Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,14

you risk this person asking why you want to see a therapist. “What’s wrong?” this person might say. “Is it your marriage? Are you depressed?” Even if people don’t ask this aloud, every time they see you, they might be silently wondering, What’s wrong? Is it your marriage? Are you depressed?

If your friend does give you her therapist’s name, there might be unexpected checks and balances to what you say in the therapy room. If, for instance, your friend recounts to this therapist a not-so-flattering incident that involves you, and you give a different version of this same incident—or omit it altogether—the therapist will see you in a way you haven’t chosen to present. But you won’t know what the therapist knows about you, because the therapist can’t mention anything said in somebody else’s session.

These caveats notwithstanding, word of mouth is often an effective way to find a therapist. You can also go on PsychologyToday and sort through profiles in your area. But however you do it, you may need to meet with a few before you find the right one. That’s because clicking with your therapist matters in a way that it doesn’t with other clinicians (as another therapist said: “It’s not the same as choosing a good cardiologist who sees you maybe twice a year and will never know about your massive insecurity”). Study after study shows that the most important factor in the success of your treatment is your relationship with the therapist, your experience of “feeling felt.” This matters more than the therapist’s training, the kind of therapy they do, or what type of problem you have.

But I have unique constraints in finding a therapist. To avoid an ethical breach known as a dual relationship, I can’t treat or receive treatment from any person in my orbit—not a parent of a kid in my son’s class, not the sister of my coworker, not a friend’s mom, not my neighbor. The relationship in the therapy room needs to be its own, distinct and apart. These rules don’t hold for other health-care clinicians. You can play tennis or be in a book club with your surgeon, dermatologist, or chiropractor, but not with your therapist.

This narrows my prospects dramatically. I’m friendly with, refer patients to, go to conferences with, or otherwise associate with numerous therapists in town. On top of that, my friends who are therapists, like Jen, know many of the same therapists I do. Even if Jen referred me to one of her colleagues that I don’t know, there would be something awkward about her being friendly with my therapist—it’s too close. And as for my asking my colleagues? Well, there’s this: I don’t want my colleagues to know I’m seeking urgent therapy. Might they hesitate, consciously or not, to send referrals my way?

So while I’m surrounded by therapists, my predicament conjures that Coleridge line “Water, water, everywhere / Nor any drop to drink.”

But by the end of the day, I have an idea.

My colleague Caroline isn’t in my suite, or even in my building. She’s not a friend, although we’re professionally friendly. Sometimes we share cases—I’ll see a couple, and she’ll see one of the members of the couple individually, or vice versa. Any referral she’d have, I’d trust.

I dial her cell at ten to the hour, and she picks up.

“Hi, how are you?” she asks.

I say I’m great. “Absolutely great,” I repeat enthusiastically. I don’t mention the fact that I’ve barely slept or eaten and feel like I might faint. I ask how she is, then get right to the point.

“I need a referral,” I say, “for a friend.”

I quickly explain that this “friend” is looking specifically for a male therapist to keep Caroline from wondering why I’m not referring my friend to her.

Through the phone, I can almost hear the gears turning in her head. About three-fourths of clinicians who do therapy (as opposed to research, psychological testing, or medication management) are women, so it takes some thought for her to find a man. I add that the one male therapist in my office suite, who happens to be one of the most talented therapists I know, won’t work out for this friend because this friend doesn’t feel comfortable doing therapy at my office, where we share a waiting room.

“Hmm,” Caroline says. “Let me think. It’s a male patient who wants the referral?”

“Yes, he’s in his forties,” I say. “High-functioning.”

High-functioning is therapist code for “a good patient,” the kind most therapists enjoy working with, often to