Articles

______________
Practice Makes Better

These skills can also be practiced in other areas and ways in your daily life. Here are a few suggestions:

Practice assertiveness. Though perhaps less strongly, it’s likely that your old emotions wounds get ignited with other people and in other places – you feel micro-managed by your boss, for example, or ignored when out with a group of friends. Again, speak up rather than getting angry, withdrawn, or accommodating. Let your boss know her supervisory style isn’t working for you and what you would prefer. Tell your friends how you feel. Realize what is from the past, but act in the present.

Use your emotions as information. Rather than harboring hurt feelings, taking them out yourself, or dumping them on others, try thinking of your emotions as information – what does your anger or hurt tell you about what you need most?

Pay attention to process. When talking with a friend, try noticing the process of the conversation – unspoken emotions, the give and take, the way the conversation veers off course. Practicing this skill in more neutral situations will make it easier to notice it with your partner and family.

Schedule a vision update. Some couples set aside time on New Year’s Day or someone’s birthday to review the past year, set goals for the next. It’s a good way for both of you to keep current and clear.
__________________
Relationship Repair: 10 Tips for Thinking Like a Therapist. This one was another favorite on the Psychology Today site and even got translated into Russian. If you feel stuck in a relationship, you’ll find that there is plenty you can do.

Relationship Repair: 10 Tips for Thinking Like a Therapist

(If Freud can do it so can you)

Maybe you’re in a relationship trough – arguments and hassle or disconnection and silent parallel lives. Of maybe it's less major: your husband leaves his socks on thef loor and it drives you nuts, or your wife doesn’t help you get the kids to bed. 

Big or small you have a few options. You could try and sort this out on your own (you’ve probably already tried that); do nothing and see if it somehow gets better (probably not), or you could take the plunge and go see a professional – a couple therapist (a decidedly better if somewhat scary idea). Where the therapist has a leg up over the other options is a couple of things. One is perspective – she is looking at your relationship from the outside, rather than in the emotionally stuck middle that you are undoubtedly in. Not only does this make it easier for her to be a voice of reason and reality, but she can also see the greater gestalt that up close you cannot. But the other big advantage is that she probably thinks about relationship problems and solutions a bit differently than you might. 

And that may be your 4th option – try thinking like her. While there are different styles and orientations to therapy here are 10 top tips for thinking like a relationship therapist: 

1. Think patterns not people. When thinking about relationship problems it’s easy to think in terms of people, specifically who is right, who is wrong, who is screwed up, and who is really screwed up. This isn’t usually helpful and only leads to a blame game. Instead of people, think patterns. A does something, this triggers B, who in turn triggers A, then B. Some patterns are beneficial and help us stay sane and stable, others are neutral habit, but some are deadly and capable of body damage. 

The therapy mantra is that the pattern is more powerful than the people. (Try sitting in someone else's seat at dinner tonight and see what happens -- just make sure all the knives are out of sight). So rather than wasting your time worrying about who is right, use it to try and decode the dysfunctional pattern. Once you do, change it. A good way to do it is to talk about it (the pattern) rather than the people: "I notice that a lot of times that when if I ask if you could pick up your socks you say you will but then don't, and then I get annoyed and nag you and then you blow up. I'm wondering if we can do this differently." But even if you can't do that, for whatever reason, just try changing it and if you can let the other person know your intentions: "I'm doing this because I'm worried that ________." The beauty of patterns is that if you hold your ground the pattern has to change. You, all by yourself become the change agent of the relationship. Certainly a good and important start. 

2. Think how not what. Therapists tend to divide communication into 2 parts: Content – the what – and process – the how. In an argument about Tuesday vs. Wednesday the facts you line up to make your case about Tuesday are content; the fact that you are both getting upset and arguing is the process. 

