Back in graduate school, one of my favorite professors challenged us to identify careers in which a bit of paranoia might come in handy. Police officers, reporters, and soldiers came to mind. In the right amount—not too little, not too much—paranoia compels them to look more deeply and notice problems approaching in the distance.
Psychology is one of those jobs. Not only does the right amount of paranoia cause us to look deeper in the service of helping our clients, but it also fuels one of the most important requirements of the job: the ability to keep a secret.
The work of a psychologist seems to be intriguing to friends and family. They want to know about our patients. They want to know how we help them. But any shrink with the right amount of paranoia is a very boring dinner guest. We simply don't dish the juicy details. We redirect the conversation, and will you please pass the salt?
Like most of my colleagues, I cannot bring myself to answer even the most general questions about my clients. Paranoia compels me to wonder if I might accidentally reveal their identity. That's a cardinal sin in my profession, and it's a cruel and nasty thing to do. I don't want to answer for that sort of thing on Judgment Day.
We frequently discuss cases with colleagues, and sometimes we have an ethical obligation to do so. But I think shared paranoia makes that possible. We each know that the secrets become our own, never to be revealed again. We're each under the same obligation to remain a little bit paranoid.
Sometimes we discuss cases in public in the service of teaching, making sure to mask our clients' identities. But even when it's legally and ethically defensible, many of us are flatly unwilling to discuss our clients in any form. We opt instead to create composite sketches that resemble most people in general and no one in particular. (That's the approach I took in my forthcoming book.) A secret is a secret, after all. It's tacky to change the terms of the agreement after the secret has been spoken.
I'm not complaining about my double life. It's gratifying to know that people trust me, and I enjoy being the unwavering ally that my clients keep hidden behind the scenes. I'll admit it: it's fun to have a secret identity.
It's also lonely sometimes to carry all these secrets. For all my family knows, I disappear into a black hole each day, only to emerge with nothing to say about the experience. And our jobs preclude us from sharing much of our own worlds with our clients. It is very much a double life.
There are other professionals for whom secrecy is paramount. Attorneys, physicians, and even escorts need to maintain separate worlds. I often wonder how other professionals manage their double lives. How do they handle questions about their clientele? Is "pillow talk" about clients allowed with intimate partners? Do they describe their families to their clients, or vice-versa? And what would they do if their personal and professional lives unexpectedly came into contact? If you lead a professional double-life, perhaps you'll comment on your experience.
Over the years, I've become skilled at evading curiosity about my clients. I think it makes me a better clinician to behave as a protector at all times, never dropping my guard where my clients are concerned. My professor was right. A bit of paranoia can be a useful thing.
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Dr. Smith is a
psychologist in Denver, Colorado and the author of
The User's Guide to the Human Mind: Why Our Brains Make Us Unhappy, Anxious, and Neurotic and What We Can Do about It. You can read the introduction and find other goodies at
guidetothemind.com.
