding why that’s so.

Change begins as a thought, underscored by a wish or even stronger, a desire. This may set in motion an even stronger feeling, an intention. Most people find themselves somewhere within this continuum. Clearly, where you fall within that range is important toward the eventual outcome, but nevertheless insufficient for an assurance of reaching your goal.

What typically prevents the success is the necessary commitment–the vaulting into action–that supports the transition. A number of years ago, on the occasion of my voicing a resolution —to get into shape and work out regularly—a dear friend asked me when I’d actually be doing that. I said, ” at least three times a week.” He responded with a ringing clarity, ” If it’s not in your calendar, day and time, you’re not committing to it.” He was quite right. The intention wasn’t enough.

It’s not uncommon to initiate the change, but over time we tend to retreat back into the old familiar zone and loosen our grip on the new progress. Sustaining change is often more difficult than initiating it. This is because we haven’t fully committed to the progress. We make a bit of change, breathe a sigh of relief and give ourselves a break. And the change evaporates.

The commitment, if grounded in conviction, can lead to what I call a defining moment. It’s an instant in which we become so invested in the change we desire, that we commit to a turning point in our lives. We are in fact changed as of that moment. This is a defining moment in which we come to see ourselves differently, act upon it, and become transformed.

The defining moment alters everything. It is the engine that drives the change. The introduction of this new catalyst alters how we think and how we operate. It introduces a new habit into our being and literally alters our bio-chemistry. Neuroscience is now clearly confirming that our thoughts do indeed alter our brain chemistry. Sustaining the new thought, embracing with conviction the new resolution is achievable with a deep and rooted commitment. Anything short leaves us falling short.

Old habits die hard because old thought defends its territory. Thought and behavior are inextricably connected. This habitual pattern literally creates a groove of thought, feeling and behavior. And it here that we get stuck. In order to disrupt that habitual pattern, we must intervene with a significant force, the defining moment in which we embrace the change and nothing stands in the way. This requires embracing the disquiet of new behavior. We need to take the discomfort and make it our ally as we align with the new shift. A resolution isn’t enough; a turning point into new terrain is required ans the energy to sustain it.

Beginning a new year often brings forth a review of our expectations and I thought it might be a good idea to briefly examine this topic.  As with many concepts in our culture, we tend to fall well short of fully appreciating what these terms truly suggest and at times, the apparent contradictions that they may evoke. This is certainly the case with the word expectations. Are they to be valued and embraced or do they impede us and distort our life experiences? The answer depends on a host of things.

One size doesn’t typically fit all and we need to look at how we employ the word expectations. From the perspective of some spiritual traditions we should be disinclined to attach to expectations as they may block our direct experience of life and impose a bondage of belief upon us. Traditional western values that inculcate and reward achievement honor high expectations, for they drive our culture and our economy.

Some people suffer from a lack of healthy expectations and thus limit their potential and others set unattainably high expectations for themselves and thus assure their frustration and unhappiness. Often, expectations get in the way of our being present as our mind distorts our current experience through the filter of our needs. In this case, we are confronted with a paradox. Are expectations good or bad? The zen answer to this questions is simply, yes. The seeming paradox around this term that may lead to much confusion. A good starting point is to ask if your expectations–or lack thereof—enhance your life experience? Do they assist you in the unfolding of your life or do they justify your unhappiness?

The paradox of expectation shouldn’t be resolved by simply saying that they are good or bad. They are neither and they are both. They are what me make them and what we make of them. The responsibility lies within us. As the architects of our lives, we need to be the master of our expectations, rather than be ruled by them. If after a thorough examination, we conclude that our expectations are authentic and self-generated and yet we still struggle in their attainment, we have an opportunity to look at why that is so. On the other hand, if these wishes are not of our own making but merely imposed upon us, we can unshackle ourselves from this burden.

