She then explained that she felt at a dead end in her life. Having recovered enough to go back to work of some kind, she could not even imagine a back-up dream now that her career in police work seemed over. To complicate matters, Erica was also wrestling with the idea of being "disabled," a word she despised. She recognized that she had some limitations and could not perform the strenuous duties she had once dispatched with ease. Still, the word stuck in her craw. As we explored her experience on the path to recovery, I found myself amazed by her courage, resilience and wisdom. Here was a woman who had it all and lost it--who defied others' expectations of what she could and could not do many times--early on, when she became the first female police office, later, when she unexpectedly came out of a coma, and now, once again. Despite her problems with seizures, vision and balance, she was fighting the expectations of her "disabled" label. She knew there was much more to her than any description of her disability could begin to capture. I knew it, too, as would anyone who spent any time getting to know her. I told Erica that one of the things I liked most about her was her refusal to accept her disability.
A few minutes before the end of our meeting, I asked Erica to fill out another short form, evaluating the progress of therapy to that point. Here, the key clinical information for me was that she felt that I took her problems and ideas seriously, and that she felt hopeful about her situation. Reflecting on how impressed I had been by her, I jokingly asked her if she had ever thought about pursuing a career as a motivational speaker. It was an offhand tribute to the power of her story, but, as I learned later, it struck a deep chord. As we discussed our meeting, Erica told me that she enjoyed the process we had begun--she liked telling her life story and fielding questions about her experiences. Just as the conversation was about to end, she declared that it had occurred to her that she might pursue a career teaching police officers.
That pronouncement was a key step in Erica's journey toward reclaiming her life. She did not end up as a training officer, but was able to reestablish her relationship with the work she loved by becoming a dispatcher. This satisfied Erica's itch for reconnecting with police work, which, for her, was a key to a meaningful life. It allowed her to move on and address other issues, such as her loneliness and her current living arrangements. Erica reported improvement on the outcome measure, and therapy ended a few sessions later.
I don't mention my experience with Erica as an example of a one-session therapeutic miracle, just the reverse. In fact, it is the ordinariness of this kind of interaction that addresses the core of what we have to offer as therapists--the forming of partnerships with clients that makes therapy effective and accountable. I offered Erica no irresistibly powerful interventions, just a relationship structured around her goals and values, that showcased her talents and fortitude. And my repeated requests of Erica to tell me whether the therapy was serving her needs involved a kind of accountability that is very different from the accountability that HMOs increasingly demand from therapists, and that we may expect even more of under integrated care. It stands in sharp contrast to a decision-making process predicated on psychiatric diagnoses, "approved" therapeutic modalities or treatment plans.