The rule here is that process is always trumps content. When emotions heat up the problem in the room is the emotions, not whatever you are arguing about. Unfortunately when emotions kick in, we’re  tempted to ramp up the content as a way of dealing with emotions – you want to get the other person to understand,damn it, and you’re likely tempted to fight to the death to make your point. Anything you say at this point is like throwing gasoline on a fire -- it's likely to be misheard, misinterpreted.

Put out the fire by focusing directly on the process, the emotions and actions – we’re beginning to argue, I’m starting to feel angry. Fix the emotion -- your anger – by deep breathing and calming yourself down, by walking away. Do your best to stay out of the weeds of content; if you don't you'll wind up talking about Christmas '08 again, and you know where that leads. 

But process too follows patterns. You and your partner each have your own ways of dealing with tension and conflict. Your overall way of handling stress and emotions – withdrawal, anger, passive accommodation – your modus operanti, so to speak -- invariably and consistently triggers the M.O. of the other person, which in turn fuels yours. Quickly you both get into a negative loop that becomes your combined standard way of dealing with conflict and tension -- anger / withdraw, withdraw / withdraw, anger / anger, etc. Your goal again is to break the pattern.

The easiest way to do this to try doing the opposite of your instincts – if you tend to withdraw, try stepping up and speaking up; if you get angry, calm down and listen; if you accommodate, figure out what you really want and say it rather than walking on eggshells. Again your behavioral-emotional change will encourage the other to do the same. 

3. Think adult. This is another way of thinking about #2. Adult here means being responsible with your emotions – using them as information rather than spraying them around the room. It is about being responsible in action – not harming others or misbehaving. It is about being responsible for your problems – that is, you ultimately need to deal with and fix them rather than expecting others to do it for you. It is realizing that it isn't always about you; it is not taking everything so personally; it is understanding that the other guy may be struggling inside in his or her own way. It is about being reasonable. It is …well, acting like an adult. 

Most of us are generally able to pull off being adult at work, or when we're in a good mood. Trouble happens when we're at home, when the mood is sour. It's then that we're apt to slip into feeling like a 10 year-old and get all sulky or angry or powerless. As soon you realize you're slipping into that 10 year-old feeling (and you know when you are), it's time to remind yourself that you, regardless of how you feel right now, are a grown up, and map out in your mind what a responsible adult may do. Sure, there’s an element of “faking it till you make it,” but by doing your best to adhere to an adult stance you can gradually train yourself (actually your brain) to feel empowered rather than frightened or small. It's a matter of catching and changing it; with practice the catch and change will become easier, more automatic.

4. Think of problems as bad solutions. Whatever you see as a problem – the socks on the floor, the lack of sex, your partner’s anger – ask yourself how it may be a  bad solution to some other problem underneath. You want to be curious about the driving impulse. You don’t have to have the answer but you need to raise the question: "Help me understand why you leave your socks on the floor;" "We haven’t made love in a long time – how come?" And because anger is often driven by worry and fear – ask “What are you worried about?” rather than “Why are you so pissed off?”. What is important that you sound calm when you ask the questions – like Mr. Rogers. If you sound angry or irritated, expect shut down or anger back. 

5. Think present not past. When you are struggling in a relationship, it’s easy for your mind to automatically scan through the past, collecting further evidence of injustices and mistreatment. It may give you fuel for futile arguments, but will do nothing to solve the problem and will only further drag you down. 

Instead try to focus on the present. Push aside the temptation to go down that history road and zero in on the here and now – the current problem, your current worry, the present: What can you do now? 

6. Think behavior not emotion. Many of us falsely believe that we need to feel like it to do it, which means if we don’t feel like it, we won’t or can’t. But if you keep doing the same thing you will keep feeling the same way. Don't wait for your feelings to change, do something and then your feelings will eventually catch up.

Behavior is the key in creating change because, unlike emotions and often even thoughts, behavior is the one aspect of ourselves that we can truly control. Action gets you out of the emotional mud and is an excellent antidote to depression and feeling trapped. So give your partner a hug 5 times a day whether you feel like it or not and see if it doesn’t change the emotional climate in the house.

