counselling

Personal Therapy: A Reflexive Account

What have I, as a client, found helpful in therapy? What have I found unhelpful? And, What, for me, has been the process of change?

We're currently working on an analysis of young people's experiences of school-based counselling in our ETHOS trial and, as part of the preparation for that, we wanted to look at our own. This reflexivity is an essential part of good qualitative research: the more we can be aware of our own experiences, the more we can bracket it and ensure that we don't impose it on what our participants are telling us.

So below is my summary based on those episodes of therapy, with therapists from a variety of orientations: person-centred , existential, psychodynamic, and cognitive-behavioural. Of course, this is just my experiences and perceptions, and someone else may experience therapy in entirely different ways (indeed, that's the whole point of the exercise).


I have had 12 episodes of therapy over the last 38 years, from 12 different therapists. These have practiced from a variety of orientations: person-centred, existential, psychodynamic, and cognitive-behavioural.

Helpful

In terms of the person of the therapist, I’ve found it most helpful when they’ve been warm, friendly, and showing genuine care and interest.  It’s been important to me that I feel respected by them: on a human-to-human, adult-to-adult level.  At the same time, I have appreciated some professional ‘distance’ rather than over-familiarity.  So someone who achieves a balance of being open and ‘human’, but at the same time capable of—and focused on—doing their job.  Not too ‘sloppy’ or unstructured or laid back.  Along these lines, therapy has been most helpful to me when I’ve felt that the therapist is someone who I can learn from, who ‘knows’ more than me in some area.  Not necessarily ‘sorted’ or without their own problems, but someone who can help me discover things I didn’t already know.

It’s been helpful for me when therapists give me space to talk through, at my own pace, my problems.  Also, it’s been really important to me that the therapist understands, deeply and fairly easily, how I experience the world.  That they ‘get’ what life is like for me—as it actually is—and that they can help me (for instance, through reflections or questions) go more deeply into my experiences: talking about areas that I might only be dimly aware of.

Sometimes, insights from the therapist have been helpful to me (for instance, in relation to my past): particularly where put tentatively, and where I’m given space to work out their meaning for myself.

I have sometimes found psycho-education, or information from the therapist, very helpful.  However, although this has often taken the form of specific guidance or exercises, it is generally the overall message that has been most helpful to me.

Unhelpful

In terms of the person of the therapist, I’ve found it least helpful when they show coldness, indifference, and a lack of care; and worse when they relate in ways that are aloof, arrogant, condescending, dismissive, and critical.  I have also found it unhelpful when therapists engage in mechanistic and ‘by rote’ ways.  Another thing I find very unhelpful is when the therapist seems to be making assumptions about who I am or how I experience the world, or wants to ‘impose’ their perceptions over my actual lived-experiencing.  Along these lines, I really react when therapists, through interpretation or guidance, seem more interested in ‘proving’ the truth of their particular therapeutic model or dogma, rather than listening to how I experience my world, and helping me work out what’s best for me.

 The other side of this is that, if a therapist is too vague, woolly, and ramshackle, I can end up feeling a bit lost in therapy and losing confidence in them.  As above, for therapy to be helpful, I need to feel that the therapist is someone I can learn from—and develop in relation to.

Process of Change

Most of my change in therapy has come through developing insights about what I am doing, why I am doing it, and how I am really feeling; and then finding ‘better’ ways of doing things—ways that are more satisfying, fulfilling, and rewarding.  This has nearly always come about through a two-way dialogue between myself and the therapist: questions, reflections, and gentle insights and interpretations from the therapist; space for me to reflect, process their perceptions, and disclose further; more input and encouragement from the therapist.

Sometimes, particularly when things have felt very difficult, it has been helpful just to have lots of space to talk and put everything ‘out there’.  This has made things feel less overwhelming and tangled up. 

Knowing that there is someone there who I can turn to for help and support—someone ‘solid’, dependable, and knowledgeable—has been really important at times.

Learning, mainly through cognitive and behavioural therapies, that it is better to face fears than avoid them has been very helpful for me. This guidance has been a constant companion throughout my life, and has helped me to live ‘out in the world’ as fully as possible. 

Sometimes, just being given accurate information by a therapist has allayed fears.


Exploring your own therapeutic experiences: A reflexive exercise

If you're interested in exploring your own experiences of therapy then you might be interested in the steps I used to do this for myself. These are as listed below. (Please bear in mind, of course, that this is at your own risk—it can be painful or upsetting to think back on therapy—and do ensure you keep anything you write down stored safely) :

  1. List all the episodes of therapy that you have had (you can include group as well as individual, whatever is meaningful for you).

  2. For each one, write down (approximating where you don’t know for sure):

  • A title for it that’s meaningful for you (e.g., ‘Gestalt Therapist’, ‘College Counsellor’)

  • Who the therapist was

  • Dates

  • Location

  • Number of sessions

  • Presenting issue(s) (what you came to address)

  • ‘What I experienced as helpful in this therapy’

  • ‘What I experienced as unhelpful in this therapy’

  • ‘The process of change in this therapy, if any’

  • A rating of overall helpfulness from 1 (Not at all helpful) to 10 (Extremely helpful).

3. Now go through your answers for the three penultimate questions (i.e., helpful, unhelpful, and change process) and try to summarise in a few paragraphs for each. So what, across therapists, you have experienced as helpful and unhelpful in therapy for you, and any change processes you went through.

As with reflexivity in research, perhaps a final step is then to consider how much your own perceptions might get ‘projected’ onto clients. The more we know what it is that we want and don't want from therapy ourselves, the more we may be able to step back from that and allow the genuine 'otherness' of the client to come through. For instance, if what we found was helpful was lots of space to talk, do we assume that all of our clients want that too? Are we open to the possibility that some clients may want something very different, for instance practical guidance? That doesn’t mean we then have to offer that, but it may be important to talk through with our clients what they do actually want (and not want), and what we can actually offer them: a process of metatherapeutic communication.

All the things I hate about watching myself do counselling practice (and a few I can just about bear)

Some years ago, I posted a video of myself demonstrating some counselling skills (the original video has now been taken down, but other videos are available here and here). I always think there’s a dearth of videos out there demonstrating real counselling practice, so I wanted to post something of what it can really look like (even if it was with an actor). Problem is, reviewing it, I had to watch myself a few times, and like most of us it was a pretty unbearable experience:

  1. I’m wearing a winter jacket when I open the door inside the house. Doh!

  2. Why do I always look so serious? I look like I’m frowning, or sitting on spike. Jeez, lighten up!

  3. ‘It sounds like…’ ‘It sounds like…’ It sounds like I’ve got about four phrases I repeat over and over again.

  4. Profile view definitely not my best angle.

  5. ‘So…’ Is it possible for me to start a sentence without ‘so’?

  6. So can I ever actually finish a sentence without changing tack half way through.

  7. It’s a bit cognitive, isn’t it. I wish I could have given more space for feelings to emerge, or find ways of helping the client go deeper into his emotions.

  8. Stomach. I was pretty chubby as a kid, and still get shudders at the sight of it.

  9. I can’t even get my pronouns right on the captions: ‘Rob’… ‘they’re…’ ???

  10. ‘It feels like…’ another stock phrase I just seem to repeat incessantly.

  11. Is it too meandering? Or perhaps not meandering enough?

  12. I’ve got so many cables behind me. Looks like I’m sitting in an electric chair.

And a few things I do quite like:

  1. Black polo shirt.

  2. I smile sometimes.

  3. I think I’m listening, pretty intensely, and conveying that understanding back.

  4. I guess a few of the summaries draw together things pretty well.

  5. Nice watch. I never wear a watch, just for this video.

  6. Bringing it into the ‘here and now’ [26.02]

  7. My silver chain. Bought that for myself a few years ago and stopped wearing it. Shiny.

  8. We get somewhere in the sessions. I think. It’s only a demonstration, but does illustrate a few things that seem to be helpful in therapy.

