You'd ask a cancer specialist whether the treatment recommended for you isone the doctor would select for him- or herself. We decided to take a similar tack and ask some top psychologists whether their professional expertise gives them an advantage in finding solutions to common problems in their own lives. The experts spoke--with remarkable candor. Here, in the second of two articles, is what they had to say.

Along with lawyers who argue in their own defense and physicians who prescribe for themselves, psychologists who manage their own mental maladjustments invite the notion that expert knowledge is useless, or worse, when the need or the trouble is personal. Every time a psychologist surfaces on the wrong side of the bed sheets or a psychiatrist's teenager falls off the behavior wagon, "Doctor, heal thyself" becomes more a dare than a prescription. Indeed, social dogma--if not fact--holds that psychologists and psychiatrists are driven to their calling because, as one put it, "we all have permanent twitches."

True? Certainly the acquisition of advanced degrees confers neither wisdom nor self-knowledge. On the other hand, professional training molds sophisticated approaches to problem-solving, relationships, and stress reduction. The real question is, can therapists tap into these approaches and apply them when their lovers leave, their spouses die, their bosses bully, or their weight balloons?

Predictably, the therapists I asked about the subject did the one thing they all agree they do well when confronted with a thorny set of issues: talk. They talked about routine problems and big-time crises. They revealed what pushes their hot buttons and how they make themselves feel better. (Cookies are popular.)

Although PSYCHOLOGY TODAY's panel of experts were somewhat less likely than nontherapists to get professional help, they emphasized again and again that some problems either can't be solved alone or shouldn't have to be. "If there's one thing most of us should know," said Ellen McGrath, Ph.D., a California therapist, "it's to go for help when the chips are really down. Just do it."

MICHELE WEINER-DAVIS, M.S.W.

Weiner-Davis is a family therapist in private practice who specializes in pragmatic, brief therapy and is considered an expert in saving marriages. Author of Divorce Busting (Simon and Schuster), Weiner-Davis lives in Woodstock, Illinois, with her husband and two children, a daughter, 13, and a son, 7.

Weiner-Davis's first published article--on parenting strategies, published in The Family Therapy Networker Journal--humorously chronicled her own parenting experience as "hopelessly inexpert when it came to my own children. All of my professional cool seemed to go out the window."

That was then. Today, she says, mothering a teenage daughter who "challenges me in many different ways" is only tolerable because of her training. "If I didn't know basic principles about how people develop and change, I would have hanged myself long ago," she laughs. "If anyone should be an expert on changing behavior patterns, it's me. There are lots of times when my theoretical understanding of change is a godsend, both in terms of dealing with my kids and my relationship with my husband."

How does she do it? Helping people change what isn't working in their relationships, she says, requires a keen awareness of the systemic laws of interrelationships, of how entangled people become in a maze of habits, memories, perceptions, and hurts. "You started it!" and "It's your fault!" are, she says, the verbal tips of deeply rooted emotional icebergs. But when it comes to her own family, "those laws don't always show up. When you stand at a distance with your clients, it's different from having your own button pushed by a son who refuses to do what he's told or a daughter who is fresh. I sometimes react like a regular person, not a therapist."

And how is that? "Sometimes I get in a rage, I scream, and then I feel really bad about that. At those times, my husband is likely to follow me out of the room and say 'Well, there goes the world-famous therapist!'"

Successful therapists, and people who are successful at anything, she says, "have a lot of competitive feelings or we couldn't have accomplished what we have. I like to see myself as in control and in charge of myself. So when I'm out of control, it's hard for me to remember that teenage rebellion is healthy."

Weiner-Davis recalls the day her daughter, "basically a good kid," shaved off two inches from the nape of her neck and leaned forward to show off her bald spot. I know she expected me to fly into a rage. But instead, I started to cry, which blew her mind--and mine too. I realized this was the first time she had ever made an independent statement that she didn't ask about first, even though this one wouldn't wash out with the next shower. I relaxed. It grew back very quickly. I went on to the next thing."

For Weiner-Davis, the key to "getting on with it," reducing stress, solving relationship problems, and making her own life "work," is the same key she offers patients: solution-oriented brief therapy. "One of brief therapy's trademarks is emphasis on developing solutions as opposed to analyzing. It's fine if you want to spend a lot of time and energy figuring out who hurt you as a child and why. But what stresses us and those around us is what people are doing now."

Two basic principles underlie her approach. "One is that if it works, don't fix it. For example, your child gives everyone in the household a hard time about getting up for school. Instead of trying to reinvent everybody's psyche, "try to figure out what was different at the time in the past when there was no problem with getting up for school and do more of that." If suddenly you and your husband aren't getting along, "figure out what was right in the past and make more of that happen."

The second principle is "if it doesn't work, do something different. Go to Plan B. Don't just keep doing more of the same, no matter how justified or good it seems."

Most therapists' prescriptions for sorting out everyday problems or handling crises present the notion "that there is one correct way to do this or that; they treasure consistency of approach," Weiner-Davis says. "But that often means you keep doing what doesn't work. My approach is that what you do doesn't have to be perfect or rooted in a brilliant theory. It just has to work for you."

By way of example, she explains that her family is now faced with her daughter's school problems. "She doesn't love school and would frankly prefer not going at all. She is socially a major success, but her lack of achievement has been difficult for us because we're high-achieving kinds of people. We are stressed out trying to get her to be more diligent about schoolwork. We'd tried everything from ranting and threatening loss of the phone, and finally we decided to turn to more solution-oriented approaches.