Looking at Greed as an Addictive Dysfunction

The saga of the Bernard Madoff debacle, AIG bonuses and the host of other repugnant behaviors actually reveal a terrible dysfunction in our culture, which has now come to our screeching attention. We are a society that is addicted and ultimately maddened by our obsession with profligate abundance and extravagance. How inconceivable is it that a man who has attained so much success and wealth and earned the rewards of privilege and prestige, feels compelled to ruin himself and his investors in his vainglorious attempt to have yet more? When is enough yet enough?

When one is an addict the answer is never. Regrettably, Madoff is far from alone. We, as a culture, are prone to this addiction. And you need not be wealthy to suffer from this affliction. The scourge of many wealthy may be greed, while the burden of the middle class is runaway materialism. After all, the greed of the elite typically requires relentless consumption by the rest of us. Consumerism is the requisite for the ongoing greed. Without it, the wheels fall of the train.

One might argue that lining up well before dawn to be amongst the first to crash through the gate as the doors open on Black Friday of Thanksgiving weekend is simply due to financial needs; the plight of the middle and working class. Surely our economy leaves countless people in tragic peril. Yet, there were undoubtedly individuals in that herd that are driven by the brainwashing of runaway materialism. They may not be sacrificing their sleep solely for diapers or food, but out of their compulsion for the quick and short-lived fix of purchasing.

I am arguing from generality of course, and millions of people fortunately do not align with the cultural illness that I am describing. Yet, many millions do, and their plight needs to be appreciated. The ongoing message that we receive is to buy, buy, buy. It is both overt and subliminal. The pervasive message in our culture is that you’ll be happier after you make your next purchase. You’ll be more attractive, sexier, smarter,  —life will be better.

After 9/11, George Bush urged us to get back to normal in one particular way: Go out and shop. In every other way, we were to be seen as a country under attack. But put that aside so long as you can keep the cash register ringing. The American deity is the economy. It is our unifying religion.

What likely began as a master plan of the leaders of the economic universe, an ever- expanding GNP, ultimately trapped the very architects themselves. No longer content to simply be far wealthier than everyone else, they became literally addicted to this need to satiate their egos with more and more. But in the throes of such an addiction, more is never enough. No sooner do you reach the next rung of wealth, than you look longingly upward toward the next tier. Madoff is a sick man; not simply due to the devastation that he unleashed on so many, but because his craving is no different than a junkie prepared to do anything for their next fix.

Greed and rampant materialism are the drugs. And they conspire to deprive us of balanced and joyful lives. They have us distort our lives, neglect our relationships and impoverish our souls. This dysfunction is as real and as destructive as any other disorder. It contains elements of obsessive/compulsive disorders and at the core renders the individual incapable of living a fruitful life.

The irony is that many of these fallen titans are the very same people that we had so revered. It was only a few moments back into our past when tales of a hundred thousand dollar rug for an office were seen as a testament to one’s success, their bragging rights. The tide of opinion has turned quickly as we now line up to verbally assault those we had recently worshipped. What has changed? Has the precipitous economic downturn recast our values? If so, fine. A sobering reality can shift our values, but it would benefit us to proclaim it as such. If the hero becomes villainous through no change of his or her own then our perspective has grossly shifted. Taking ownership of that shift underscores and substantiates a healthy change.

From this vantage we can see that a recession, let alone a severe one, begins to look like the plague. With a recession, it is as if the drug dealer has left town for a very long time. And we are left to deal with jonesing. Without the ability to spend and spend, we might come to deal with the gripping question of who we are and how we are living our lives. And hopefully we may redress our imbalance as we break through the addiction. The paradox is, that recession may really be relief from the addiction, in disguise. The pain and loss are real enough, but the opportunity lies in reconsidering how we choose to live.

Why Psychotherapists Shouldn’t be Shrinks

On occasions when people might inquire as to what type of work I do, I’d typically respond that I practice psychotherapy. I often hear the response, “Oh, so you’re a shrink.”  My reaction to the term shrink is that I’d rather expand than shrink. Although my comment might be taken as somewhat glib, it really speaks to my worldview and my intention to practice a psychology that is in coherence with this shift; emergence as opposed to reduction.