Having said that, if there’s one thing more depressing than seeing myself on video, it’s seeing how narcissistic and superficial my comments on seeing myself on video are!

Anyhow, if you’re on a training counselling or psychotherapy course, and cringing as you listen to—or watch—yourself for practice recordings, it may be reassuring to know you are definitely not alone.

Person-centered therapy: A pluralistic perspective

Updated author final version of:

Cooper, M., & McLeod, J. (2011). Person-centered therapy: A pluralistic perspective. Person-Centered and Experiential Psychotherapies, 10(3), 210-223.

INTRODUCTION

Since the 1970s, the field of person-centered therapy has witnessed increasing differentiation (Lietaer, 1990), with the emergence of several distinctive “tribes” (Sanders, 2004; Warner, 2000). Some have questioned the legitimacy of certain members of this family (e.g., Brodley, 1990), but with an increasing emphasis on “inclusivity and the embracing of difference” within the PCE world (Sanders, 2007, p. 108), many now see this diversity as a positive quality to be prized (e.g., Cooper, O’Hara, Schmid, & Wyatt, 2007). From this standpoint, each of the members of the PCE family can be seen as drawing on, and developing, different elements of Rogers’ work. While those who identify with a “classical client-centered” standpoint, for instance, can be seen as orientating primarily around Rogers’ (1942) concept of nondirectivity (e.g., Bozarth, 1998; Brodley, 1990); emotion-focused/process-experiential therapists (e.g., Greenberg, Rice, & Elliott, 1993) can be understood as placing more stress on the affective experiences and processes that Rogers placed at the heart of the therapeutic enterprise (e.g., Rogers, 1959).

The aim of this paper is to introduce, and critically discuss, an alternative reading of what it means to be person-centered. This is one that is primarily rooted in the idiographic assumptions underlying the person-centered worldview: that each individual is distinct, and that the role of the therapist should be to facilitate the actualization of the client’s unique potential in the way that best suits the individual client.

PERSON-CENTERED VALUES: PRIZING THE UNIQUENESS OF HUMAN BEING AND BECOMING

Person-centered therapy, as with other humanistic and existential approaches, can be understood as a form of counseling and psychotherapy which puts particular emphasis on “conceptualizing, and engaging with people in a deeply valuing and respectful way” (Cooper, 2007, p. 11). As a consequence of this, a key element of person-centered thought is a rejection of psychological and psychotherapeutic systems which strive to reduce individual human experiences down to nomothetic, universal laws and mechanisms. Rather, there is an emphasis on viewing each human being “as a unique entity, unlike any other person who has existed or will exist” (Cain, 2002, p. 5). In other words, while person-centered theorists have argued that certain psychological features, such as the need for positive regard or conditions of worth (Rogers, 1959), are universal, there is a particular emphasis on the fact that each human being is distinctive, irreplaceable and inexchangeable. Levitt and Brodley (2005, p. 109), for instance, stated that client-centered therapy “is not centered on what a general client would or should be. It is not centered on a theory external to the client…. The focus of the therapist is entirely on understanding the client as an individual, in all his uniqueness, from moment to moment.”

In Rogers’s work, this idiographic emphasis is particularly evident in his assertion of the “fundamental predominance of the subjective” (Rogers, 1959, p. 191). Each individual, for Rogers (1951, p. 483), “exists in a continually changing world of experience of which he is the center”; and, given that this ever-changing phenomenological experiencing will be unique to the individual, the very essence of each human reality is distinct. Rogers’s (1942) idiographic emphasis is also evident in his critical stance toward diagnosis, preferring to view human beings as unique, individual organisms rather than as manifestations of trans-individual dysfunctional states.

This emphasis on the psychological irreducibility of each client, however, is not merely a theoretical assumption, but is rooted in a deep ethical commitment within the person-centered field to engaging with an Other in a profoundly honoring way. Here, the work of the French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas (1969, 2003) has been particularly influential (e.g., Cooper, 2009; Schmid, 2007; Worsley, 2006), with his emphasis on the “absolute difference” of the Other (Schmid, 2007, p. 39): that they are “infinitely transcendent,” “infinitely foreign,” “infinitely distant,” “irreducibly strange.” For Levinas, the Other always overflows and transcends a person’s idea of him or her, is impossible to reconcile to the Same, is always more than – and outstrips – the finite form that they may be afforded. From this standpoint, then, it is not just that each human being is unique, but that each human being is so unique that they can never be fully understood by an other: Their difference, at least to some extent, is transcendent. This is similar to Rogers’ (1951, p. 483) statement that the private world of the individual “can only be known, in any genuine or complete sense, to the individual himself.”

This idiographic emphasis within the person-centered approach is associated with a theory of psychotherapeutic change in which there is a particular emphasis on helping clients to actualize their distinctive potential and become their “own unique individual self” (Rogers, 1964, p. 130). Person-centered therapy (Rogers, 1957, 1959) aims to provide clients with a set of therapeutic conditions in which they can reconnect with their actual, individual experiences and valuing processes, moving away from a reliance on more external, “leveled down” (Heidegger, 1962) judgments and introjects.

An emphasis on the distinctiveness of each human being and their change processes also means that each individual’s needs and wants can be considered, at least to some extent, unique and unknowable. Bozarth (1998) wrote that the process of actualization – the motivational tendency underpinning all growth and development – “is always unique to the individual” (Bozarth, 1998, p. 29); and he described it as an “idiosyncratic” (Bozarth, 1998, p. 24) process that cannot be predicted (or determined) by another.

A commitment to supporting the actualization of the Other in their own, unique way also reflects a fundamental person-centered ethic of respect for the client’s autonomy (Keys & Proctor, 2007). Grant (2004) has argued that the basis for person-centered therapy lies in the ethic of “respecting the right of self determination of others” (Grant, 2004, pp. 158). Similarly, Cain (2002, p. 5) stated that “A fundamental value of humanistic therapists is their belief that people have the right, desire, and ability to determine what is best for them and how they will achieve it.” In Levinas’s (1969, p. 47) terms, this could be described as a fundamental ethical commitment to letting the Other be in all their Otherness: a “non-allergic reaction with alterity.”

TOWARD A PLURALISTIC PERSPECTIVE

At the heart of a person-centered approach, then, is an understanding that human beings may want and need different things, and that an individual’s distinctive wants and needs should be given precedence over any generalized theories that another holds about them. Extrapolated to the therapeutic process, this suggests that a basic person-centered assumption should be that clients are likely to want and need many different things from therapy – both things traditionally associated with PCE practice (such as empathic understanding responses) and things not (such as Socratic questioning) – and that any generic theories of change that we, as therapists, may hold, should be subordinate to the client’s specific needs and wants.

The hypothesis that different clients want different things from therapy is supported by empirical research (see Cooper & McLeod, 2011 for a review of the research). In a major trial (King, et al., 2000), for instance, primary care patients for whom a brief therapeutic intervention was indicated were given the option of choosing between nondirective counseling or cognitive-behavior therapy (CBT). Of those patients who specifically opted to choose one of these two therapies, around 40% chose the nondirective option, while 60% chose the CBT.

Of course, what clients believe they want is not, necessarily, what they need, nor what will necessarily be of greatest benefit to them. However, an emerging body of evidence indicates that different clients do, indeed, benefit from different types of therapeutic practices. While there is clear evidence, for instance, that most clients do best when levels of empathy are high (Bohart, Elliott, Greenberg, & Watson, 2002), there are some clients – individuals “who are highly sensitive, suspicious, poorly motivated” – who seem to do less well with highly empathic relationships (Bohart, et al., 2002, p. 100). There is also evidence that clients with high levels of resistance and with an internalizing coping style tend to do better in nondirective therapies, while those who are judged to be nondefensive and who have a predominantly externalizing coping style tend to benefit from more technique-orientated approaches (Beutler, Blatt, Alimohamed, Levy, & Angtuaco, 2006; Beutler, Engle, et al., 1991; Beutler, Machado, Engle, & Mohr, 1993; Beutler, Mohr, Grawe, Engle, & MacDonald, 1991).

