The seductive allure of the "nice" therapist
I’ve gotten emails from several people over the last few weeks about finding a therapist, knowing if s/he is for you, and so on. Others have commented on progress (or lack thereof) with their therapist and whether to leave or stay.
One of the arguments in favor of staying–or for what people are looking for in a therapist–is that the person is “nice.”
Believe me, I understand this argument. I’ve been there. I wanted someone nice, someone I could pour my heart out to. I wanted someone to whom I could confess my deepest thoughts and secret desires. I thought this person should be a therapist. In all honesty? I should have just adopted a puppy.
Here’s the thing: talking only gets you so far. As someone said at this year’s NEDA conference, “Insight doesn’t lead to behavior change. Behavior change leads to behavior change.” We want to feel loved and accepted and that’s not a bad thing. I’m not dissing nice people or feeling heard and validated. But just having someone listen to you isn’t going to treat your eating disorder. “Nice” is often code word for “They don’t push me into actually making any significant changes.”
Being a complete jackass does not make for a good therapist any more than being nice does. I’m not advocating seeing a meanie. I am advocating thinking long and hard about why you are seeing a therapist in the first place. Presumably, you have a problem. If you’re reading this blog, chances are that problem involves an eating disorder. So before you go looking for a nice therapist, it might help to think what you want to get out of therapy.
Maybe it’s “I want to feel better.” Not a bad goal. Now try and think about how, in reality, that might happen. Recovery from an eating disorder usually involves feeling worse before you start feeling better. Feeling better involves doing things like normalizing eating, learning how to socialize and make friends, working on perfectionism. This, not infrequently, sucks. I’ve had therapists be too nice and not push me to do this because they knew, on some level, how hard it was going to be.
Take my cat. When I first adopted her and she finally stopped hiding under the couch, she liked to jump up on the top of the fridge. Although Her Royal Fuzziness could get up, she didn’t quite master getting down. The first few times she got stuck, I hauled out the step stool, climbed up, and rescued her. After a while, however, it got to be really annoying. She kept getting stuck on the damn fridge. Finally, I left her up there for about 10-15 minutes. She was not happy. But I also didn’t want her getting stuck up there when I wasn’t home, and I also didn’t want to be getting her down every day. So I let her stew on the fridge for a bit, tried to drive home the point that, you’re welcome to climb on things, but you also have to get yourself down. After her time was up, I got the stool and grabbed her down.
I never had to do it again. I’m not sure whether she stopped going up there or (more likely) she finally figured out how to get herself down. Letting her up there was not a nice thing to do, but it worked.
It’s sort of like that with a nice therapist. We tell them about our problems. We talk about how awful the ED is making our lives, is making us feel. And they listen and nod and hand out tissues and seem to get it. Then we leave their offices and go back to the awfulness and nothing changes. It seems to be a good deal because we get to feel like we’re “working on recovery” because we dutifully see a therapist for our 50-minute hour, and our therapist gets to be nice and caring and build a relationship with his/her client.
Recovery, though, remains stagnant.
It reminds me of one of the human behavior truisms I’ve discovered over the years. People don’t change when they see the light, they change when they feel the heat. Feeling the heat is uncomfortable. It can seem cruel to insist that a person gain weight when they say that gaining a pound will make them feel suicidal, or that they would rather die than eat that ice cream.
That isn’t to say that being an asshole makes you a good therapist, because it’s not true. A good therapist listens well, helps you problem solve, is non-judgmental, knows what they are talking about, provides you with an outline of what therapy is going to look like, what the goals are, etc. Nice isn’t a bad thing, but it doesn’t mean you’re a good therapist.
I didn’t start getting better until I started seeing a therapist who wouldn’t put up with my bullshit. She made it very clear what the ground rules were, and she pushed my forward almost ruthlessly. She did it out of ultimate kindness, but, believe me, she wasn’t always nice about it. At the same time, I really respected that. I respected someone who didn’t play into the “sick identity” of being anorexic and treat me like I couldn’t handle life because I was ill. No, it was “You need to eat, you need to gain weight, and I will help you. You won’t like it, you probably won’t like me at times, and I’m okay with that.”
I had to stop looking for nice therapists and start looking for those who would help get me well. Many of these therapists were nice, but that wasn’t how they got me well.