Werner Heisenberg in his work with quantum mechanics noticed that measuring the direction of a sub-atomic particle changed its speed and measuring its speed changed its direction. From these observations, he derived his famous theory of indeterminacy which deceptively simply states;  “ to observe something is to change it”.   Perhaps, a similar thing could be said of my experience leading treatment groups in the wake of the publication of my new book on boundaries in analytic group psychotherapy. To write about it, has changed it.  And as with so many things in life, the results have been decidedly mixed.

When I wrote the manuscript, my daughter expressed concern that I was revealing too much about myself. She felt protective of me.  In my many years of practicing and writing about group therapy, I have been scrupulous about keeping personal disclosure to a minimum; but in this age of Google and internet access, I have come to the conclusion that patients who are motivated to find out, can readily find out plenty about me anyway, so I decided to be more open about myself and my experiences as a patient/therapist at a group training institute.  If it weren’t for my editor, who called my memoir-like material “window dressing”, I would have revealed even more. But at the same time, I was torn between wanting to tell it all and protecting my groups, and myself, from too much exposure of my neurotic side.

Part of my motivation for writing the book was to set the record straight with critics of earlier writings who accused me to taking a” holier than thou” attitude toward the complications of dual relationship in the training of group therapists. I took it personally when one reviewer of an article that I submitted for publication in a prestigious group journal rejected it using an ad hominen argument to discredit my thesis; but he wasn’t the only one who assumed that I wrote from an ‘ ivory tower’ when it came to blurred boundaries and that I had no real life experience with their downside.  Nothing could have been further from the truth. I wrestled with the conflict over wanting to avenge myself and its possible negative impact.

So when the book came out, I decided not to announce it to my groups.  Even if it weren’t unethical, I thought it inappropriate to promote my narcissism and my financial interest on group time. As much as I have been scrupulous about transparency, I have also strived to be scrupulous in providing a safe environment for my groups. Having been trained and treated in group therapy under one roof, where the boundary was blurred between therapy and not therapy, and where I had seen the harm that can ensue as a result, I had vowed to do it differently in my own practice, which means, among other things, that there would be no social contact outside the group room. While publishing a ‘memoir-ish’ book is a long way from creating dual relationships, I worried that it may be too close for comfort for some group members. I have since issued a disclaimer to group members who have expressed an interest in reading the book: “It may contain more personal information about me than you want to know”  (Or than I may have wanted to reveal).

I decided to wait and see if members would google me and find out about the publication, for it to come to light that way.  However, the unconscious mind always rules and I unconsciously on purpose (I suppose), outed myself– anyway.  I ‘inadvertently’ left the book on my desk in the group room; so when several snoopy members saw it lying there, we were off and running.  Now that it was in the open I was insistent that members talk about all their thoughts and feelings about it.  As I noted in the book, even under ideal conditions, members don’t always do as directed.  I realized that I now had placed an additional burden on myself. I would have to work extra hard in getting their reactions out in the open. And as much as I told myself this was the price that I had to pay for having written such a personal book, and although I decided to steel myself and see what happened next, I resented the task.  I knew that I was up for hearing all of their reactions, but I was uncomfortable about being the center of the group’s attention for such a large portion of the session until I realized that I was feeling guilty about actually enjoying my own exhibitionism. And I began to second guess myself:  Had my daughter been right after all? Had I revealed too much?

As the group sessions have unfolded, it occurred to me that members’ reactions were diagnostic indicators of their emotional well- being. One member, for example, thought that the second part of the book’s title…” A Conspiracy of Silence”, referred to her because she was often so quiet in group. Of course, it didn’t refer to her at all but this turned out to be a  fortuitous way of getting her talk about her low-esteem and a life-long sense of narcissistic injury.  One member had found out about the book outside of group but withheld that knowledge because she feared that it would violate my confidentiality!  Her response was so wonderfully irrational. It was an example of group members’ tendency not to say everything and protect the leader even at the cost of their own well- being. A gay member was crestfallen to find out that I was engaged.  He shared with the group his fantasy that I had had a secret crush on him. I asked him: “Why couldn’t I have a crush on you anyway?”

There were also unanticipated pleasures from the groups’ reactions to the book.  I was most gratified when one member, who after reading it, told the group how he had a new appreciation and understanding of my determination to maintain the boundaries in light of the messy group environments that I had described. He said that he had no idea how compromised the group therapy could be in other therapists’ groups.  He said he felt fortunate to be so well taken care of in a secure group setting. I was elated that he got it.   I felt deeply understood, and it reaffirmed my commitment to  the way  that I worked; and in fact, that it worked well, making  it all the more worthwhile to continue doing so.

But the most troubling of all was the reaction of a depressive woman who longed to be special to someone. It came out that her recent move from Manhattan to Queens was in part motivated by her wish to be closer to me and that she had harbored an incestuous fantasy that we would wind up together.   As a consequence of her finding out about me, she has become even more withdrawn, depressed and isolated in group than before she found about my engagement. Since then, I have felt guilty about having over-stimulated her with too much information. Ironically, over-stimulation is one of the eight dangers of blurred boundaries between therapy and not therapy that I describe in my book.

I felt like a hypocrite. After having spent so many years, distancing myself from the type of group therapy that I received, I imagined that I was now doing something similar to others what had caused me great pain when it happened to me as a trainee/patient.  I have also wondered if I had grown tired of the toxicity of having been bombarded over the years with the negative transferences of many group members who imagined that I had no life outside of the treatment room.

And unlike some colleagues that I criticized, in my book,  for their attempts to modify the negative transference by revealing to members, trapped in this type of resistance,  how ‘warm and caring’ they really were, I understood that such resistances need to be resolved organically through the group process. But after many years, it has all begun to take its toll on me. The fact that I took a measure of guilty pleasure when some members were surprised to read that  I had a life outside of my work, tells me so.