Within the PCE field, this assumption – that different clients may benefit from different therapeutic practices (at different points in time) – has been articulated particularly well by Bohart and Tallman (1999). Process-experiential/emotion-focused therapists (e.g., Greenberg, et al., 1993) have also argued, and demonstrated, that particular therapeutic methods may be more or less helpful at particular moments in the therapy. In addition, from texts such as Keys’s (2003) Idiosyncratic Person-Centred Therapy and Worsley’s (2004) “Integrating with integrity,” it is evident that many person-centered therapists already incorporate a wide range of therapeutic methods into their work. Cain (2002, p. 44) wrote that one of the primary ways in which humanistic therapies have evolved is in their diversity and individualization in practice, and he went on to state that, ideally, humanistic therapists:

Constantly monitor whether what they are doing “fits,” especially whether their approach is compatible with their clients’ manner of framing their problems and their belief about how constructive change will occur. Although the focus of humanistic therapies is primarily on the relationship and processing of experience, they may use a variety of responses and methods to assist the client as long as they fit with the client’s needs and personal preferences.

In recent years, Cooper, McLeod, and colleagues have come to describe this standpoint, which prioritizes the therapist’s responsiveness to the client’s individual wants and needs, as a “pluralistic” one (Cooper & Dryden, 2016; Cooper & McLeod, 2007, 2011; McLeod, 2018). This is a stance which holds that “there is no, one best set of therapeutic methods,” and has been defined as the assumption that “different clients are likely to benefit from different therapeutic methods at different points in time, and that therapists should work collaboratively with clients to help them identify what they want from therapy and how they might achieve it” (2011, pp. 7–8). Cooper and McLeod’s pluralistic approach emerges from the person-centered values and practices discussed above, but it has been presented as a way of thinking about, and practicing, therapy which extends these values to the whole psychological therapies domain.

In terms of translating this general pluralistic stance into concrete therapeutic practice, Cooper and McLeod (2007, 2011) have emphasized two particular strategies. The first is to specifically orientate the therapeutic work around the client’s goals (or ‘directions’, Cooper, 2019), and the second is to develop the degree of negotiation, metacommunication, and collaboration in the therapeutic relationship.

CLIENTS’ GOALS AS AN ORIENTATING POINT FOR THERAPY

Cooper and McLeod (2007, 2011) have suggested that the goals that clients have for therapy can – and should – serve as an orientating point for thinking about, practicing, and evaluating therapeutic work. A client, for example, may want “to feel a sense of self-worth,” “to not experience anger and distrust toward my husband,” or “to be able to think about work without feeling stressed or panicky.” From a more classical person-centered standpoint, there is a risk that such a goal focus can lead to an overly mechanistic and ends-oriented approach to therapy, but there are several reasons why it is also highly consistent with a person-centered approach. First, it fits strongly with the concept of the client as active, meaning-orientated agent (Bohart & Tallman, 1999), who is engaged in constructing his or her life and relationships. Second, it privileges the client’s perspective – regarding what he or she want both in life and from therapy – over the therapist’s. Third, it moves away from a diagnostic, or even problem-centered, understanding of the client and the therapeutic process toward a potentiality-centered one – based around where the client wants to “go” in their lives. Finally, an orientation around the client’s goals may be the most explicit way of meeting, and responding to, the client as a self-determined, agentic subjectivity, who has the right to choose for him- or herself how he or she would like to pursue their own process of actualization. However, given that the term ‘goals’ can imply a more ends-oriented, cognitive emphasis, Cooper (2019) has suggested that the term ‘directions’ may be a more appropriate one: embracing embodied and unconscious, as well as cognitive and conscious, hopes, aspirations, and desires.

In order to help clients reach their goals, Cooper and McLeod (2007, 2011) have suggested that it may also be useful to think about the particular pathways by which these can be attained. Cooper and McLeod (2011, p. 12) refer to such possibilities as “tasks”: “The macro-level strategies by which clients can achieve their goals.” Examples of common tasks within therapy might include: “making sense of a specific problematic experience,” “changing behavior,” “negotiating a life transition or developmental crisis,” “dealing with difficult feelings and emotions,” and “undoing self-criticism and enhancing self-care.” Note, while process-experiential/emotion-focused therapists also refer to therapeutic “tasks” (e.g., Elliott, Watson, Goldman, & Greenberg, 2004), Cooper and McLeod use the term in a somewhat higher order sense: to refer to more general pathways or strategies. By contrast, the specific, micro-level concrete activities that clients and therapists undertake to complete these tasks are referred to as “methods,” such as “listening,” “participating in two-chair dialogue,” and “undertaking a guided visualization.” Cooper and McLeod also distinguish between the “therapist activities” that form one part of a therapeutic method and the “client activities.” Such a distinction may be useful when thinking about the kinds of therapeutic “methods” that clients may undertake outside of the immediate therapeutic relationship: for instance, reading self-help literature, exercising, or talking to friends and partners.

COLLABORATIVE ACTIVITY

This goal–task–method framework provides a means for therapists to think about what kind of therapeutic practices may be most helpful to a particular client. Of much more importance, however, is that it highlights three key domains in which collaborative activity can take place within the therapeutic relationship. For Cooper and McLeod (2007, 2011), such collaborative activity needs to be a key element of a pluralistically informed approach to therapy: maximizing the extent to which clients’ perspectives, wants and agencies can inform the therapeutic work. This activity has been described as metatherapeutic communication (Papayianni & Cooper, 2018), and it may be particularly appropriate in a first or early session of therapy: talking to clients about what they would like to get out of the therapeutic work, and how they feel that they might be able to get there. For example, a therapist might ask:

  • “Do you have a sense of what you want from our work together?”

  • “What do you hope to get out of therapy?”

  • “If you were to say just one word about what you wanted from this therapy, what would it be?”

  • “Do you have a sense of how I can help you get what you want?”

  • “What have you found helpful in previous episodes of therapy?”

  • “How would you like me to be in this therapeutic relationship: more challenging, more reflective?”

Although metatherapeutic communication is primarily orientated toward clarifying the client’s perspective, it by no means requires the therapist to ignore his or her own views and experience. Rather, the emphasis is on a dialogue between both members of the therapeutic dyad (Cooper & Spinelli, in press), in which therapist and client draw on their particular bodies of knowledge and expertise. Hence, the goals, tasks and methods of therapy emerge through a collaborative, negotiated dialogue; and may continue to be changed as the therapy unfolds.

An example of dialogue and metatherapeutic communication around a client’s goals for therapy comes from Mick’s work with a young man, Alex (details of clients have been changed to preserve anonymity). Alex was from a working class background, and had recently chosen to leave college feeling that he could no longer cope with his feelings of anxiety and depression. Alex began the session talking about his current difficulties, and the physical abuse he had experienced from his mother as a child.

Alex:    Obviously the fact that it was my mum that I got the abuse from makes it a lot harder. Because I kind of feel that people look at me a little bit – There’s always this sense of attack.

Mick:   There’s an underlying sense of attack from people.

Alex:    It’s kind of paranoid in a way. It kind of annoys me that I’m still doing it, but it doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t stop. It’s not even getting gradually better now that I’ve realized – everything’s just exactly the same, but … more frustrating because I know that it’s going to take time, but I feel that I’m kind of at a standstill, and don’t know really where to go ….

At this point, Mick invited Alex to try and specify more clearly where he would like therapy to take him to with this difficulty.  

Mick:   So, if we were to, kind of, think about specific things that you’d want from the counseling, it sounds like one of the things would be around – what would it be? Would it be about not wanting to experience people as so critical or … How would you phrase some of the things that you’d want? So – where – like in 15 or 20 sessions, where would you like to be at the end of it, in contrast to now?