 7. Think small, think success. The hug is actually a good place to start. Because change creates anxiety, both change and anxiety are best tolerated in smaller doses. Because the goal is the break patterns, to do it different, rather than doing it Right, you don’t need to think make-over or major campaign. Instead you simply want to step outside your comfort zone and take concrete steps, however small, that you can successfully do. So try the hug, and if that seems too tough, start with ramping up compliments or writing a note letting the other know how you have been feeling just to get things rolling. 

And should even these small steps seem too overwhelming to take within the relationship, try building up your skills and confidence in easier environs. If, for example, you are trying to be more positive or more open or more assertive, road-test these behaviors with friends, strangers or coworkers where there are less emotional triggers to derail you. Once you get your sea legs there you can move on to the heavies like your partner or parents. 

8. Think support. You can make changes on your own but it is a lot easier with support. Obvious support are people in your corner – your friend who encourages you, your mother who calls up and asks how you’re doing, a therapist who coaches from the sidelines and keeps you on track. But it can also come from reading and learning more about relationship change, from the online support of others dealing with the same problems. Or even from within you. Take the time to notice not failure but success, not doing it right, but taking risks. Pat yourself on the back hard and often. 

9. Think you. In case you haven’t noticed, all these suggestions involve you, not the other guy. The stance that most couples enter counseling with is: "I have a problem with you and as soon as you change (or I or the therapist can get you to change), I’ll feel better." This doesn’t work. All you both wind up doing is fighting over who should change, creating a futile power struggle. 

Skip the drama, the playing victim, the manipulation. Again be adult. Think about you, what you can do to fix the problem. Yes, do your best to let the other person know what you need and what he can concretely do to make things better, but then get to work. Have some tunnel vision, buckle down and do what you can to make the situation and problem better without keeping score, tallying up martyr points, without any expectations on the other. Again, since the focus is on changing patterns, if you do your part the best you can, things will begin to change. 

10. Think effort not outcome. There is that inspirational saying that you see in the hallways of businesses: Good decision come from experience and experience comes from making bad decisions. Mastering life and relationships is a long process of experimentation and elimination. Life isn’t Ready, Aim, Fire; it’s Ready, Fire, Aim. Try something – with mindfulness, clear intentions and a good heart -- see what happens, adjust and try again. That’s always the best you can do, and don't waste your time and energy with internal scolding or heavy-hearted regret. On any given day you're always doing the best you can.

Hopefully these tips give you something to work with, that you will find something that can help you approach your relationship problems in a different way. You don't have to be Freud, you don't have to do it all at once; instead see which of these ideas catch your attention. Then pick a situation, a pattern, a problem, and map out a different approach, a concrete behavior that you can put into place. Start small. Focus on you. One change will lead to another.

You can’t make a mistake.
___________________________
Finally a change of pace. This was a fun article for me originally published in Psychotherapy Networker and inspired by my several stint doing comedy improv. It's not about therapy, but how to run your life…

The Tao of Improv

“Hey, Mike! Give me a hand with this, will ya? It’s heavy.”
“Sure, Joe.”

Apparently my name is Mike and I’ve decided to call Brad, Joe. We both crouch down and mime picking up a roughly 4 by 4 imaginary concrete block. We creep slowly, bent knees, our arms outstretched, taut.
“Let’s put it down here.” Brad / Joe says. Be careful of your back.”
“I got it, I got it,” I say huffing.

It is the weekly practice of our improv troupe, The Improfessionals, and Brad and I are starting a 3-person scene; Ann, stands on the sidelines waiting for a good time to enter. In improv fashion our fellow actors have set up the scene by giving us suggestions: Brad and I are brothers who run a concrete factory, and Ann is surprisingly free to be any character she likes. But to ramp up the challenge, they have endowed each of us with a phobia – mine is a fear of bold print, Brad’s is a fear of aftershave lotion, and Ann’s is condiments. Somehow we need to work these into the scene and our characters.

