Full disclosure

Unlocking an easy key to therapy, and parenting

NOTE: I want you to know that I am well aware of the headlines flooding our timelines these days. I will write about them one of these weeks. I am also keenly aware that you’ve got plenty to read about all of that, and I am not here today to add to the alarm.

The world seems like it’s falling down all around us in real time. But I could use a little break, and I suspect you could too. Consider this a little Substack timeline cleanse.

So, I’m working with this remarkable young woman, we can call her Katie, who has been through some pretty traumatic events in her life to date, including parental loss, addiction in her family, and rather severe anxiety. I am sharing this story with her permission.

Katie described to me in detail the panic attacks she has suffered on a regular basis for years:

“It starts pretty much out of the blue. I feel suddenly lightheaded, like I’m not in my body and can’t breathe and I’m for sure going to pass out any moment. It’s terrifying.”

I asked her if anyone else knew the degree to which she was going through it, and she said no.

“It’s SO stupid and embarrassing! I hate it about myself.”

Then she added, “I actually hate telling you about it. I’ll bet you’ve never worked with anyone who has this stupid fear ever before.”

“Well, I for one have.”

She didn’t believe me. “You’re just being nice. You don’t want me to feel like a freak.”

Nope. I have felt exactly like Katie described countless times in my past, and I told her so. I shared with her details of my nearly daily panic attacks early in my career, during which I’d escape to a bathroom stall until I thought perhaps the floor might not fall out from underneath me. I described in great detail my own sudden breathlessness and intense sense of urgency to keep breathing.

Within just a couple of minutes, we were swapping stories back-and-forth of the very worst of our panic attacks. We were laughing together at how ridiculous a panic attack is, when the rational mind is entirely hijacked by anxiety, and you believe the very worst things are going to happen, like, right now.

I talked about the ideas I would come up with to excuse myself from a table, and she started laughing hard.

“Oh my God! I do that too, all the time. I never go anywhere without excuses ready. I am the best escape artist!”

We were both cracking up.

Within a couple of minutes, I told her it gets better.

“Really? How?”

“With some breathing techniques, and time, and perspective on other things going on in your life that you think are entirely unrelated, you learn to manage the moments.”

The sense of connection, and the relief she was clearly experiencing, was palpable. It was important to provide Katie hope, authentic hope, that this was not going to be the story of her life. And because I had been through it myself, I knew this to be true.

And Katie was quickly allowed a little light, a little hope, a little freedom. Maybe a lot.

Now, imagine if I decided not to share that story. I suppose we could’ve gotten somewhere with breathing exercises and progressive muscle relaxation, maybe some other cognitive-behavioral therapeutic techniques. But it almost feels cruel, the idea of withholding the fact that I had been there, right where she is, and knew the way through. It feels just the side of inhumane. It also feels pointless. Like, why not share something about yourself if it would help someone to hear it, or help them through their suffering more rapidly? Not just in therapy, but in any context.

A little backstory

Many of us carry this belief that’s it’s best to present as a blank slate, withholding our own story for fear that it disempowers, or offers tacit permission for misbehavior, or might simply disallow us from presenting to our audience (a therapy client, our child, or anyone else for that matter) in the best possible light. We therapists were taught in grad school, on repeat, to make the therapy strictly and solely about our patients, and specifically not to disclose personal information about ourselves.

I mean, this idea was rammed down our throats frequently.

I am here to dispel this pretty ridiculous mythology from the therapeutic relationship, and from parenting. Maybe from every relationship we engage in.

There may have been a time and a place when this all made sense, this doctor/patient, parent/child, expert/novice relationship setup. Years ago, maybe it tracked for one party to disseminate wisdom and information down to the other.

Maybe.

But I’m here to tell you, despite everything you read in every psychology textbook and parenting guide, that this relational distance no longer carries either utility or validity. In point of fact, it becomes increasingly clear to me with each passing year that the more we authentically connect and share with our people, no matter what roles we are playing, the more useful we can be. Our stories and experiences matter and can prove really, really helpful. Far more than any canned lecture, intervention or other technique. Snore.

Therapeutic application

In therapy, I self-disclose all the time. The teenagers and adults I work with know a lot about me, sometimes well before we meet. They’re familiar with my anxiety. They’re aware of my occasional depression. They know of the ghosts and shadows in my family history. They know I’ve been intimately touched by suicide. I find it very useful to be an open book. I share in session, whenever I speak publicly, in my books. Even here.

I find this open and vulnerable sharing to not only be useful, but more human and humane. It makes my workday feel richer and more satisfying. I find a unique synergy in my therapeutic work, a win-win situation in which everyone in the room benefits. Including myself.

I don’t think that’s a crime.

After all, I think therapy should be more than just a correction in emotion or behavior. At its best, it’s a hope-inspiring, life-affirming, resilience-building experience. It can and should be bigger than the sum of its parts.

And without a mutual sense of sharing, it falls short and flat. And clients sense that, that sense of withholding, that idea that this experience they’re investing in is limited by artificial and unnecessary guardrails.

I’m inclined to take this a step further. That therapeutic sharing doesn’t have to occur strictly through story. For years early in this profession, when my clients would get emotional, I would deliberately hold back from sharing my emotions. Not anymore. If I’m feeling it, I’m sharing it. I find that openness and vulnerability to be the greatest foundation for positive change. The Kleenex is there for both of us.

And I’m reminded nearly daily that this is how the process works best.

On parenting

And I’ve slowly come to believe that the same approach applies to parenting. I’ve worked with countless parents who have opted to hold out on their kids, hesitating to share their stories of struggles, failures, and even victories of their past. They don’t want their kids to know that they perhaps were not the perfect student. That they started drinking at a young age. That they began experimenting with sex in high school.

“Why would I do that? I lose all my parenting power and credibility, and I’m giving him or her permission to act like I did.”

Sure, except that’s not what happens. When you share your story, flaws and all, it humanizes you. It stirs emotion and authenticity into the conversation. I have witnessed parents presenting a ‘perfect adolescence’ to their teenager. No kid buys it. They know their parents are holding out, in a futile attempt to raise the bar on them. It doesn’t work.

What’s far more effective is relating honestly, through both story and emotion.

“Oh honey, you’re struggling in Math? I get it. It was Chemistry for me. I felt lost almost every day in that class, just like you do. Let’s see if we can figure out a way for you to suffer less than I did. Because that sucked!”

Your kid will hear you if you open up. If they know you can relate, you’re in the conversation, instead of a roadblock to be worked around.

Parenting win.

All your relationships

Why not try this approach in your marriage or other intimate relationship as well? Try it with your parents, your siblings, your friends.

I bet you find the more you share, the more they share. The closer you become. The more you both feel heard. The more you together create space to connect, to heal, to grow.

And the less shame and loneliness either of you will experience.

Your story matters and provides your people with the context and frame of reference for connecting with you, relating with you, and learning and growing from your experiences. Why on earth would you ever hold that back?