Alex:    I suppose I’d like to improve my personal relationships, in the sense that I have more self-worth. Because … mm … in arguments and upsets … I value myself a lot less than I should. I just let people get their own way, just because it makes things easier …. I take a lot of hits from other people.

Mick:   So there is something about wanting to feel more of a sense of self-worth?

Alex:    Yeah, in that I can make these objections and that my feelings are equal to the other persons.

Mick:   So something about being able to feel that my opinions and what I want is valid, and not put other people’s first.

Alex:    Yeah.

These goals, as identified by Alex, then served as an orientating point to the ongoing therapeutic work.

A second example of this dialogical process, with respect to collaboration around therapeutic methods, comes from McLeod’s work with a young male client, Haruki.

During one of the early sessions that focused on the task of dealing with his panic feelings, John and Haruki talked together about the various ways that Haruki thought that it might be possible for them to address this issue. John wrote down the ideas that emerged, on a flipchart. Haruki began by saying that the only thing that came to mind for him was that he believed that he needed to learn to relax. John then asked him if there were any other situations that were similar to performing in seminars, but which he was able to handle more easily. He could not immediately identify any scenario of this type, but later in the session he returned to this question, and told John that he remembered that he always took the penalties for his school soccer team, and dealt with his anxieties by running through in his mind some advice that he had received from his grandfather, about following a fixed routine. John then asked him if he would like to hear some of John’s suggestions about dealing with panic. John emphasized that these were only suggestions, and that it was fine for him to reject them if they did not seem useful. John mentioned three possibilities. One was to look at a model of panic, as a way of understanding the process of losing emotional control. The second was to use a two-chair method to explore what was going on in his mind, in terms of what he was internally saying to himself at panic moments. The third was to read a self-help booklet on overcoming panic. (Cooper & McLeod, 2011, p. 93)

From a person-centered standpoint, one counterargument to this call for greater metahtherapeutic communication (as mentioned above) might be that what clients want in therapy – or what they believe themselves to want – is not necessarily what they need. Clients may have introjected, for instance, certain beliefs about what will be most helpful to them (such as external advice or suppression of emotions), and this may run counter to their actual organismic valuing (Rogers, 1959). As indicated above, however, metatherapeutic communication does not simply involve doing whatever the client wants; if the therapist has a different view of what might be helpful, this is something that can be brought into the dialogue. Having said that, any therapeutic approach which claims to be client-centered needs to be very careful not to dismiss, minimize, or override a client’s own views of what it is they want. Moreover, research suggests that clients who get the therapeutic interventions that they want do tend to experience more benefit, and are much less likely to drop out, than those who do not (Swift, Callahan, Cooper, & Parkin, 2018).

A second counterargument to this call for greater metacommunication may be that it overemphasizes verbal and conscious communication processes in the therapeutic relationship, and overlooks the value of more subtle, nonconscious, and intuitive understandings: such as the therapist’s felt-sense of what the client needs, or their embodied empathic understanding (Cooper, 2001). However, research tends to suggest that therapists, in fact, are generally not that good at accurately intuiting what their clients really want or are experiencing (see Cooper, 2008, p. 2). Moreover, a substantial body of research on “client deference” indicates that clients are often very wary of communicating to their therapists what it is that they really want or need (Rennie, 1994) – including to person-centered therapists – and will often hide things from their counselors or psychotherapists (Hill, Thompson, Cogar, & Denman, 1993). Hence, although overt, explicit communication may not be the only channel through which therapists can develop a greater understanding of their clients’ actual wants and needs, empirical research suggests that this is one mode of communication that many therapists could utilize more fully.

Indeed, given the difficulties that clients may have directly expressing their goals, wants, and preferences to their therapists, pluralistic therapists have suggested a range of tools and measures that therapists may want to incorporate into the therapeutic process. For instance, the Cooper-Norcross Inventory of Preferences (Cooper & Norcross, 2016) invites clients to indicate on a range of dimension how they might like their therapist to be: such as, “Be more challenging – Be more gentle,” and “Focus more on my feelings – Focus more on my thoughts and cognitions,” (download from here). Another tool that has been developed is the Goals Form (download from here) where clients’ goals for therapy can be jotted down in an early session (and revised if necessary), and then rated every week on a 1 (Not at all achieved) to 7 (Completely achieved) scale. For Alex (discussed above), for instance, three of his identified goals were to “Feel a sense of self-worth,” “Feel that my opinions and wants are valid in relationships,” and “Not interpreting what others say and do in critical way.” At assessment, the average rating across these three items was 1.33 (i.e., very close to “Not at all achieved”) and, by session five, had increased to 3.

IMPLICATIONS FOR ESTABLISHED PERSON-CENTERED AND EXPERIENTIAL THERAPIES

A pluralistic reading of person-centered therapy does not, in any way, challenge the value or legitimacy of other perspectives and practices within the PCE field. Nor does it call on all PCE therapists to be more integrative in their work. Cooper and McLeod (2011) make a clear distinction between pluralism as a perspective on psychotherapy and counseling, and pluralism as a particular form of therapeutic practice. Hence, a therapist who offers classically orientated client-centered therapy could still subscribe to a pluralistic viewpoint: believing that there are many different ways of helping clients, even though they choose to specialize in just one. More specifically, it may be useful to think about a pluralistic approach as residing on a spectrum: from a simple acknowledgment of the value of different therapeutic methods; to an enhanced use of goal orientation, metacommunication and negotiation in the therapeutic work; to a therapeutic practice that draws on methods from a wide range of orientations.

Even at a most minimal level, however, what a pluralistic perspective does offer is a challenge to the assumption that any one person-centered perspective, method or set of hypotheses holds some kind of “metanarrative” status (Lyotard, 1984): that it is true, or superior, for all people at all times. More than that, it challenges “dogmatic person-centeredness” (Worsley, 2001, p. 25): the belief that person-centered and experiential theories or methods are in some, generic way superior to other therapeutic practices and understandings. Rather, it invites members of the person-centered community to hold our person-centered theories and practices “lightly,” and to be open to challenges and different viewpoints from both within, and outside of, the person-centered field. At this level, it invites us to be “person-centered” about person-centered therapy: nondefensive, open to a range of experiences, and willing to be “in process” rather than holding a fixed and rigid concept of self (Rogers, 1961).

A pluralistic perspective also invites PCE therapists to be more explicit about the particular ways in which our therapies may be able to help people; and the kinds of clients and contexts for which they may be most likely to be helpful. Person-centered and experiential therapists, for instance, might find it useful to undertake a “personal audit,” looking at the kinds of goals they feel most able to help clients to achieve, and the particular methods they would have for getting them there. This is something that might then be made clearer to clients prior to starting therapy, such that clients are more enabled to decide whether or not a PCE therapy is right for them. Further empirical research would be particularly helpful in this regard. For instance, we already know that clients with high levels of reactivity tend to be more likely to benefit from nondirective methods than clients with low levels of reactivity, but are there other groups of clients, or problems, or goals for which PCE methods or a PCE attitudinal stance may often be of greatest help?

Finally, for those interested in moving toward a more pluralistic practice, the pluralistic strategies outlined by Cooper and McLeod (2011) may help PCE practitioners to enhance their work through greater dialogue around the goals, tasks, and methods of therapy. And for PCE practitioners who are interested in incorporating other methods into their work, it provides a framework in which this can be achieved in a coherent and client-centered way.

