Avoiding Advice

Something I’ve been struggling with in my Psychological Wellbeing Practitioner training and clinical work so far is that we are told that the ‘therapy is in the materials’ rather than in ourselves as clinicians. Our role is to guide our clients through self-help material that is appropriate to their psychological distress, and help them to problem-solve any difficulties that they might have along the way. Rightfully, due to our lack of training in delivering any kind of therapy proper, we are told to concentrate on the CBT-based tools and techniques that we are supposed to be imparting to our clients. It is (also rightfully) emphasised to us that the focus should be on ‘collaboration’ rather than any kind of didacticism in our delivery.

However, it feels that by focusing so much on the content and tools that we are providing our clients with, I too easily slip into ‘offering advice’, which I think is usually so antithetical to any kind of meaningful therapeutic intervention! I really do try not to do it, but find myself on occasion saying, ‘What about trying this…’, when discussing how to change a sleep routine, for example. (I feel no temptation to offer any more significant life advice, thank god). One way around this that our supervisors have recommended is to ask questions based on the materials/information you’ve given your client, for example, ‘Why do you think I asked you to read that Booklet?’, ‘Can you explain to me the rationale behind Behavioural Activation?’. But I think those questions can be useful to check or consolidate learning, rather than genuinely encouraging the client to arrive at their own conclusions and answers…

I think this is related to my major qualm with CBT-based approaches in general, the fact that though they profess themselves to be less hierarchical than psychoanalytic or psychodynamic approaches are seen to be (in that old-fashioned idea of psychoanalyst having all the answers but remaining silent), they can end up being more unequal in power dynamics. In the psychoanalytic approach, regardless of whether the analyst thinks she has all the answers, she at least gives the patient space to think things through in their own way, following their own patterns of thought, rather than shoving tips and tricks down their throat in a limited number of sessions. The CBT clinician can end up asking patronising questions (like those above, ‘Can you confirm that you’ve understood all the information I have imparted to you today?’), rather than genuinely engaging with the client’s way of understanding the world, and taking it on its own terms. The CBT clinician is Wise Teacher, who benevolently takes on board the patient’s particular life circumstances to adapt the techniques to them, but nevertheless remains the one with all the information the client needs to live a better life. I guess these power dynamics risk becoming problematic in all kinds of therapies, because essentially, the client is coming to a trained ‘expert’ for help. But I think it’s important that we remind ourselves of the pitfalls of this kind of imbalance as often as possible, and do everything we can to stop offering advice. I’m mainly speaking to myself here.

Are We Fudging IAPT Data?

In my PWP training today we were taught how we are supposed to record our targets and recovery rate data, and I think I’ve just realised one way that IAPT services might potentially be overestimating their success rates…

We were told that if, by the end of the 6 Low Intensity CBT sessions we offer (outcome measures for depression and anxiety are taken at each session), the client’s scores on the two main measures have gone to ‘recovery’ (meaning below caseness, so scoring below 9 for the PHQ-9 or below 7 for the GAD-7) then we mark the final session as a ‘treatment session’, the system will count that client as ‘recovered’ – which makes sense, and that’s all fine and well.
But if we arrange a ‘follow up session’ with them in a few weeks time, and find that their scores have risen to now above caseness, then we are told to mark that session as a ‘follow up session’, and it will not count towards our recovery rates. So, we would have learnt that the person has not in fact really benefitted from the sessions that we have given them, or at least not in any lasting way, but on the system that rise in scores will essentially be ‘invisible’, so ours, and our companies recovery targets, will be unaffected. It will look like IAPT did its job and was successful in ‘curing’ the individual, even though the benefits of our treatment have actually not had too much of a lasting impact, and so weren’t so good after all.

We were also taught another way that might overestimate IAPT’s success rate. If, at the end of the 6 sessions the client’s scores have not lessened enough for them to count as ‘recovered’, but at the follow up session a few weeks later we find that their scores have dropped to below caseness, we are told to mark that extra session as a ‘treatment session’ (not a ‘follow up session’ as in the situation that I’ve described above) so that on the system it will count as thanks to our treatment, and so count towards our recovery rate. If we’re feeling generous to IAPT, we may say that our sessions and support just ended up having a bit of a delayed effect – maybe they were a bit slow to apply all the ‘tools’ we gave them and so we do deserve to pat ourselves on the back. But, you could just as well argue that maybe their life just improved slightly (nothing to do with us), or it was a purely natural recovery (generally consistent low mood does tend to improve over time even with no treatment). So basically we’re allowing natural recovery to count as IAPT-caused, when there is no true measure as to whether this was actually the case.

