Tag Archives: Voice of Experience

Voice of Experience: Know everything

By Gregory K. Moffatt November 19, 2018

If you want to be a good counselor, know everything. Did I get your attention? I don’t really expect counselors to know everything, but I use this simple phrase to make a point.

Remember how exciting it was when you finished your graduate work? No more tests, no more papers and no more assignments. When I finished my Ph.D., I reveled in the liberation of being able to read something because it interested me as opposed to plodding through some article or book chapter and wondering what my professor was going to ask about on a test.

I see that excitement in my students as they approach graduation. Some of them even tell me how they will never be a student again. In other words, they’re done with formal education.

I loved graduate school, but I understand those who don’t enjoy the academic regimen. Nothing shameful there. However, there is something ethically problematic if a clinician thinks that learning ends with the awarding of the sheepskin at commencement or even receipt of a license to practice professionally.

I often hear a troubling tone from colleagues regarding their continuing education requirements. In Georgia where I practice, we are required a minimum of 35 hours every two years. Sometimes people speak of these hours as if they are boxes to check off as opposed to a process that helps us improve our skills.

Continuing education isn’t something that you have to do for your license. It is something you must do to remain competent.

Your required hours for license renewal are what your state has determined is a minimum. I don’t want to be minimal. In my previous license renewal cycle, I had almost 60 CEU hours — nearly double the required minimum. One of my colleagues had even more. She was audited a few years ago and had more than 200 hours of continuing education over her two-year cycle.

Learning must continue for multiple reasons. Our ethical responsibility and professionalism are just two.

My continuing education isn’t limited to CEU hours. I have a passion for reading. For many years, I have made it a practice to read at least 25 books per year. Along with books in the counseling field, I also read at least one biography, one history book, one book on mathematics or physics, one book on chemistry or medicine, and one or two just for entertainment (I’m a Stephen King fan, if you’re curious).

A few different times, I have committed to and succeeded at reading a book a week for the whole year. I also read all of the journals from my professional organizations, plus kept up on the news each day.

I have an amazing luxury as a college professor. I am surrounded by scholars — among the best in their academic fields. Our university offers dozens of majors, and I regularly go to my friends in other disciplines and ask, “What should I be reading in your area?” Whether it is literature, history, business, psychology, social work or some other area, I am never disappointed at their suggestions. In fact, I’m disappointed only if they don’t have any.

Reading helps me relate to varied fields of study, professions and pop culture. This reading habit probably sounds boring to some of you. Again, it is OK if you don’t like to read, but at a minimum, you must stay abreast of your field in some way.

But learning brings more than that. With every news story I follow, every volunteer experience I have, every foreign country I visit and, yes, every book I read, I become a better counselor. I even use social events to learn. Instead of talking about myself, I ask about others. What is your career? What is most exciting or interesting in your life experience? I’m always thinking, “What can you teach me?”

Knowing something about everything helps us understand our clients. Even our jobs can teach us. I’ve had so many jobs in my past that I can’t name them all, but to list a few, I’ve been a truck driver, a coal miner, a painter, a carpenter, an electrician, a telephone operator, a teacher, a radio host, a restaurant worker, a bulldozer driver, a landscaper, and the list goes on. These experiences help me to understand the worlds in which my clients live.

So, I encourage you to be a learner. Know everything, even if you don’t pursue it the way I do. You will be a better counselor for it.

 

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If you are interested in some of my favorite books, you can find a reading list organized by category on my website (click on “Resources”) at gregmoffatt.com.

 

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Gregory K. Moffatt is a veteran counselor of more than 30 years. His monthly Voice of Experience column for CT Online seeks to share theory, ethics and practice lessons learned from his diverse career, as well as inspiration for today’s counseling professionals, whether they are just starting out or have been practicing for many years. His experience includes three decades of work with children, trauma and abuse, as well as a variety of other experiences, including work with schools, businesses and law enforcement. Contact him at Greg.Moffatt@point.edu.