DISCUSSION

Our hope is that the articulation of a pluralistic understanding of what it means to be person-centered will bring something fresh and vibrant to the person-centered field, even if it primarily involves the explication of something that has always been implicit. First, a pluralistic perspective offers PCE therapists a means of resolving the tension between commitment and antidogmatism (Hutterer, 1993). It provides a conceptual framework in which PCE therapists can feel proud of the work that they do and can develop and deepen this specialism, while at the same time avoiding a judgmental attitude toward other therapeutic orientations. More than this, it has the opportunity to give PCE therapists a unique identity in the therapeutic field: as champions of inclusivity and mutual respect across therapies. Second, closely related to this, it facilitates the building of bridges with other progressive, client-orientated approaches, such as the “client-directed” practices of Duncan, Hubble, Sparks and colleagues (2004) and the work of many postmodern-informed family therapists (see Sundet, 2011). Third, a pluralistic perspective on therapy provides a means of conceptualizing, not just processes within the counseling and psychotherapeutic domain, but the whole range of personal development activities. In this way, a pluralistic perspective can help the person-centered and humanistic field move away from an exclusive focus on how professional therapists “bring about” change in clients, and toward a more client-orientated and client-agentic stance (Bohart & Tallman, 1999). Fourth, a pluralistic viewpoint provides a means by which person-centered practices can be more fully opened up to new and emerging research – as well as new theories and ideas – such that it can remain a growing and actualizing field. Closely linked to that, it provides a framework for researching and thinking about the complex question of how therapists can most constructively engage with our clients’ individual wants and needs. Finally, for some person-centered practitioners, the development of a pluralistic practice may allow them to grown more fully as therapists. It provides a highly flexible model of practice in which therapists can incorporate, and advance, whatever potentialities, strengths and resources they have. If, as Rogers’ (1961, p. 158) suggested, the fully functioning person is not rigid in their constructs, but an “integrated process of changingness,” then a pluralistic form of practice may offer some PCE practitioners a means of moving to a more fluid and creative actualization of their full potentialities.

In summary, from a pluralistic perspective, to be person-centered means to be someone who acknowledges the vast diversity and unknowability of human being, and who prizes the unique needs and wants of each individual client. It means to be someone who puts their clients wants for therapy before their own assumptions about what those wants might be, and who strives to be responsive within the limits of their own training, expertise and interest. For some person-centered therapists, it may also mean drawing on a variety of therapeutic methods from both PCE and non-PCE sources. Whether or not a therapist practices pluralistically, however, a pluralistic person-centered standpoint means an acknowledgment and prizing of the many different ways in which non-PCE therapies can be of value to clients; while also a recognition of the power and depth of the established PCE approaches.

FAQs (2019)

Isn’t pluralism just what a lot of people do anyway? Yes, absolutely, and so we’re not suggesting a new model of practice. But putting words and terms to what we do may help us develop, research, and more deeply understand that way of working.

What’s the difference between ‘pluralism’ and ‘integration’? Two main things. First, from a pluralistic standpoint we put a particularly strong emphasis on the collaborative relationship between therapist and client—metatherapeutic communication—which is there in many integrative forms of therapy but is not implicit to integration per se. For instance, you could have an integrative approach that is very strongly therapist-led. Second, pluralism is proposed as a framework and set of values, as well as a particular form of practice, whereas integration does refer to a particular practice. So you could say, for instance, ‘I practice person-centred therapy from within a pluralistic standpoint,’ but it wouldn’t make sense to say ‘I practice person-centred therapy from within an integrative standpoint.’

But Rogers talks about being flexible with, and responsive to, clients. So how is pluralistic therapy any different? If person-centred therapy is practiced in a genuinely flexible way, where we’re responding to what clients want and need with all of our skills and expertise, then the differences may well be very limited. But pluralism means respecting the wide diversity of methods that may be very helpful to clients—above and beyond empathy, acceptance, and congruence—such as psychoeducation, skills training, and interpretations. Some person-centred therapists, no doubt, do incorporate such methods into their work (with appropriate training and experience) and if that’s in response to client need, then that’s absolutely pluralistic.

Surely a therapist can’t know every different method going. Absolutely, and pluralism is not about being able to give everything to everyone. It’s about recognising what we can and cannot do and being flexible within that.

Isn’t there a danger that the pluralistic therapist ends up just being a chameleon and inauthentic: a different person to each client? That’s certainly a risk, and one of the challenges of pluralism is to try and meet, as well as possible, the client’s wants and needs, while staying true to one’s own self, knowledge, and expertise. So the first step in pluralism is for the therapist to be really aware of what they can, and cannot, offer to a client—where their boundaries are—so they know what they’re able, and willing, to offer. Remember that shared decision-making is not simply a ‘patient choice’ model, whereby the therapist hands over all responsibility to the client. Rather, it’s a dialogical approach that sits midway between paternalistic and ‘patient choice’ approaches to healthcare.

How can you just combine therapies with fundamentally different theoretical assumptions about the person: like person-centred therapy and CBT? Research shows that the differences here are often much more ‘real’ to therapists than clients. If you look at the research on what clients find unhelpful, they rarely say things like, ‘The therapist combined too many approaches,’ or, ‘Their epistemological assumptions just didn’t match their ontologies.’ Clients, in general, are much more interested in real, practical solutions to their problems, and often appreciate a therapist who is willing to draw on whatever skills and knowledge they have to help that as much as possible.

So does pluralism actually have any consistent, underlying philosophy? Yes. Pluralism, itself, is an underlying philosophical framework, see for instance the work of Isaiah Berlin or Nicholas Rescher. Importantly, we can distinguish between a ‘foundational pluralism’, which is akin to relativism, and a more moderate ‘normative pluralism’, which is underpinned by a unified set of values. What are those? More than anything else, pluralism means an ethics of ‘welcoming otherness’: a commitment to being open, appreciative, and respectful of difference. In that sense, as with Levinas, it puts ethics as ‘first philosophy’: that how we treat others is the most fundamental issue, and a starting point for philosophical questioning that precedes ontology, epistemology, or other philosophical concerns.

What about clients who don’t know what they want from therapy, or what they’d prefer? Something that’s increasingly clear from our research is that clients do, indeed, differ very much in how much they know about therapy, and how clear they are about their own goals or preferences. So a pluralistic approach to therapy doesn’t just mean ‘handing the ball’ to the client and expecting them to do all the work. It’s a dialogical approach, where both therapist and client bring together their understanding and respective expertises to work out what is best for the client.

From a person-centred perspective, the person has the answers within them—their inner growth tendency—so why should they need more from the therapist than contact, empathy, UPR, and congruence? Theoretically, that’s where a pluralistic approach would differ from a purely person-centred approach. Pluralistically, the sources of potential healing are plural. So they definitely might come from ‘within’ the person, but also from ‘without’: books, learning, other people, pets… Rogers developed his ideas as a much needed counterbalance to the behaviourism of his time, which focused solely on external learning. But, taken in isolation, person-centred theory may veer too far the other way, and forget that external learning can be a crucial source of growth too.

Can’t pluralistic therapy end up being a ‘school’ of therapy in itself, with its own dogma, certainty, and closed-mindedness? Yes, that’s absolutely a risk, and one that we’ve tried to be mindful of from the start. So we’ve always advocated holding pluralism lightly, and in a self-critical and reflexive way. And if you look at our literature and research, you can, hopefully, see how the approach has grown and evolved as we’ve seen that some things work better than others. For instance, my latest work on directionality emerged in response to criticisms about ‘goals’ and the somewhat mechanistic, ends-oriented nature of that concept.

Where can I find out more information about pluralism in therapy? A good starting point is the Pluralistic Practice Network website. You can also find some resources and papers on the pluralistic therapy training page on this site.

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If people have a natural tendency to 'actualise' their potential, how is it we get so f...ed up?

It’s the quandary that just about every trainee on person-centred or humanistic courses asks (or, at least, thinks) on the first day of their training program… If human beings have a natural tendency towards self-healing, if they know what’s best for them, if they have an ‘organismic valuing potential’—why is it that we can end up in such messes in our lives?

An immediate answer might be that we have this natural tendency towards actualisation and growth, but it gets suppressed by the world and others around us. The problem with that, though, is that if we’re such actualising beings, why is it that that tendency so weak? Why does it just give up the ghost the moment it gets challenged? Not much of an actualising tendency!