Neither of these situations are explicitly fiddling with the data – we are still trusting and taking at face value someone’s scores (this is to say nothing of the problems that may inhere in using the outcome measures that IAPT services do, for more on this see Levis et al. 2020), but it’s easy to see how they might lead to a slight bias towards favouring IAPT Guided Self-Help treatments which may not reflect their actual efficacy…

Would be very interested to hear people’s thoughts on this!

Coaches or Clinicians?

I’ve recently started training to become a Psychological Wellbeing Practitioner in an IAPT (Improving Access to Psychological Therapies) service, and what that means is that I will soon be able to deliver Low Intensity Cognitive Behavioural Therapy to ‘clients’ with mild to moderate common mental health problems such as depression and anxiety.

The training is delivered 2 days per week by lectures and seminars from University College London, and the remaining 3 days per week I spend working at my IAPT service doing assessments and low-intensity treatments.

One thing in particular that we learnt in the first week threw myself and my fellow Trainees: the fact that we should not think of ourselves as therapists or clinicians, but as coaches. We didn’t do so big-headedly, but in our previous role (when we were doing Triage Assessments and offering people Step 2 Guided Self-Help, or Low Intensity CBT), we always thought that Step 2 was a sort of CBT-lite, and so the Step 2 clinician was therefore a sort of therapist-lite.

Also, when I was learning about IAPT as an outsider, I was wrongly led to believe that the program is training ‘therapists’ not coaches. David Clark says so himself in his ‘IAPT at 10: Achievements and Challenges’ post, he writes (under the dramatic title ‘A revolution in mental health’), that to overcome the shortage of psychological therapy available to people suffering from common mental health problems, ‘the NHS has trained over 10,500 therapists and deployed them in new psychological therapy services’ (emphasis added).┬áThis is misleading, and I often find evidence of IAPT’s main advocates (usually people with a stake in the game), claiming more for the service than it deserves. I think Clark and others should be more cautious in over-selling IAPT, because it will eventually lead to disappointment when people’s expectations aren’t managed.

Thanks to that misinformation, when I used to allocate people whom I had triaged to Step 2 treatments, I always sold it as a ‘guided cognitive behavioural therapy over 6 weeks, for 30 minute sessions’. But now that we are training to be those Step 2 ‘clinicians’, we find that we are not that at all, and what we offer isn’t Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, but rather a life-coaching session.

But – I agree with this. We shouldn’t think of ourselves as clinicians or therapists because we don’t have those skills – we aren’t taught about what happens within the therapeutic relationship, and how to more supportively guide our clients through more long-lasting psychic change. I think it also serves to prevent us from feeling also like counsellors, whose role is to sit and listen to the client as they talk about whatever they feel like getting off their chest. By reminding us that we are there to encourage behaviour change (and that’s essentially it), it makes a lot of sense to call us coaches.

Having said that, however, it’s now clearer to me just how difficult I’m going to find this year in how it jars with my fundamental values and assumptions as to how psychological therapy should be. It’s odd, and I must try to check it, but I have an almost instinctual aversion to CBT and the phrase ‘evidence-based treatment’. Aaron Beck (the founder of CBT), gives me an uncomfortable feeling, I can’t help but think he’s getting something terribly wrong, or turning something complex into something robotically simple (to its detriment). I don’t have enough learning or experience to quite put into words what exactly I distrust about Beck’s cognitive approach, and I know that it has changed and improved a lot since his day so I’m probably being hugely unfair to modern practitioners of CBT, but I have read a couple of things recently that have started to confirm my uncomfortable feeling about it…

The first was a blog post by philosopher and clinical psychologist Richard Gipps, on how Beck’s turn away from psychoanalytic psychotherapy was caused by his own misunderstanding of the theory, rather than with any fundamental flaw in the approach itself.

And the second was a journal article by Michael McEachrane on the flawed assumptions that Cognitive Therapy is based on to do with what it really means to ‘think that p‘.

I’m tempted to share these two articles with the other Trainees on my course to see what they think, but I don’t want to be the bad, critical one in the bunch.

And, I do understand why IAPT uses the CBT model so religiously. The aim of IAPT is to ‘democratise psychological therapy’ – it wants to make it accessible on the NHS, and this I fervently agree with. Unfortunately, however, CBT is the only kind of therapy that can be made ‘efficient’ and ‘wide-spread’ in this way, because it’s less about the relationship that the client has with their therapist, and more about the ‘tools’ that they learn from them. So, the therapists can be quickly and inexpensively trained, because it’s not really about them and their skills.

Research has shown that this can be effective (with about a 50% recovery rate; not bad, not good?), but the jury’s out as to how long those benefits last for, and I have a feeling that the main function of having Step 2 low-intensity treatments available on the NHS isn’t so much for the good they do, but as a sifting mechanism for finding out who are the really serious cases on the waiting list who need longer-term therapy. Without Step 2, we would have one big, long waiting list for CBT Proper (Step 3), and that wouldn’t be good for anybody.