 

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.

Voice of Experience: Losing a client

By Gregory K. Moffatt October 22, 2018

My colleague sat across from me, teary-eyed, in the conference room where we had met so many times before while she was under my supervision. Now, only a few months into her new life as a fully licensed clinician, she had lost a client to suicide. She was understandably distraught.

The client was high risk from the beginning, but my colleague hadn’t missed anything. She had covered every base she could. She had developed a thorough safety contract with the client that included an emergency plan, coping skills for the client to use and an emergency contact person for the client. The last time my colleague had seen her client, he had appeared slightly improved. He had assured her that he would attend to the safety contract and would be back the following week for his appointment. Sadly, he took his own life two days later. Perhaps his perceived improvement was simply resolve to follow through with a suicide. We will never know.

I have never lost a client under my care to suicide, but I suppose that even now, in the twilight of my career, such a loss would be devastating to my heart and my esteem. My young colleague was just beginning to gain some confidence in her clinical skills. Approval from the licensing board had helped nudge her professional esteem into a reasonably healthy place — only to have this happen.

The tragic loss of a human being and the lifetime of pain such an act brings to family members is our primary concern, of course. But we counselors have to manage such tragedies too.

What did I miss? If only I’d hospitalized! Maybe more frequent sessions would have been better. These are among the obsessive thoughts that plagued my friend and brought her to tears that day in my conference room.

But the fact is, we cannot control the private lives of any of our clients. Some will be success stories, and others will not. All we can do as counselors is to guide them. A client’s life is their own.

When I began my career, I had a client who was having an affair but wanted to get his marriage back in order. Obviously, to reach that goal, the affair needed to end. But he chose to continue the affair, no matter how many times he acknowledged the damage it was doing to his family. The outcome was inevitable. Predictably, he and his wife eventually divorced.

Perhaps a better therapist could have helped him succeed in achieving his stated goal, but even in hindsight, I think not. He was determined to do what he wanted to do, and there was little I could do to stop him.

In a similar manner, I helped my colleague to see that even her client’s wife — someone who was with him most of every day, someone who slept in the same bed with him — couldn’t stop him from harming himself. He had been determined.

Saying “the client chooses” doesn’t remove responsibility from us as counselors. Therefore, she and I reviewed her procedures with the client to ensure that she hadn’t missed something. She had not. I suspect that even hospitalization wouldn’t have kept her client from eventually taking action.

Our clients will make their own choices. Sometimes they will relapse into addictions, return to abusive relationships and, yes, if you are in the field long enough and work with high-risk clients, some will even take their own lives.

Although we must have compassion for our clients, we must also develop something I call “disinterestedness.” This simply means that we must remain apart from the choices our clients make. We are “disinterested” in the sense that we won’t thrust our ideals upon them. Being compassionate usually comes naturally for counselors. That is why most of us pursue this career. Practicing disinterestedness, on the other hand, is difficult, but it is equally important.

Coping with this loss won’t be easy, but my friend is putting it behind her. So to you, my colleagues, I encourage you to remember disinterestedness in your practice, especially when your clients move in a hazardous direction. You cannot control them, and even if you could, that would overstep our ethical boundaries.

Yes, it is necessary for us to review such cases. If errors were made, put systems in place so that you won’t make the same errors again. But then move forward and do your job. Your clients’ decisions aren’t about you.

 

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Gregory K. Moffatt is a veteran counselor of more than 30 years. His monthly Voice of Experience column for CT Online seeks to share theory, ethics and practice lessons learned from his diverse career, as well as inspiration for today’s counseling professionals, whether they are just starting out or have been practicing for many years. His experience includes three decades of work with children, trauma and abuse, as well as a variety of other experiences, including work with schools, businesses and law enforcement. Contact him at Greg.Moffatt@point.edu.

 

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.

