Synopsis: About three or four years ago I suggested to the members of one of my long-term groups that since they were all doing so well, they might want to consider terminating their therapy. One person agreed that she felt finished and, with the group's support, decided to leave. The others pondered my suggestion, and, looking at me somewhat incredulously, asked Why would they ever terminate? Teasingly, they suggested I might want to redecorate my office with rocking chairs in preparation for our mutual old age. As far as they were concerned, they would be available to help each other grow until "death do us part." And, “No,” they did not want to keep the connection in another setting without me; "Thank you." Didn't I understand that what had evolved between them was too precious to end? In this era when honesty, intimacy, and commitment are qualities dispensed in meager doses, they would not give up the connections they had worked so hard to establish.

I have worked with over a dozen groups for at least a dozen years. The core members of one of these groups have been together for twenty—yes, twenty—years. We have spent much time talking about histories, present life issues, future plans, their hopes and dreams. Often, we have traveled beyond an individual's specific issues to explore their thoughts, feelings, and reactions to everything ranging from presidential peccadilloes, ethnic cleansing, Michael Jordan, baseball as a metaphor for life, ethics, morality, and the existence of God.

About three or four years ago I suggested to the members of one of my long-term groups that since they were all doing so well, they might want to consider terminating their therapy. One person agreed that she felt finished and, with the group's support, decided to leave. The others pondered my suggestion, and, looking at me somewhat incredulously, asked Why would they ever terminate? Teasingly, they suggested I might want to redecorate my office with rocking chairs in preparation for our mutual old age. As far as they were concerned, they would be available to help each other grow until "death do us part." And, “No,” they did not want to keep the connection in another setting without me; "Thank you." Didn't I understand that what had evolved between them was too precious to end? In this era when honesty, intimacy, and commitment are qualities dispensed in meager doses, they would not give up the connections they had worked so hard to establish.

A few weeks later I had dinner with a fifty-year old poet and writer, a woman I consider exceptionally astute and sensitive. I told her about my puzzlement at the group's reaction. Her response to me was similar to that of the group: "They have gone beyond traditional psychotherapy and have moved on to a spiritual plane." Thoughtfully, she noted, "Why would they ever stop? I wish I had a haven like that for myself."

I was taken aback by her reaction. I had neither studied nor signed on to be the equivalent of a minister or rabbi. Visions of proselytizing evangelists and stereotypical images of therapists who fostered patient dependency for their own economic advantage flashed through my brain. Somewhat officiously and very shrink-like I all too vehemently protested "But they no longer need therapy and my goal is for the people I work with to be able to stand on their own two feet. They are supposed to leave the group when their lives are going well." Still debating her, I said, "Spirituality belongs in a house of worship, not in my office, not on my couch."

A little wine and her generous encouragement helped ease my discomfort. I was concerned about what someone outside the field of psychotherapy might think and how they would judge my work and me. Somewhat shyly, I told her more about that group's history. The notion that there were modes of psychotherapy that could be considered spiritual was still difficult for me to acknowledge, but a seed had been planted, and I began to think of similarities between the two disciplines.

As I told her more stories about this specific group and of my practice in general, my friend nodded and said, "Yes, I know that what you practice is called psychotherapy but I think it is psychotherapy in a very ancient and spiritual sense. I think the reason this group and so many other individuals and groups don't want to leave therapy is because you and they have crossed into the realm of spirituality and, after all, isn't that self-knowledge and sense of belonging what we all hunger for?"

It was late, and I had already told her more than I had anticipated. I did not choose to tell her about my own past voyages as a spiritual seeker who, more than twenty years ago, had spent a year traveling around the world meeting with spiritual masters and acolytes, meditating in Ashrams in Asia. I did not tell her why, after following other possible paths, I had returned to my original training and professional roots and continued to work as a psychologist steeped in psychological theory. In light of my past, that I hadn't recognized the spiritual nature of how I practiced psychotherapy was almost embarrassing. Maybe I hadn't wanted to see it—it was, after all, a somewhat unconventional notion.

Life is too hard to do alone,

Dr. D.

Dorree Lynn, PH.D.
Nationally Syndicated Talk Show Host of
On The Couch

These articles are provided for informational purposes only. No materials posted here are intended to constitute medical advice, which by necessity, must relate to each person's individual situation. This site does not constitute a patient-professional relationship. You are urged to seek help from a local mental health professional concerning your specific circumstances.

No information or materials posted here are intended to constitute legal advice, nor can we guarantee the accuracy of posted information, especially as to each individual situation. LawTek does not independently check the information contained herein and does not refer or endorse any product, service, or firm. This site does not constitute an attorney-client relationship; local counsel should always be consulted.