Based on the work I’ve been doing for my new book: ‘Integrating counselling and psychotherapy: Directionality, synergy, and social change’ (Sage, Feb 2019), here’s three inter-related answers that, for me at least, can help to resolve this quandary.

First, we might know and feel what we want and what’s best for us, but we don’t always know how best to get there. I know, for instance, that I want to be close to my friends, or that I want to feel calmer in my life—and that’s my internal, organismic sense of what’s best for me—but that doesn’t mean that I’ll always have the skills or tools to make that happen. With the best will in the world, sometimes we just haven’t learnt the best ways of doing things (I still haven’t learnt how to change a car tyre), or we’ve learnt ways of doing things that might have worked in the past, but don’t work in our present circumstances. Maybe I learnt as a boy, for instance, that the best way to make friends was to act cool and distant because people respected me that way, but as an adult what that actually does is just keep people away. And, of course, people who have been traumatised and deeply hurt in the past learn that, to keep themselves safe, they may need to do things like avoid relationships and intimacy altogether. That’s exactly what they might have needed to get through life as a kid, but as an adult, when the world is different, it’s now become a barrier to closeness. So although we can say that people are always striving to do their best, doing our best isn’t always the best thing that we could be doing. Sometimes we need to learn better ways towards getting the things that we really want and need in life: and that’s something that therapy can be great for. We start with working out what we really want—self-worth, relatedness, autonomy, safety, etc—and work back from there to think about how we might get it more effectively.

Second, sometimes the things that we want are pulling us in opposite directions, so that the more we actualise one potential in our lives, the more we can end up actually getting less of something else that is really important to us. For instance, we really want to make the most of every moment in our lives. We want to be always doing things and being active and engaging with the world around us; but then that takes us away from actualising our potential to have a calm, relaxed, and relatively sane existence. And, of course, the basic tension at the heart of person-centred theory can be understood in this way: that we really want people to like and value us, but the problem is, the more we strive for that, the more we end up doing things that don’t suit other parts of ourselves: for instance, our desire for creativity or freedom or being unique. Again, that’s where therapy can be really helpful because it can give us a chance to weigh up these different wants, and also to find ways of living our lives more ‘synergetically’: that is, getting more of what we most deeply want more of the time. For instance, if the problem is that we want to be really creative, but the people around us are judgey’ about that, then maybe we can come to see that we need different people around us in our lives so that we can get creativity and relatedness at the same time: they don’t need to pull in opposite ways.

And that brings us to the third possibility: that some times the world around us makes it really difficult for us to get to the places that we know and feel, deep down, we really want to get to. An asylum seeker, for instance, wants safety in her life, and to feel self-respect, but living in the midst of a racist social context makes it really difficult for her to get that. And note here, it’s not that her actualising tendency gets squashed or suppressed or goes away, it’s that, with the best will in the world, she can’t get to where she wants to be because her world is standing in her way. In fact, when we look at both of the two other answers above, they’re also very much about a person’s social context. So, for instance, we don’t learn from the world about how best to actualise our most important directions; or the world creates conditions for us (like judgemental friends) that means the actualisation of one direction means the undermining of another. Here, therapy can help us think about how we change our world; but, as in the case of the asylum-seeker above, it sometimes needs more than that. If the problems are obstacles in the world, it needs real social and political change—equality, social justice, ending racism, etc—to help more people get more of what they deeply want more of the time.

So, for me, it makes really good sense to say that people know, deep down, what they want in their lives, and what’s good for them. No-one can tell me that what I really need in my life is closeness, or becoming a writer, or caring for others. I know, ‘inside’, what works best for me, what feels right. But when it comes to me trying to actually achieve that, things can get a lot more complicated, and however much I might try and do my best, I’m not always, necessarily, doing the best thing that I could be doing. Sometimes, for the world I inhabit, it’s not always the most effective way, or the most synergetic way—and that’s where therapy is great. But sometimes, however smart I am, the world just isn’t going to let me get to where I know I want to be: and then we might need to change that world, through personal or collective action. As human beings, we can be amazingly smart, but that doesn’t mean we always get it right all of the time. Recognising that things can be better—both at the individual and at the social level—is what gives us our incredible capacity to grow.

Critical parent or lazy slob? What's the real conflict at the heart of human being?

At the heart of each of the different approaches to therapy is an understanding of human beings in terms of a core inner conflict, and each one sees it in a slightly different way.

In the psychodynamic approaches, it's like a fight between a lecherous, aggressive drunk and a police officer who's wanting to keep the peace. And with a bossy, nasty magistrate pointing fingers over the police officer's shoulder.

In the humanistic approaches, it's like the battle between a free-spirited child and a critical, controlling parent who's worried what the neighbours will think.

In the existential approaches, it's like an argument between two disputants who cannot--and will not--seek a compromise. It doesn't matter what they're arguing about. You can guarantee that one of them will always disagree.

And in the CBT approaches, it's like a row between two flatmates: one a sensible, hardworking student (who's not averse to having fun), and the other a lazy slob who has never really developed the skills or confidence to make the most of things.

Which model is right? When you look at it this way, it's clear that there's no right or wrong, because all these different kinds of conflicts can happen between people--and within people--and there's no reason to think that only ever one of them is the 'right' one. Sometimes, we're lazy and need to give ourselves a kick, sometimes we clamp down on ourselves too much, sometimes we just can't stop arguing with ourselves and need to accept that there's always going to be some element of that. And when we view people in terms of all these possibilities, we get so much more of a richer view of human being than any one perspective can provide on its own.  All our theories are great, but they're even greater when we see them as a rich diversity of resources that we can draw on in helping to understand clients, rather than as exclusive truths. 

Choosing Your Research Topic: Some Pointers

If you're doing a research project in counselling, psychotherapy, or counselling psychology, choosing your topic can be one of the hardest things to get right. And often one of the things you get the least advice on. So how should you go about it?

Read through previous counselling/psychotherapy/counselling psychology research theses

Invaluable! Essential! Probably the most useful thing you can do to get you started. This will give you a real sense of the ‘shape’ of a research study in this field, what is expected of you, and the kinds of questions that you might want to ask.  Should be in your college library or ask a tutor.

originalITY is not everything

Often, in my experience, students come into Master’s or doctoral research projects thinking, ‘I must do something original… I must do something original.’ So they work away at finding some dark corner somewhere that no-one has ever looked into before. Of course, there does need to be originality in your research, but if you’re burrowing away into a corner somewhere then there’s a real danger that no-one else is going to be particularly interested in where you’re going—you’re off into a world of your own. So instead of asking yourself, ‘What can I do that no-one else has ever done before?’ ask yourself, ‘What can I do that builds on what has been done before?’ And that means…

…Get a sense of the field

What are the key questions being asked in your field today?  What are the issues that matter and that are of relevance to practice?  It’s great to draw on your own interests and experiences, but also make sure you develop some familiarity with the field as it currently stands.  This will help to ensure that your research is topical and relevant—of interest and importance to the wider field as well as yourself.  A great thing to do can be to find out what your tutors are researching and what they see as the key issues in the current field.  And do remember that there may be the possibility of developing your project alongside them in some way, so that you can contribute to a particular national- or international-level research initiative.

Also, right from the start, think about how your work and your research question might have the capacity to influence practice and policy.  This may be the biggest research project you’ll ever do.  So make it count.  Think about doing something that can really help others learn how to improve their practice, perhaps with a particular group of clients, or with respect to a particular method.  If it’s a doctoral level project, you’ll become a leading expert in that field, and you’ll be in a position to teach the rest of us how to be more helpful.  So think about what you’d like to find out about, which you can then disseminate to the field as a whole.

If you want to make your research count, have a really long think before you dive into doing research on therapists’ experiences or perceptions.  Lots of students study this: it’s reflexive, and it’s a relatively easy group to access.  But it also raises the question of how interested people are really going to be in how therapists’ see things.  After all, we’ve all been trained in particular beliefs and assumptions, so if we’re the subject of research, we’re often just going to reiterate what we’ve been taught to think.  Generally, clients make a much more worthwhile participant group, because you’re hearing first hand what it’s really like in therapy, and what works and what doesn’t.