Brad and I put the imaginary block down. We both stand with hands on knees, puffing like race horses.

“Hey,” says Brad, carefully walking around the “block” towards me. “I took a glance at the new invoices this morning. Doesn’t look good – there’s a bunch of bold print in a lot of them. You better let me take care of them.”

“Whoa, thanks man,” I say, patting him on the back. “The companies never used to do that so much. But now… I was going through those receipts last Thursday, it just sneaked up on me. Right in the middle of the page, in some like 48 font. Freaked me out! I had to put it down as soon as I saw it, and it took me forever to settle down.” I shake my head as though trying to dislodge the memory.

“I know, I know,” says Brad, hugging my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.

I stumbled into improv several years earlier. It was a time in my life when I had just finished emotionally marching through a some significant losses – the death of my father, then my first wife – the hospitalization of my daughter. I was also bored with my job – lots of long-winded, stagnant community meetings, worries about the morale among my 40+ staff, sweating the quarterly budget review, and having little time for clinical work. I felt dazed, dull. Then one day I stumbled on a sign posted in a store window. A woman was offering improv classes, and to my own surprise, I called, and then actually showed up. The class was a good mix of men, women and backgrounds – a computer guy, an aikido instructor, a research biologist, a salesman, a musician, a poli-sci student – folks very different from my usual world.

I liked the energy of the group. As we got to know each other, I started to feel like I did in high school – having a gang to hang and fool around with. Our teacher gave us different exercises and challenges each week, and I found myself playing characters much like my clients – drug dealers, hyperactive children, depressed moms. In contrast to regular lives, we were encouraged here to not to plan or even think, but simply do. What came out was often strange, off-the-wall stuff – guessing games involving traveling to work on a giant soap bubble, a bar scene where you had to wear a 3-cornered hat to get served, a bizarre reinterpretation of Snow White where Snow White has heavy romantic crush on Dopey and the evil stepmother is actually a brush salesman. I wasn’t bored. I wasn’t calculating. I wasn’t worrying. And most everything we did seemed hysterically funny, a good antidote to my low-grade depression.

After a year of lessons, our class decided to start a performance group, and like every garage band in the country, we took any gig would could – 10:00 pm Tuesday at a local bar, a Thursday afternoon at the public library, the annual Vegetarian festival at the park, the random high school reunion, an out-the-way coffee house – usually for gas money, with an occasional beer or coffee thrown in. Sometimes we were hot, other times not, but like a lot of introverts I found that I liked being on stage.

You probably know at least a bit about improv –a Second City show, Who’s Line Is It Anyway on TV, unscripted movies like Waiting for Guffman or The Mighty Wind. Watching this type of comedic improv gives you the impression that the actors on stage are either comic geniuses, on heavy doses of really good medication, or both. They’re loose, witty people who have the uncanny ability to think on their feet – to make up country-western songs about toothpaste on the spot, to create incredulous scenes about OCD accountants balancing books while floating in outer space. Great stuff.

But, like most arts, what seems so easy and natural is actually the product of lots of hard work. Beneath the quips are hard-learned skills, and beneath these skills is a structure that is almost invisible. These are the rules of improv, the assumptions and worldview upon which the actors build their scenes and create the experience. Improv is like it’s cousin jazz, where what drives the musician is not some impulsive and random banging of notes, but a careful, yet spontaneous construction built around chord progressions and melodic line. It’s like therapy, a very different conversation than the one you might have with the neighbor you meet at Wal-Mart, one both goal-directed yet unrehearsed.

The rules of improv, I found, paradoxically, showed me how to be more free and creative. They provide a unique way of approaching relationships that is generous rather than closed, supportive rather than competitive, organic rather than scripted. How I felt when doing improv made me wonder how my own work and life might be more creative if I simply tried to applied them.

