One of the main reasons I chose to attend my graduate program at the University of Florida--and the reason I chose to apply there in the first place--was because I wanted to study under the professor who would eventually become my advisor, Franz Epting. Unfortunately Franz is now retired (and I use the word "unfortunately" because Franz has many unique humanistic qualities that make for a great advisor) but we still keep in close touch. If you want to get a mental image of Franz, you will need to picture Alec Guinness in his role as Obi-Wan Kenobi in the original Star Wars trilogy. Franz doesn't only bear an uncanny similarity to Obi-Wan in appearance. He also shares Jedi-type qualities: he's unassuming, patient, sharp, and humble.
Franz regularly weaves in stories into his conversations. He can share a memory from his childhood growing up in Mississippi, only to shift topics and tell you about a small interesting restaurant he visited the week before, and then pepper in some comment or observation relating to psychotherapy. If you're not careful, it's easy to simply enjoy the conversation and not think too much about the ramifications and significance of some of Franz's insights. But if you listen carefully when Franz talks, from time to time he'll mention something, maybe a little sentence or two--almost as an aside--that can really shift the way you look at things. It's not Franz's style to be pedantic, and if you're not fully tuned in, it's easy to miss it completely. Having known Franz for many years now, I can confidently say that Franz doesn't plan all this out: if an insight comes up, he'll share it, without any strings attached or expectations about what you'll do with it.
During my first year of graduate school, when I was brand new to the whole world of therapy, Franz supervised my very first client and, as part of that process, we watched together a tape of my session with my client. Because Franz's style isn't intrusive, he didn't interject often, but from time to time he'd share his thoughts with me. There was one segment in the tape where I asked the client a simple question. I don't remember precisely what I asked, but it was something along the lines of "Do you think this is a good idea?" This question caught Franz's attention and I remember him mentioning that it seems like I knew the answer to the question before I even asked it, and if this was indeed the case, it would probably have been better to turn the question into an observation or rephrase it so it's really asking a question. And then we continued watching the tape.
And this was one of those moments where I learned a lot from Franz. It completely changed the way I approached therapy.
Here's why I value it so much. As a therapist it's easy to pick up the habit of asking questions really as a way of communicating information. You ask a question--albeit a loaded one--but you don't come across as too confrontational. You're not giving unsolicited advice. And the question--at least on the surface--appears to be innocent. But many of these types of questions communicate a strong message:
"Are you sure you want to do this?" really means "I wouldn't be doing this if I were you."
"Do you really think it's going to work?" is another way of saying "I doubt it'll make much of a difference."
And "Can you think about the situation differently?" translates to "I think it will be better for you to shift your perspective."
It's not that the underlying statments are necessarily wrong. It's just that the questions are a thinly veiled effort of communicating across something that the client might not want to hear. The idea is that somehow, by turning a statement into a question--a skill that we therapists appear to share with Jeopardy contestants--we're being gentler. But we pay a price when we do that. And that was Franz's point. When I ask a question I already have the answer to, I'm not being fully genuine. I'm not placing all my cards on the table. I'm not being present with my client. Instead of my questions communicating a sincere wish to find out new information (e.g. "How did your presentation go?" or "What was it like to have said that to her?"), it becomes a tool of communicating my own ideas or values. The client begins to learn, albeit unconsciously perhaps, that when I ask a question, I'm not 100% interested in what the client has to say. I'm more interested in communicating what I want the client to think. And that's patronizing.
So let's say that my client just got out of this long-term relationship and he's thinking about dating someone right away, and I'm not sure if it's a good idea. I could ask him point blank, "Do you think it's a good idea dating someone so soon after you got out of this long-term relationship?" But then my question is really just a statement. This doesn't mean that my concern is not necessarily a valid one. But it's about how I communicate it. The point is to be genuine, sincere, and say what I mean. I could, for instance, say something like, "I see that you're excited and I also found myself thinking, as you were sharing this with me, about the timing of everything, given that you just got out of a relationship recently. Those were the thoughts that were floating around my head and I'm not sure what's your take is or if you had a chance to think about everything. I'd like to hear your thoughts."
Obviously I'm still influencing the conversation: after all, I'm still brining my own perspective into the dialogue, but at least it's out on the table. The client knows what's going on in my head. And I try not to be too dominating or too overwhelming (it's always a tricky balance). I really want to know where my client is at. And he might say that he thought a lot about it and that would be interesting. Or maybe he hasn't even thought about it at all, and that would be equally interesting and we can talk about it together.
When I ask a question that's sincere and not loaded, it's a lot easier to really listen to what the other person is trying to say and to find out where they're at. I'm still learning to own what I have to say and I try not to slip it in as a form of a question. And not just in the realm of therapy. I find that when I ask a question that I already have the answer to--whether to a client, a friend, or a family member--it's usually because I have an agenda I'm trying to push. And if I can share the agenda openly and limit my questions to actual curious requests for finding out what the other person is thinking, then things go a lot more smoothly. For one, it's a lot easier to establish trust. And if I'm sincere and direct, the other person doesn't have to read into what I'm trying to say.
And shifting gears a little bit, I wanted to thank all the readers who took the time to leave the nice, thoughtful comments on my last entry. Thank you for taking the time to do so and it was really nice to see. I'm glad that sharing these experiences is helpful and it's always easier to write when you have an audience that you know is engaged. And if anyone has any specific requests or questions that you'd like me to explore, I'd be happy to do so.
Until next time....
Rom