Consult the literature

Once you’ve got some idea of what you’d like to look at, find out how other people have tried to answer that question. If no-one has tried to answer it before, that’s great, but you need to be really sure about that before going on to furrow your own path—after all, you don’t want to get to the end of your research to find out that somebody ‘discovered’ the same thing as you decades ago. So have a look on Google Scholar, and particularly on social science search engines like PsychInfo. Undertaking such searches also ensures that your research will be embedded within the wider research field, and it may well give you ideas about the kinds of questions that are timely to ask.

Make sure it's related to therapeutic practice

Choose a topic which is related, at least in some way, to the field of therapeutic practice. Most directly, this may include things like: clients’ experiences of helpful and unhelpful factors, how psychological interventions are perceived from those outside the field, or the applied role of counselling in such fields as education. Exploring people’s experiences of a particular phenomenon—for instance, women’s experiences of birth trauma—can also be related to therapeutic practice, but just be clear what the association might be. For instance, could that help therapists know how to work most effectively with that client group, or to know what issues to be sensitized to.

Find yourself a clearly-defined question

Try to find a single, clearly defined question as the basis for your study (see my Research Aims and Questions pointers). This can then serve as your title. If you can't encapsulate your research project into a single question/sentence at some point, the chances are, you're probably not clear about exactly what it is you are asking.

That's ‘question’, not ‘questions’

One of the biggest problems students face is that they ask too many inter-related questions, with too many constructs of interest, and therefore get very muddled in what they are doing. For instance, they’re interested in attachment styles, and how it relates to dropout as mediated by the client’s personality in EMDR for trauma. But that’s five different constructs (attachment styles, dropout, personality types, EMDR, trauma—and, indeed, a sixth implicit one, which is the outcomes of EMDR for trauma), and generally you want to focus down on just one or two constructs (particularly in qualitative research), or maybe three at most if you are doing quantitative. So, for instance, you could focus on how attachment style influences dropout, or how clients experience EMDR for trauma, or the role of personality styles in mediating outcomes in EMDR for trauma. Or you could even just focus down on how clients experience dropout. All nice, straightforward questions that you can really get into at Master’s or doctoral level depth. So think about the constructs that you definitely want to focus in on, and let go of those that are maybe less central to your concerns. Of course, that’s difficult, and three of the main reasons why are given below—along with the things you may need to remind yourself of:

'I won't have enough material otherwise.'  Your word limit may seem like a lot, but you'll be amazed at how quickly it goes. If you just focus on one question, you will be able to go into it in a great amount of depth—far more appropriate to Master’s or doctoral study than trying to answer a number of questions and subsequently coming away with numerous superficial answers.

'There's lots of different aspects of this area that I'm interested in.' That's great, but you won't be able to cover it all in this one project. You can always do further research after this one. In limiting yourself to just one question, you may well experience feelings of loss or disappointment as you let go of areas you're really interested in, but it's better to feel that loss now than after you've put months of work into areas that are just too dispersed.

'I've already started to ask this other question, and I don't want to lose the reading that I've already done'. Again, it can be painful letting go of things, but there is no value in ‘throwing good money after bad.’ Sometimes in research you need to be brutal, and cut out areas of inquiry that don't fit in—even if you've sweated blood over them. Remember what authors say: the quality of their book is defined by what they leave out!

That’s ‘question’, not ‘answer’

Some of the most problematic projects come about when researchers try to show that a particular answer is the correct one, and consequently won’t let anything—including their own findings—get in their way. So if you really believe something about psychological therapies, like ‘person-centred therapy is much more effective than cognitive-behavioural therapy’, or ‘women make much better counselling psychologists than men’ then you may want to steer clear of this topic. That is, unless you can really get yourself into a frame of mind in which you are open to the possibility that you might find the absolute opposite of what you want—and you can enthusiastically write about the implications of this finding. Good research is like good therapy: you put to one side your own assumptions as much as possible, so that the reality of whatever you are encountering can come through. So, in trying to work out your research question, here’s something to really ask yourself:

What is the question that I genuinely don’t know the answer to (but would love to find out)?

And ‘genuinely’ here means genuinely. It means you really, actually, don’t know what the answer to that question is. If you can find that question, it’ll help enormously in your whole research project, because it’ll mean that you’re genuinely open to, and interested in, finding out what’s out there. That’s research!

But make sure there’s not too much literature on it

If you ask a question on which much has already been written—like the effectiveness of person-centred therapy—then you’re likely to be drowned in material before you even get to the end of the literature review. So narrow down your question—e.g. the effectiveness of advanced empathy in person-centred therapy—until you’ve got a manageable number of references in your sights. Don’t worry if it seems too few, you’ll no doubt pick up more references as you go along. And remember, you need to have full mastery of the literature regarding the question your asking, and it is a lot easier to master the information in five or six papers than it is in hundreds.

What’s often ideal is if you can move one step on from some pre-existing literature: e.g. extending a study about depression in men to looking at depression in women, testing out a theory that you’ve found in a book, or using qualitative research to address a question that has previously only been addressed through quantitative research. So don’t get too hung up on being totally ‘original’: in fact, if you try to be too original you can end up in a sea of confusion with no theoretical or methodological concepts to anchor yourself to. Having an original twist is often much more productive—you’re saying something new, but you’re building on what’s already been laid down.

Think methodology from the start

It’s no good coming up with a brilliant question if there is no way of actually answering it, or if answering it is going to be such a headache that you’ll wish that you never started in the first place. So as you come up with ideas, think about how feasible it might actually be to put them into practice. This is something you may really want to discuss early on with a colleague or research tutor.

Respondents MUST be accessible

In terms of the feasibility of the study, probably the most important question is whether or not you are actually going to get anyone to participate—to respond to your interviews, questionnaires, etc. It is essential to the success of your study that you get a good response rate, so thinking about who you do research with is often as important as thinking about what you do (see my research pointers here on recruiting participants). A number of factors will determine how good your response is likely to be: how big the population is in total, their motivation to help you, how easy it will be for you to get in touch with them, how cautious you will need to be as a consequence of ethical safeguards. So don’t just come up with an idea and hope blindly that someone out there will be interested. However hard you think it will be to get participants, you can guarantee that it will actually be several times harder than that, so make sure this is something you think about, and address, at an early stage.

Ethics come first

The principles of non-maleficence—doing no harm to your respondent—and, ideally, beneficence—promoting the respondent’s well-being—should be an integral part of your research design. So, right from the very start of your project, think about ways in which your research might benefit those that are involved; and also make sure that you have read and familiarised yourself with appropriate ethical guidelines, as well as any other sets of relevant standards.

Aside from ‘doing the right thing’, the issue of ethics will be an important one for you because, in any research study, you will need to submit your project to an ethics committee (see above), and the more sensitive your work, the more committees and the longer the time this is likely to take. For instance, if you wish to carry out research in the National Health Service, you will almost certainly need to go through an NHS ethics committee, which can take many months to consider and respond to proposals. So, as you start to develop your research ideas, be aware of the ethical issues and processes that it might raise, and try to find out about the ethical submissions that such a study is likely to entail. That way, you won’t suddenly find yourself facing a long and uncertain wait before you can proceed with your work -- or, if you do, at least you’ll be prepared for it.

Relational depth: Some frequently asked questions

Over the years--across workshops, lectures and informal discussions--a number of common questions have been asked about relational depth. In the second edition of Working at relational depth in counselling and psychotherapy, due out later this month, I've tried to provide some answers to them.

 

What is relational depth?

It’s a state of profound contact and engagement between people. 

 

So is that something that happens at specific moments, or an ongoing quality of a relationship?