Voice of Experience: One quiet hour

By Gregory K. Moffatt September 24, 2018

Seven-year-old “Adam” (not his real name) concentrates on the project in front of him. He is coloring on a piece of paper on the floor in my therapy room, and I am sitting close beside him. Crayons litter the floor, and I can see him thinking carefully as he selects each color. He leans back against my arm like a baby bird snuggling beneath its mother’s wing. This simple behavior says, “I trust you,” and it is a very good sign.

As he bends forward to color, he exposes his neck beneath the curls of his hair. I can see the fading remnants of bruises in the shape of fingers. Similar bruises are visible on the exposed skin of his arms. I know there are still more bruises in places I can’t see. I also know that he would never lean back against his stepfather like he is doing with me. It wouldn’t be safe for him. The touches he has received at home have not been gentle ones.

Adam’s world is very small. He lives in a small trailer and attends a small elementary school. He doesn’t play sports, take piano lessons or engage in any other activities outside of his home. He has never had a party or been to a sleepover at a friend’s house. Chances are good that he never will.

Adam’s world is small, but it is also very crowded. Siblings, stepsiblings, mother, father, stepparents, teachers, social workers, counselors, doctors, lawyers, judges — these are the people who inhabit Adam’s world.

Adam looks forward to coming to see me each week. When his world and mine overlap, it is just the two of us. We play in the sandbox, draw pictures or play with puppets. I learn a lot about his world from the way he plays, his choices of toys and the emotion he puts into the activities of our sessions together. Sometimes he talks of yelling and hitting. Other times he tells stories of policemen and social services workers. Still other times, he just plays quietly.

There is little I can do to make Adam’s home life easier. The law has done little to protect him and, as well-intentioned as they have been, social agencies have in many ways made his life harder. He is a powerless child at the mercy of a world of adults who like to think they care. But in reality, they care more about their own interests and personal agendas than they do about children like Adam.

To most of the people in his life, Adam is just the troubled kid whom nobody would miss if he disappeared. He is a child who makes teaching harder. He is the disruptive child whom parents don’t want their kids playing with. They can’t understand him, and many of them don’t even try. Even his caseworker is too busy and too jaded to connect emotionally with Adam. I can only help him develop skills to cope in his crowded and noisy world. It breaks my heart, but I’ve seen it many times.

In some ways, Adam is an enigma to me. He giggles as he tells me about something funny his sister did at home. How does he find happiness in this life he lives?

It always surprises me how the things of the world that otherwise would be important to me seem to fade in their significance when I am working with a child such as Adam. No matter what is happening in my life, when I close my office door and I have this quiet hour with a client, I don’t think about politics, war, terrorism, money or even my family. I concentrate fully on Adam. I am his for one hour. He knows he is safe with me and that I will always honor and respect him, his thoughts and his dreams. He knows I will not betray his secrets or laugh at his fears.

When our time is up, Adam rises to leave. He doesn’t look back as he exits my office. One way he copes is by living from moment to moment, investing only in that moment — no future and no past.

People often wonder how I work with children such as Adam. “How can you sleep at night?” they ask, shaking their heads.

I can sleep because I know that even if it is only for one hour, I can make a child’s world a little more tolerable. I know I am helping create a better world for children like Adam because for one hour, they can know they are safe and secure and that I really do care about them. I have no hidden agenda.

I can sleep because working with children like Adam helps me to put life in perspective. It makes me a better father and a better human being. This is my calling, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is why I became a counselor.

 

 

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Gregory K. Moffatt is a veteran counselor of more than 30 years. His monthly Voice of Experience column for CT Online seeks to share theory, ethics and practice lessons learned from his diverse career, as well as inspiration for today’s counseling professionals, whether they are just starting out or have been practicing for many years. His experience includes three decades of work with children, trauma and abuse, as well as a variety of other experiences, including work with schools, businesses and law enforcement. Contact him at Greg.Moffatt@point.edu.

 

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.