We laid out cards and looked at what worked in the past. We found two things: a daily homework assignment notebook in which she must write down and get the initials of every teacher; and a form that, at the end of each week, she passes around to teachers for an account of tests, grades, and comments. So we have this daily and weekly report we track. And her grades have picked up. This is not easy; it makes us be policemen and it's exhausting and tedious. No, we shouldn't have to do this! But we do have to. The bottom line of changing what stresses you or doesn't work is that you don't have to like it. It's hard work, but you have to do it if it works."

Weiner-Davis agrees that marriage is a difficult relationship to maintain and nurture in the best of circumstances. "Countless times I've learned in my marriage about doing what works, instead of what I feel like, or what I think he should do."

After 16 years of marriage and four years of living together beforehand, she says, "I've gotten good at imagining the results of something I will do or say before I do or say something on my mind. I ask myself, "'Am I likely to get the outcome I want?' If not, I stop and think of an alternative way to handle things to get more of what I want.

"People often say they want closeness and intimacy and do things that bring just the opposite. I, being action-oriented, for instance, often want to go out, while my husband is more inclined to take it easy. In the past I'd say things like, 'we never go anywhere,' and he saw me as a nag. From my perspective, it was the furthest thing from nagging; it was a cry for closeness. Now I try to say 'let's go out for dinner Friday night.' I emphasize what we can do, instead of what we haven't been doing. I get things going."

Is this fair? Does one person always have to initiate change and swallow his or her resentment over irritating or miserable behavior? "Since relationships are the source of most stress and crisis, at least for women, I take the view that most problems are solvable and it doesn't matter who initiates the solution; at the end everyone wins." In Western culture, she agrees, with its growing emphasis on equity and equality of effort, people get hung up on who does what bow much of the time and on some abstract notion of justice and winners, instead of solutions.

She prefers Konrad Lorenzs "butterfly effect," she says, referring to the Nobel laureate who tracked minute changes in weather patterns and their effect on global systems. "A butterfly's wing flap in Brazil plays a role in a tornado in Laredo. When a person makes a change, it has a ripple effect that can be systemic. If one person tips over the first domino, the next generous move may come from the other person.

"If there's no reciprocity the chances are the step you are taking is not really a change, not really generous. You learn after a while that some behaviors are much more likely to stimulate behavior changes than others. Yes, I've discovered it is often the woman who takes charge and is more gracious about initiating a change. But if she gets more of what she wants, the need for remediation drops. It's a self-rewarding system."

JAMES PENNEBAKER, PH.D.

Pennebaker is professor of psychology at Southern Methodist University in Dallas and author of Opening Up: The Healing Power of Confiding in Others (Avon). Asked what brought him into psychology, Pennebaker quoted a line from a 1970s article by Jerome Singer and David Glass. "People study those things at which they are most inept."

Calling his childhood "very enjoyable, no major traumas," he considers himself "something of a thrill seeker and got into psychology after music and eight other majors. Psychology seemed the most fun. I wasn't trying to 'work through' anything. It was Allen Funt on Candid Camera who inspired me the most. He watched from behind curtains and that's what psychologists did and I liked that."

Pennebaker says his own "ups and downs" centered mostly on marital difficulties and job problems. "Through some of my research and observing myself, I saw that certain things helped me cope. Principal among them was writing about upsetting experiences, usually in a diary or journal. My life doesn't fall apart much, but writing helped when that happened."

He observed others writing things down to help them cope and conducted some research on the subject.

"Writing helps you to learn and acknowledge emotions you're feeling; helps you organize complicated events. In writing, you say what you really think and mean. Writing should not replace interaction but help you prepare for it." His most recent research [see "On the Job"; March/April'93] suggests that having people with serious problems write about emotional experiences can reduce illness and improve immune function.

"My wife and I went through what all people do who question the nature of a relationship and its future. She was in law school, I was in grad school, and it was a horrible time. With writing, I was able to order my life. She handled her stress by talking to friends and is more likely to turn to others."

Being denied tenure in 1983 brought a different kind of emotional crisis. "This is a major blow to one's self-esteem, let me tell you," he says. "Short of thinking about bombing the place," he said with a laugh, "I wrote and plotted revenge. Seriously, I wrote to help get an understanding of what had happened. I realized finally that my hope that my record would prevail was naive."

Revenge never came. He moved back to Texas, was offered many jobs, wound up in Dallas, and is widely recognized as a creative force. "Ten years later, it still grates on me, but significantly less. I'm amazed 10 years later how much bitterness and anger I still feel. Just talking to you about it is stressful. So I'll stop."

Pennebaker's ability to stop attending to stress-provoking events is apparently a highly developed coping mechanism. "Bureaucracies drive me crazy," he says, "so I pretty much bypass or ignore them. People who always must go by rules and follow procedures stress me to the max. I try to deal with people like this on a human level, but will go around them if the stress level gets too high. I never attack. My advice is to reduce stress by optimizing pleasure and success rather than trying to overcome adversity; life's too short to remain in a stewing situation. Avoidance and letting things roll off your back-those are good strategies."

He says that his children, a girl, 11, and a boy, 7, are targets of his psychological approaches to problem-solving. "I don't preach. I try to encourage them to talk about things that upset them. My daughter doesn't buy it." Pennebaker says his personal and social life have poured more into his research and professional life than the other way around. "That's how I came to the value of putting things into words and acknowledging emotions. I systematically mine my personal life to know what to look out for."

His advice to others: Never take any finding too seriously. Be your own researcher; learn what works for you. What works for others may not help you at all. Borrow an idea, apply it to yourself, and if it works take it. If not, move on.

PHOTO: Weiner-Davis relaxes with her family: Zachary, 7, Danielle, 13, and husband Jim.

PHOTO: James and wife Ruth with their kids, Nicholas, now 7, and Teal, now 11.

Photographs by Bill Bilsley

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