Both.  ‘Relational depth’ can refer to particular moments of in-depth encounter (e.g., ‘There was a real instance of relational depth with my client today’); and it can also refer to a relationship in which there is an ongoing depth of connection (e.g., ‘There’s a relational depth between my client and I’).  This is like the distinction between an ‘intimate interaction’ and an ongoing ‘intimate relationship’.  Of course, moments of relational depth can be considered the ‘essential building blocks’ of a deep relationship, but they are not the whole thing.  For instance, you may feel deeply connected to someone even though you hardly ever see them.  Likewise, it’s possible to have very intense moments of connection with someone without ever forming a deep, ongoing closeness. 

 

Are moments of relational depth distinctive from ‘everyday experiencing’, or is there a continuum from shallower to deeper relating? 

The question here is whether experiences of relational depth are a threshold phenomenon (like being pregnant, where there is only ‘yes’ or ‘no’), or a gradient phenomenon (like hunger, where you can have more or less of it on a continuum).  We tend to talk about moments of relational depth as discrete, threshold phenomenon.  However, what research there is suggests that it is probably closer to a gradient phenomenon.  When people are asked, for instance, to rate the depth of relating at particular moments, there is a smooth continuum from deeper to shallower rating, rather than a discrete cut-off between in-depth moments and all the others.  What we term moments of ‘relational depth’, then, could probably be more accurately described as moments when the strength of relating is particularly deep.  However, these moments of very deep relating seem to be so powerful and memorable that people often remember them as discrete, threshold-like events.

 

Is relational depth only relevant to therapy?

No.  It can probably be experienced in all walks of life: and particularly with partners and friends. 

 

And what about in groups?  Can you have ‘group relational depth’?

Yes, and Wyatt has researched and written about this.  However, in this book we focus primarily on relational depth in the one-to-one therapeutic encounter.

 

Can relational depth happen in short term therapy?

As the client study of Dominic (Chapter 5 of the book) suggests, yes.  However, research also shows that, the longer the therapeutic relationship, the more likely it is that there will be moments of in-depth connection. 

 

Does relational depth only happen in person-centred therapy?

No.  Research shows, for instance, that clients in cognitive analytic therapy also experience relational depth; as do therapists and clients in many other orientations.  Relational depth, then, can be considered a ‘common factor’ across a range of therapies.

 

Ok, but does ‘relational depth’ really say anything new?  Isn’t it all there is Rogers’s writings anyway?

Yes and no.  As Steve Cox rightly puts it, the concept of relational depth is inherent in Rogers, but what we have tried to do is to offer a language and a foundation that ‘firms up previously held ideas about relational interactions’. 

 

So is a ‘relational depth’ therapy any different from ‘usual’ person-centred therapy?

It depends what you mean by ’usual’.  These days, as we said above, most people would agree that there isn’t any one, standard person-centred therapy: it’s a diverse nation with many different ‘tribes’. 

However, if what you mean by ‘usual’ is a classical, non-directive approach, then a ‘relational depth-informed’ approach is a bit different.  With the latter, there’s a particular emphasis on meeting clients in a two-way, interpersonal dialogue; as opposed to primarily providing for clients a more one-way, reflective space.  So, for instance, therapists might be more likely to draw on their own experiences and perceptions: becoming a distinctive ‘other’ to their clients.  Similarly, rather than wholly focusing the work around a non-directive, ‘empathic understanding response process’ , therapists might engage with their clients in a variety of different ways.  For instance, they might ask questions, probe, suggest exercises, and maybe even offer advice: whatever is seen as having the potential to deepen the level of relational engagement.  In addition, because of its focus on genuine human interaction and affirmation, a relational depth-informed therapy might move beyond a ‘non-judgemental “acceptance” of the client to a more active, intentional prizing of their being-in-the-world: not just a “however they experience the world is fine,” but a deliberate affirmation of their being in all its uniqueness’.  In Chapter 1 of the new edition of Working at relational depth, we will see how these differences can be traced back to subtly different assumptions about human beings’ relational needs. 

 

But you can’t make relational depth happen, can you?

No, you can’t.  Partly because it requires two people to make it happen; partly because you can’t relate deeply to someone if you’re trying to do something to them; and partly because clients are likely to ‘push back’ if they feel pressurised or manipulated.  But, as a therapist, you may be able to create the conditions when relational depth is more likely to be reached, and that is the focus of our book.

 

Does relational depth need words?

No.  As you will see in Working at relational depth, some of the most powerful experiences of relational depth can happen non-verbally.

 

Just because one person is experiencing relational depth, does that mean the other one is too?

Research suggests that experiences of relational depth can be shared, but that is not always the case.  In fact, Rooney found that only about one in three moments of deep connection, as identified by clients, were also identified as such by the therapist.  On the other hand, I found about 45% overlap between clients’ and therapists’ ratings of the depth of connection.  What this suggests is that, when therapists are experiencing relational depth with their clients, it is more likely that clients will be experiencing this too, but there is no guarantee that this will be the case.

 

Surely it would be too much if people were relating at depth all the time?

Yes--agreed.  Buber, the existential philosopher, says that we will always move in and out of deep relating (what he calls the ‘I-Thou’ stance), and that we need to have that distance in our lives as well as the closeness.  But if we do not have any experiences of relational depth, that is where problems can start. 

 

But isn’t there a downside to relational depth?  For instance, couldn’t it make clients overly-dependent? 

Findings here are mixed.  Therapists and clients nearly always describe experiences of relational depth in positive terms.  However, there are some studies which suggest that feelings of vulnerability, anxiety or pain can be associated with that depth of connection.  In addition, one study found that, in about a third of clients, an in-depth therapeutic relationship had some negative consequences.  In particular, clients were left wanting more from their therapists, and perceived their therapists as being withholding .  This is consistent with evidence that, in unhelpful therapeutic relationship, clients can feel ‘relationally abandoned’ by their therapists .  However, the findings of McMillan and McLeod have not been replicated; and it may be that such experiences are more the consequence of relational depth not being fully realised, or potential precursors to this experiencing, rather than aspects of relational depth, per se.  Nevertheless, more research and scholarship is needed here to understand this ‘shadow side’ of deep encounter.

Feeling good means 'actualising' our directions in life

 

A lot of contemporary models of human being suggest that we are basically 'directional'. What that means is that we are always 'going to somewhere', always pointed in particular directions. We're striving, trying to improve things, trying to be something and somewhere more than we are: even if it's more chilled out! If that's the case, then we can understand wellbeing in terms of how much we're able to 'actualise' this direction: how much we're aligned with where it is that we want to go.

This actualisation process can be understood in terms of six As. First there is awareness: knowing what our goals are and where we are trying to get to. Second there is anticipation: having a sense that our goals are possible and things that we can achieve. Third comes approach: progressing towards the things that we want; and then comes acceleration: moving towards our wants at an increasing speed. Importantly (but maybe not the most important thing) is then achieving our goals. Finally, and particularly one that may become more important with age, is appreciating what we have achieved.

So, viewed from this perspective, the 'good life' is one in which we have things in life we're striving towards which are important to us, and we have a sense that we're making some kind of progress towards them. We don't have to get these goals all the time, or move rapidly on to other things, but just a general sense that we're pointed in a direction and that we're able to attain it in some way.  And from this perspective, psychological problems are associated with not being clear about what we want from life, or knowing what we want but feeling that it is impossible to get there--or not making any progress at all. Or even it might be about getting to our goals but then not taking the time to appreciate what we have achieved and just rushing on to the next one.

Last thing: if we think about wellbeing in this way, it also shows how what we feel is both about ourselves AND our social and political environment. I might not progress towards the things I want because I don't have good strategies for getting there.  But I also might not progress towards the things that I want because the world is telling me about all these amazing things I should have (a perfect body, the latest phone, a devoted partner) and then not providing me with any possibility at all of getting there. So helping people change the way they go about things can be important--through therapy or self-development work--but what can also be really important is focusing on social and political change. If we create a fairer world with more resources for everyone, then more people can move towards more of what they want more of the time.