Brad and I are talking about the big block order that has to go out that day. We’re doing the talking heads thing – standing around, mumbling. The energy in the scene is draining; we seem a bit lost. Ann enters to come to our rescue.

“Hi, guys,” she says, high stepping onstage, talking in that slight southern accent that she does so well. “My name’s Trish. How are you boys today? I’m your local Mary Kay representative,” she says with a big smile and pointing to an imaginary name badge. “Nice concrete plant you got here,” she says, circling her hands around the room. “ I just love these cinder block walls – so gray and… solid. So, I was in the neighborhood and wondering if you’d be interested in seeing some of our latest Mary Kay products?”

Rule #1: Yes and. This is it, the holy grail, the mantra of improv. Yes and means that you accept all of your fellow actor’s offers, rather than blocking – denying, ignoring, changing – what your partner just said. Brad calls me Mike, and I don’t say, Hey, wait my name is Tom. When he asks me to help lift the heavy block, I don’t say I’m busy and can’t, or Come on, it isn’t that heavy. We follow each other’s lead, rather than competing for the lead, and in the process discover and create our relationship and reality: We find out in a few moments that we’re brothers who help each other; that Brad’s tends to be protective and tries to shelter me from the bold print that he knows upsets me; that I may have a bad back.

And you fully commit yourself to the reality you both create. You don’t forget about the imaginary block is in the middle of stage and absentmindedly walk through it; you stay within your character and don’t stand suddenly upright after you just said that your back hurts. And when Ann says she is Trish from Mary Kay, we don’t say, Gee, you don’t look like a Mary Kay rep, or that we’re guys and don’t care about cosmetics. Instead we say, Yes indeed, we’d love to see your stuff.

Yes and is a Zen-like state of mind. You work with what life offers rather than fighting against it. You stay open and build on other’s ideas, rather than always dismissing, resisting, and jockeying for power. It’s the counter to the Yes but, the No, the defensiveness and anger that we usually hear from clients struggling with their relationships.

As therapists this is what we are fundamentally about – it’s active listening, it’s Rogerian unconditional positive regard – and we do our best to try and pass this along to our clients. It may be part of our clinical philosophy, the notion that a client’s problem somehow makes sense, that solving it means unraveling and understanding it, rather than forever pushing it away. But even for us, our own anxiety takes over sometimes and the Yes and becomes Yes but. Mary says that she’s decided to stop taking her meds, or that she cut herself again yesterday when her supervisor said she was late again, and you find yourself saying: “Hmmm, Mary, I don’t think that stopping the meds is such a good idea; you know, your depression symptoms will probably start coming back” or “I thought we agreed you were going to call your sister when you got upset” rather than saying something like, “I understand, Mary, what you are saying. Can you tell me why you decided to stop, why you felt you needed to cut.” Rather than saying yes, and joining and understanding Mary, we react negatively, we challenge, sound scolding and dismissive. We hear resistance and try and overpower it.

Brad and I start acting like teenagers competing for a girl’s attention. “We don’t get many pretty visitors like you,” says Brad. “More fat truck drivers and guys with tool belts. Have a seat,” he says, dusting off of the chair on stage. “You want a cup of coffee? It’s fresh.”

I physically nudge him aside. “Hey, Trish, I know what you’d like. How about a nice ketchup sandwich? It’s Heinz.” I say, smiling and holding up the imaginary meal. “Just made some for lunch. I have extra.”

Ann lets out a gasp. “Did you say ketchup?” She’s hamming it up. “Oh, God.”

“That’s okay. If you don’t like ketchup, I also have a mustard and relish sandwich,” I say, straight-faced.

Ann lets out a yelp as Brad moves in to help calm her down. I struggle to keep from laughing.

