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By Rich Simon As therapists, many of us practice in two different worlds. In the first, we see polite, well-behaved, articulate clients with solid values. They engage fully in therapy, talk cogently about their problems, listen attentively to our responses, make reasonably good-faith efforts to follow our suggestions, and sooner or later get better. No wonder we genuinely like these people! | Case Studies - Page 7 |
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The discussion heats up. I sit back and let it go on for a few minutes. Mary and Whitney are tense and angry. Their voices rise in attack and defense. "Is that how conversations go on between you?" I ask. You become caricatures of yourselves—fisherman and fish. Prisoners and jailer, fishermen and fish: I use these images to describe complementarity in families that are overinvolved. They're powerful precisely because they're familiar, not pathological. Mary says: "I'm trying to help you understand this. When Whitney was an infant, she needed constant attention. She was 11 months old when I divorced, and she was a year and a half when Richard and I became a couple." "I think you need to help them," I say to Richard. "Mary spends more time worrying about Whitney than enjoying you. Talk to her about how she can be freer to become your wife." Again, I'm suggesting a conversation that doesn't include me. By now, however, it seems more natural, and Mary and Richard turn to each other to talk. "If only I could trust her!" Mary says to Richard. "There are times that I agree with you," he responds. "I don't trust her either. We need to establish better limits and rules, without getting caught up in the arguments." "I think Mary has become a detective, and I'm worried about her," I say to Richard. "She might be trying to do the impossible. She's overstressed, and she may break."
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