Psychotherapy, for the large part, has been rooted in an old paradigm of reality, which values reductive thinking and objective analysis. From this perspective, based upon certainty and determinism, we believe that with sufficient information we can drill down to the root causes of an individual’s afflictions. So our focus is often on the cause, hence reductive thinking and the term, shrink. Yet, from this methodology we sadly neglect how to get from here to there and what there looks like. Many people seem to have a reasonable understanding of why they have become who they are. A continued replay of these life events, ad nauseam, without sufficient focus on emergence leaves many people dissatisfied with their therapeutic experience.

Moreover, therapists tend to become steeped in the diagnostic penchant, which limits our capacity as healers and has us treat the diagnosis rather than co-creating new realities with our clients, grounded in a humanistic venture of actualizing new possibilities. Let’s take a look at some of the core tenets of mainstream psychology and how they limit the potentiality of the field.

Traditional psychology, still in lock step with our bio-medical approach, rests its foundation upon diagnosis. In fact, medical insurance requires a diagnosis for coverage. The operating assumption of diagnosis is that objectivity, in fact, exists. In order to diagnose another, we may assume that our subjective interpretations aren’t getting in the way and that objectivity actually prevails. From this perspective we should assume that a dozen clinicians working with the same client would all render the same diagnosis. I can assure you that no such thing would happen. We each see through the subjective filter of our own life experience, colored by our beliefs, thoughts, personal history, prejudices, biases, and our unconscious stirrings.

As therapists we are not calculating automatons (thankfully) but simply educated professionals assumedly doing our best; although perhaps constrained by an outmoded model of thinking. To that end, the field of psychology has not kept pace with the remarkable advances in the emerging sciences. As Jungian analyst Marie-Louise Franz wrote, “A psychology that does not keep up with the advances made in other sciences seems to me to be of little value.”

The instant the therapist shifts from an intuitive, empathic energy into one of a diagnostic clinician, they become immersed in the illusion of separateness. They falsely believe that they can observe without affecting the observed. Just imagine, in the intimacy of a therapy relationship, how the thoughts, feelings and interactions of the therapist impact the clients. The patient moreover tends to become the diagnosis. In the jargon of the therapist, Jane is referred to as bipolar as opposed to stating that Jane has some features of what we have come to call bipolar disorder. Jane becomes the diagnosis. In other words, we see her through the label of the dysfunction that we have attributed to her. The symptom isn’t the problem. It’s simply as a signal to us that this individual is struggling with some aspect of their life.

If you look for the depression in a person you will see a depressed person. In this circumstance you will treat their depression as you have been trained, working with the depression rather than the potential life energy of that individual.  Instead, if you see them as a person who has lost their vision of life, bereft without a sense of meaning and purpose and mired in fear and disconnection, you might well enter their life field with hope and support, working toward creating and actualizing a new experience. The different possibility of therapeutic outcomes is very much dependent upon the beliefs and perspective of the treating therapist. The energy of the relationship is more fundamental to the treatment than the consideration of the analytical assessment of the difficulty.

Several years ago I was introduced to a psychiatrist from a neighboring town. He proudly told me that within minutes of meeting a new patient he had them completely diagnosed. I paused, as I considered my response. I offered to him that when I work with someone I try not to fill my head with my own internal summation of their situation, for that would only serve to separate me from the from the unfolding process that we’re about to embark upon.

The more that I think I know, the less present I am to make new discoveries and help facilitate new potentialities. Understanding that I am part of the process, inseparable from the individual that I’m working with, is essential to the energy of healing and transformation. The notion of shrinking one’s life and psyche is clearly reductive and analytic. As such, it is rooted in the mechanistic model of an old scientific paradigm. The harm done is that it de-humanizes the human experience and focuses on what we refer to as dysfunction. If we look for the dysfunction and remain embedded in it with pathos, the path toward emancipation is impeded. This sets up a construct of pathology; which victimizes us unmercifully.