Rule #2. Act / React. The core belief here is that everyone on stage should be always working to contribute to the scene. If Yes and is about attitude and acceptance, this rule is about taking responsibility and confronting fear. You do this is by being courageous and following your instincts. Put something out there and trust that your fellow actors will follow your lead. Take the risk, don’t hold back, make bold choices. Don’t talk about taking action, don’t wait for the “right” moment, act now and see what happens. Pick up the block, stand on a chair, then justify after why you are picking or standing. Act – take responsibility for creating the relationship – then let others respond, listen, and react and build on their responses.

The opposite of all this – caution, hesitation, not pulling your weight – is what creates scene death. Instead of acting and adding to a scene – you malinger – pretending to smoke a cigarette while waiting to see what your teammates do – adding little in content and energy. The worse form of this irresponsibility is what is known as “pimping” your partner. You ask open ended vague questions – So where are we? What’s your name? – rather than making a clear proactive statement – I’m so glad the hot air balloon was able land here in the Sahara desert; or I’m Tom and I don’t think I’ve ever met a leprechaun like you before. Instead of saying a joke you say to your partner– “This is the funniest joke I have ever heard,” and then hand him an imaginary piece of paper. “Here it is. Why don’t you read it out loud.” Rather than stepping up to the plate, making a clear choice, and being assertive, you waffle, wimp out, and manipulate your partner into shouldering all the responsibility for moving the scene forward.

While you don’t want to hang back and never act, you also don’t want to make the other improv mistake of going in the other direction – always acting and attacking and never reacting and yielding. This is known as driving the scene, and actors who do this seem like control freaks. They think they have a great idea for the scene and push all the other actors in that direction. They dominate the action, don’t listen, do yes-buts. And while their ideas may be funny or interesting, it doesn’t work because the process ultimately undermines any possibility of success. The other actors feel dismissed and emotionally pummeled; they may go along as best they can, but don’t care, because what is happening is your idea not everyone’s. The scene quickly gets stilted, loses energy. The audience usually gets irritated or bored. It becomes for them a little bit too much like real life.

We all know in our clinical work how easily responsibility in relationships can get abandoned or distorted. Frank runs the show at home and in your office and his wife Ellen never speaks up, always goes along. Sue binge-drinks all weekend, and Eric is calling up her boss on Monday telling him that she has the flu rather than hung-over. Brian and Teresa talk about dividing up household chores more equally, but never do it and only continue to complain and complain.

Our job is counter this inertia and fear. When clients begin to withdraw, we encourage them to take risks, to act differently, right here and now, and say what’s on their minds and in their hearts. We ask the hard questions – do you think of suicide, do you want to get divorced, do you worry that this is your fault – that hopefully nudge them to talk about the underlying pain, the undisclosed secret, the unremitting terror.

And if we’re good at our job, we model this courage as well. But sometimes like improv actors, we, like our clients, wimp out. Frank really is intimidating and rather than challenging him or finding out how Ellen is feeling, we act like her and let him go on; Sue probably is alcoholic, but we’re tired and don’t really know much about addiction treatment, and rationalize to ourselves why we should just continue with our standard list of assessment questions; Brian and Teresa once again start complaining about chores, but instead of moving them towards concrete action, we instead only half-listen till they wind down, then change the topic and ask how the kids are doing. We give up out leadership, and sink into the client’s emotional climate and ways of coping, rather than changing it. It’s our anxiety, our fear. It’s our choosing to stay in our comfort zone, rather than taking the risk of busting out and seeing what happens.

“Well, you guys just caught off guard there with all your hospitality. You-ee” and she shakes her head. “ Just a little problem I’ve had since I was a little girl. I’m fine now.” Ann stands up and pulls down on the front of her imaginary suit jacket. “Well, now,” she says, regaining her saleswoman composure. “How about I show you both our new Spring line of men’s aftershaves?” Her voice is bubbly. She mimes opening a large sample case.

“Uh, I need to go to the back and check that block order,” says Brad on cue and in a shaky voice. He begins to back up.

