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Introductory
Remarks |
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Freud
Museum Conference 21st
May, 2000 Introductory
Remarks As
perhaps we might expect, any search of the psychoanalytic literature will
reveal a heavy concentration of papers and books that deal with, or focus
upon, the patient’s body. As clinicians and theorists we are, on the
whole, very familiar with thinking about and addressing issues and
meanings that relate to, or specifically arise from, the activities,
functions and the use of the patient’s body. As
analytical psychotherapists we try to pay a natural attention to all
aspects of our patients. Their appearance; what they say and how
they say it; the use some patients have to make of silence as well as
those seemingly immobilised by it. We listen to descriptions about their
own bodies and their narratives of others’ bodies, past and present. We
can learn what they do to their own and others’ bodies, both adults and
children, lovingly and perversely. We
are interested in how they come in and out of the consulting room; do they
come alone or are they accompanied by books, bags, bottles of water,
medications, sweets or cigarettes; whether they sit or lie down, or the
use they make of the analytic couch, blankets and pillows; whether they
come early, on time or late. Whether
they use the lavatory before, during or after a session or not at all and
if they do for what purpose. Whether they fiddle or fidget, smile or
appear solemn, whether they laugh or cry, pull or stroke their hair or
play with buttons, belts, rings, cufflinks, necklaces, watches and
spectacles. Whether they ignore or stroke the cat on the way into the
house or can acknowledge or speak to other patients, visitors or family
members they may meet coming or going. I
could go on but I am sure, as therapists, you will recognise these and
many more that I haven’t listed as instances of our awareness of,
and sensitivity to, the repertoire of expression that makes each and every
patient what they are, both at the start of treatment and at the end; a
human being with an induplicable personality. But
if that goes for the patient does it apply to the therapist as well. I
think it does and furthermore I happen to also think that the therapies
and analyses that succeed are those where the therapist doesn’t think or
act as if they are an exception to this rule. What of ourselves, and to do
with us, is noticed by the patient; our appearance, our energy, our tone
of voice, our private smells, the way we move, our fidgeting and other
physical distractions and so on and most important of all; our state of
mind. We
do of course, and inevitably so, introduce ourselves and our physical body
into the therapeutic equation. However, my impression is that we’ve
grown accustomed to doing this rather self-conciously and usually only
when we’re inspecting or being informed by our counter-transference
specific to something happening or being experienced at a moment in time
during a session, or where the actual circumstances of our bodily selves
demand or warrant acknowledgement and exploration - for example the
violent coughing fit that no lozenge on earth can silence. Bion
thought that every time we made an interpretation we told the patient
something about ourselves. Are we apt to forget the multiple With
the exception of obvious disability or undisguised ill heath in the
therapist, my impression is that we turn our thoughts to this subject of
the place and role of our own bodies with a sense of caution and
reticence. Perhaps
as a profession we need to discuss this more and this requires initiative
and probably courage. To my mind, the colleagues already doing this and
from whom we have so much to learn are our pregnant colleagues. Our
theories and practice are enriched by the clinical testimony of the
pregnant clinician who in addition to being appropriately and maternally
preoccupied has to utilise the arena of subjective and unambiguous bodily
experience in Something
similar might also be said to occur in treatments being deliberately and
prematurely terminated by a seriously ill therapist and where some account
of the work can be written up by the dying analyst or entrusted to others
to do so. Enter
at this point the Freud Museum; with a typically very imaginative
programme that extends the Museum’s reputation for organising attractive
and unusual conferences. The speakers will, I hope, sustain us through
what will be an interesting day of discussion concerned with this much
less written about, less discussed question of The Therapist’s Body and
maybe the presence of two hundred and fifty people on a wet Sunday
constitutes a promising attention to an important subject. We
have five speakers for you today, each with something distinctive to
contribute to our theme; two this morning, one either side of coffee
and before lunch and three this afternoon. I hope you can reciprocate
their thoughtful preparations by contributing your ideas and questions
throughout the day. One
closing thought to end these introductory remarks. It’s probably not
very diplomatic for the Chairman to say so but can I please share with you
one disappointment about our programme today, and I am going only by what
the programme says - I haven’t had sight of the papers you’re going to
hear, so by 5pm I might be both wrong and reassured. It’s the
absence of a contribution on the vexed issue of how unhealthy it is to be
a therapist and what our bodies endure whilst our minds listen. What
the late Nina Coltart called the “sitting still life of the
therapist”. Some of us do sit very quietly still for between 8 to 10
hours a day using the creative muscles of our minds whilst those in our
bodies atrophy and ache. Chastising a colleague who was analysing for ten
hours a day Freud wrote to her “naturally I regard it as a badly
concealed attempt at suicide”. * In
my experience these aspects of our personal health, the functioning of our
own bodies, get discussed informally between therapists but not not in
public. To her credit I suspect that Nina Coltart was one of the few
analysts to so explicitly include the analyst’s body and health in her
writings. She would refer to them as “the occupational hazards”. In
one of her papers she described the incidence of orthostatic oedema
(swollen ankles) and thought that scientific meetings were the place to
observe how women analysts were more prone to this than men and to make a
cogent argument for never working without a footstool. In
a profession where it is not unusual to be over 40 and probably seriously
in debt before you even qualify and only really getting your feet -
swollen or Anthony
Cantle
May,
2000
References: *
Freud,
S. (1923) Letter to Lou Andreas-Salome. Cited in Jones, E - Sigmund
Freud Life & Work Volume 111 (The Last Phase 1919-1939). Hogarth
Press, 1957.
Copyright
in this form© 2001 British Psychoanalytical Society &
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