Interviews
Dr. Patricia Farrell on Self-Therapy
I think it might be helpful for my readers to know why I wrote this book. For many years now, I've felt first vague dissatisfaction and eventually outright frustration with the field in which I practice: psychology. The seeds of this book actually came from work with patients, both in the community and in hospitals.
I became a psychologist because I believe that patients are willing to step up to the plate and take responsibility for their lives. Let me illustrate with one very powerful example of someone who overcame great odds against him.
In my very first job in the field, when I was the "new woman on campus," working at an inpatient psychiatric unit, I was assigned to work with a patient everyone else had written off. He was a huge, threatening-looking fellow, and certainly he was seriously disturbed; no one would have disagreed with that. The other staff members eyed me with a mixture of amusement and cynicism: Here I was, fresh out of my doctoral program, thinking I could effect change, and their expressions seemed to say that they'd seen it all before and would happily watch with great amusement as I failed with the same patient who had stumped many a more experienced psychologist.
This particular man refused to talk, and he also refused to eat in the dining room with other patients. I met with him several times, and still, he wouldn't talk. In the past, when staff members had tried to take him to the dining hall he had promptly thrown his food in the trash, returned to the unit, and made a nuisance by demanding money for candy. One day at lunch I escorted him to the nearly empty dining room before his unit went, and seated him facing a window. He started wolfing down his lunch, immediately got up, dumped his tray in the trash, and wanted to return to the unit when he heard others. He was terrified of the other people on the unit, and most people, for that matter, and he did all he could to avoid them -- even if it meant not eating.
Every day after that we made our trek to the dining room, although we went a bit earlier from then on. He began to talk, just little bits at a time, never about anything special. One day, though, as we were waiting for him to be served, he asked me a question.
"Dr. Farrell," he mumbled, "Am I human?"
The question startled me a bit, but I answered. "Yes."
"Am I human like you?"
Again, "Yes."
Somehow, he had come to believe that he wasn't human. Perhaps it was part of his illness; perhaps people had teased him mercilessly because of his odd habits and the terror that made him seem like such an easy, vulnerable target.
After several months, I was leaving the unit for a new position and a nurse casually mentioned to me that the man would never leave. "He's a lifer, he'll never leave," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Fast-forward a year, and I was in the market picking up a few things. I glanced to my left and saw a familiar face. It was the same man, his grocery cart loaded with various foods. A mental health worker accompanied him. While conventional wisdom and even rules of professional ethics might say that a therapist should never acknowledge a patient outside of the therapeutic setting, I wasn't about to let that stop me. I touched his sleeve and he startled, but when he saw me he broke into a wide grin.
"Dr. Farrell!" he exclaimed, bouncing on his heels with excitement.
"So you're Dr. Farrell!" the woman with him said, smiling. "He talks about you all the time! He thinks the world of you!"
We chatted for a few more minutes, long enough for me to learn that he had moved into a community program, where he lived with three other men and a house counselor, and that he was attending a day program where he learned skills like cooking, cleaning, self-care and more.
As we both reached our respective cashiers, we said goodbye, and his counselor leaned over to me. "You know," she said, "He's one of our best clients. We all love him."
I left the store thinking -- and have often thought since -- that if he could overcome the obstacles facing him, his absolute terror of being around other people, what is it that we can't hope for; what is it that we can't accomplish?
May he stand as a shining example for you.
Good luck, and, as the Irish say, may the road rise to meet you and the wind always be at your back.
Patricia A. Farrell, Ph.D.