“Hold on, Joe” I say, patting him on the back. “Don’t leave. We can do this.”

Rule #3. You can look good if you make your partner look good. One famous adage in improv is that everyone is a supporting actor. This concept follows directly from the others – acceptance, responsibility – now trust and commitment to each other. This is what makes improv relationships in some ways the perfect relationships. Rather than looking out for yourself, you’re always looking to support the other actors – to help him out, just as Ann did when Brad and I were running out of ideas – knowing that they’ll do the same for you when you start to flounder or get stuck. By my stepping up and offering something to Brad when he starts to shake, he and I have a way to discover together how his character is going to handle this aftershave fear. If he looks good, and he helps me look good, together we have successful scene. It’s the same impulse that drives the comradeship of soldiers in combat. We got each other’s back, we all pull our weight, we leave no one behind. We’re a team. What we do, we do together.

In contrast to such generosity is a stinginess and distrust that we see in many relationships. Mike and Loren are discussing what they might do together as couple over the weekend. It quickly has the feel of poker game. Mike is willing to do something on Saturday afternoon, if she will let him watch the ballgame on Sunday; Loren is willing to go for a hike if Mike promises to take the kids to soccer practice on Saturday morning. They are cutting deals, hoarding and counting some limited number of emotional chips. They each only show their hand if the other guy shows his first. They’re strategizing and posturing and bluffing rather than being honest and committed to each other as a couple. Each has learned over the years to look out for himself because they each believe their partner won’t.

As therapists we may be less likely to do this with clients, but certainly may do this with other colleagues in the field. We hold tight to our clients, we promote and posture ourselves and feel competitive towards other therapists in town, other programs like our own. In the improv world the chips aren’t limited, their infinite. We’re playing not against each other on stage or in a scene, but for each other. I give you what I most need and believe that you will give it back. I can lean into the relationship because I know and trust that you’ll catch me.

Brad is looking down, is hesitant. “Are you guys okay?” asks Ann. “Did I say something wrong.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say, holding up my hand. “Just give us a minute.”

I put my arm around Brad’s neck. “I understand that you feel responsible for dad. But you didn’t know, he didn’t know that putting on too much aftershave could trigger his heart attack.”

“But I was the one who gave him the aftershave to him for his birthday,, says Brad, now pretending to cry. “If I hadn’t given it to him, he’d still be here. It was my fault.”

“Joe, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t feel guilty,” I say quietly. (Hmmm, where is all this coming from I wondering to myself). “Remember what dad said in hospital – that men are more than big muscles and sweat. That you don’t have to smell of concrete dust all the time. He didn’t blame you. He wanted us to be like him. He always wanted us to know that it was alright to… smell good.”

Rule #4. Be truthful, be vulnerable. One of the mistakes that new improvisers make that they try hard to be funny. It never works. It feels forced, it falls flat. Instead of funny go for vulnerable. Stay in character and be honest. This is always more interesting for the audience, always moves the scene along, and more often than not, turns out funny anyhow.

We know how truthful and vulnerable applies to our work, and know how hard it is for clients and ourselves to get there. It’s another form of confronting fear, and it depends on the other rules – a acceptance, trust, responsibility, the belief that the other guy has your interests at heart. Clients often test the emotional waters by initially tossing us a low-risk problem. Sarah comes in saying that she’s struggling getting her kids in bed, Lou says he is having trouble sleeping and thinks it is work stress. After a few sessions and if we’ve helped them feel safe, Sarah mentions her childhood sexual abuse, her nightly binging behavior. Lou talks about the big argument he and his wife had over the weekend, and his nightly fantasies of walking out and leaving her and the kids behind.

And sometimes we freeze up ourselves. A client reminds us of our mother or has been referred to us by the top therapist in town, and we find ourselves stepping into our “professional” role. We try and impress – making what we think are cleaver interpretations, giving lecturettes to show how much we know – worrying about how we’re doing, rather than listening to the client. We make sure with have eye contact and work hard to look concerned, rather than relaxing and seeing what comes up inside us in the moment.

