I have been a writer since I was a child. Back then, I wrote stories from school on my notebook paper – the big three-line paper that children learn to produce their letters on – and sometimes wrote with a colored pencil. I used cardboard from discarded cereal boxes to make envelopes for my stories and tied the pages and envelopes with old shoelaces. I still have these simple stories, my first "self-published" works, from a time when this language didn't even exist. These primitive stories about the world around me are carefully tucked away somewhere in my attic.
Over the years I have published more than a dozen books and well over a thousand articles. It makes me smile when I get an email or a phone call from a reader who initially says to me, "I've read your article," assuming I've only written the one.
Many of my colleagues do not understand my love for writing. Writing words down on paper is a chore for them, and sometimes they even find managing their process notes a chore.
But that doesn't come close to panicking my clinical students when they see an assignment for a paper 10 to 15 pages long. What on earth could you write about that would fill that number of pages?
But if you stop and think about it, all therapists are writers in some way. When we sit in the session, we listen carefully. As we all learned about counseling long ago in our first course, we need to spend a lot more time listening than talking. And especially early in a clinical relationship, when our clients spill their stories, we carefully process those words for one purpose – to communicate that we understand.
When the time is right, we produce words – nouns, verbs, and modifiers – carefully chosen to ensure that our message is 100% accurate and as precise as possible within the confines of time and space. This process is repeated over and over again during a session.
The writing is exactly the same. I learn and sometimes listen for days or weeks while trying to understand the topic I want to communicate. Instead of saying these carefully chosen words, I write them down. I edit multiple times to be as sure as possible that these nouns, verbs, and modifiers are in exactly the right place to communicate exactly what I want to say within the confines of time and space.
Of course there are differences. I have the luxury of working on my thoughts for days and the benefit of having multiple editors read my work before it is published. But in a way, in the session, we do the same thing as consultants. We reflect on our answers and work on them based on the instructions from our previous supervisors and colleagues. They are the voices in our head that act as our editors.
My goal is not to convert our readership into writers. If you don't like it, don't. But there is something useful in this lengthy parable for deliberation. My supervisors play their session tapes for me and sometimes I pick a random spot and ask them why they said what they did.
In this context, I'm not really concerned about the client or whether the words were the best. I just want to know if my supervisors know why they said something specific. My rule: We never do or say anything in therapy that has no purpose . Like every word, comma, and phrase in this article, meticulous choices have been made.
We don't have small talk with customers. It wastes therapy time. But if you were to watch me in a session with a client, for the first minute or two you might think I was making small talk. No chance. I use this conversation to get to a specific place in my session. Similarly, my story of creating primitive books at the beginning of this article got you thinking about words, writing, and precision in therapy.
My students could listen to my session tapes, stop at any point and ask me, "Why were you laughing?" or "Why did you ask about the client's job?" or "Why did you lean back against your chair?" I could tell you why. My in-house editor is very sophisticated and I produce an accurate product. The words are carefully chosen and my movements, facial expressions and use of silence are my punctuation. If you don't do something like this, it should be you.
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Gregory K. Moffatt is a veteran advisor for more than 30 years and the Dean of the College of Social and Behavioral Sciences at Point University. In his monthly Voice of Experience column for CT Online, he seeks theoretical, ethical and practical lessons from his diverse career as well as inspiration for today's consultants, whether they are just starting out or have been practicing for many years. His experience spans three decades of working with children, trauma, and abuse, as well as a host of other experiences including working with schools, businesses, and law enforcement agencies. Contact him at [email protected].
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Opinions and statements in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to reflect the opinions of the editors or guidelines of the American Counseling Association.