The message of this rule is honesty should always be the default. In a pinch, when you don’t know what to say, you say you don’t know what to say. You don’t hide behind pat answers, your standard role, but push yourself instead towards authenticity and immediacy. Like the other rules, you take the lead and help clients to do the same.

Brad stands up straight, wipes his eyes one last time, and pumps his arm. “You’re right,” he says “Let’s do this for dad.”

“Trish,” I say, “sorry to keep you. Let’s see what you got in that case... Oh no, bold print!”

And scene.

Rule #5. There are no mistakes. In a good improv scene everything is incorporated, nothing falls to the wayside. A character’s anger, someone’s limp, the joke that falls flat, the imaginary cup that gets dropped all get acted and reacted to. You work around and with what others offer, and trust that you’ll all somehow pull it out. All grist for the mill, you see what evolves, focus on what’s being created in the moment. Like poetry you seek to connect the odd and seemingly out of place – concrete and cosmetics, aftershave and guilt.

None of us knew where this scene was going to go when it started – that Brad and my relationship would be close rather than antagonistic, that Ann would be selling cosmetics instead of delivering sand or being a dog, that we would wind up talking about loss and grief instead of fraternity parties or ways to knock out one of the walls in the factory. And while it turned out to be a pretty strong scene, it could have fallen flat with each of us wandering around, not listening, staying safe and doing nothing interesting.

And it doesn’t matter. We were trying to remember the rules, practicing our skills, practicing ourselves, and most of all playing and having a good time. Some clients get stuck in their relationships and their lives because they worry about making mistakes or are haunted by past ones. Couples find themselves in stale marriages because choose to stay in their comfort zone, and use routine and distance to replace spontaneity and confrontation. Some clients, and undoubtedly some therapists, become preoccupied with following, what they imagine to be, the one path towards the one goal. They scold themselves when they feel they have strayed, when things don’t turn out as they imagine they should, rather than patting themselves on the back for taking the risk and learning something new about themselves and their lives.

A few years after taking up improv I quit my job; after 30 years of agency work I decided to go into private practice. I started to do workshops on family therapy and supervision, finding myself putting my improv skills to good use – spontaneously acting out the personalities of clients, complete with different voices, when presenting case examples. Having never traveled oversees before, I took myself on a 3-week trip across China. And I got married.

Diane has come to see me for therapy because her husband walked out on her after 20 years of marriage. She is trying to make sense of what happened. She sits in my office tearful as she remembers one of her last conversations with her husband before he suddenly left. She feels guilty, she says, because she was tired and irritable, and paid little attention to his rant about his boss. She now thinks that if she had listened and provided the support he was seeking, he wouldn’t have stayed so frustrated, and maybe, just maybe, not had left.

I’m about to tell her that big decisions usually don’t work that way, that it’s not one thing but an accumulation of incidents and feelings over time, but then I remember my father in the hospital. I begin to tell her how I felt when I knew he was dying, knew in my therapist head it was my last opportunity to say to him what I appreciated and loved about him, but instead I said nothing at all. He died several hours later. I feel bad, I say to her, that I never spoke up. I try to tell myself that we always do the best we can in the moment – on good days it helps, on other days it doesn’t. Diane nods her head and becomes quiet.

The core of my clinical work hasn’t changed – I still follow the same models and theories that I used to. But I’m sure a few years ago I wouldn’t have told this story to Diane, I would have instead tried to talk her away from her guilt. I am in some ways less cautious, more focused on process than content, more energetic and interactive in sessions. I try harder to listen to clients, to Diane, to understand where they are and what they offer. I do my best to act and react, and get excited about what we may just be able to create together.
__________________
Thanks for looking. Your comments are always appreciated.