Celenza 2003
Celenza 2003
Celenza 2003
the causes of the problem and the prospects for rehabilitation, since
both of us have had substantial experience in assessing and develop-
ing rehabilitation plans for this population. We also address certain
misguided assumptions that are often made about sexual boundary
violations by analysts and therapists. We are summarizing our com-
bined experience evaluating and/or treating over two hundred cases of
physicians, mental health professionals (including analysts), and clergy
who have committed sexual boundary violations. It is our impression
that a carefully monitored rehabilitation plan can be successful if certain
factors are present at the time of the initial evaluation. However, we
recognize that such efforts are futile where the potential for rehabili-
tation does not exist.
Sexual misconduct is commonly misunderstood. This misunder-
standing is particularly apt to surface when a shocking or confusing
case comes to light. The misunderstanding often involves three
assumptions: (1) therapists and analysts who have engaged in sexual
misconduct are probably psychopathic; (2) they have likely exploited
more than one patient; and (3) they are not amenable to rehabilitation.
618
While these three assumptions are indeed valid for a specif ic sub-
group that accounts for a substantial number of victims, this prof ile
does not f it the majority of transgressors.
In our combined experience, most cases do not f it the psycho-
pathic profile, either at the descriptive level or on the basis of deeper,
psychoanalytic understanding. Additionally, a review of the literature
on this topic reveals that all of those who systematically evaluate
signif icant numbers of transgressors come to the same conclusion.
Schoener et al. (1989) have found, as we have, that a myriad of com-
plex factors go into sexual misconduct and that psychopathic predators
constitute a minority of transgressors. One of us (AC) has treated,
supervised, evaluated, and/or consulted with 48 therapists or analysts
who have engaged in sexual misconduct. Of these, only a small sub-
set were multiple transgressors (n=12; 25%), while the remaining
36 (75%) were one-time transgressors who had been involved in an
ostensibly romantic long-term relationship. While we are not sug-
gesting that these relationships are based on mutual or healthy modes
of relating (despite frequent reports by the patient-victim of having
consented to the relationship at the time), we are asserting that most
therapists or analysts are not predatory. The other coauthor (GG) has
evaluated, treated, or consulted with over 150 therapists, analysts, and
Even with those who do not initially present with remorse and are
uncooperative with the assessment process (at least in the beginning),
we have found that much of what determines the decision to rule out
rehabilitation is related to the particular time in which the assessment
or adjudication occurs and the way in which the transgressor presents
himself. Those who remain attached to the patient, who still view the
relationship as based on a special type of love, may feel an untoward
(and, from an outsider’s perspective, incomprehensible) reaction of
betrayal and victimization by the patient-complainant. This reaction is
particularly common when the transgressor had terminated the thera-
peutic relationship and so, in his mind, had adequately dealt with the
boundary transgression and power imbalance. The transgressor may
also feel attacked or threatened by the ethics committee or overseeing
professional organization and may continue to rationalize or defend his
behavior in response to the perceived attack. He may temporarily
minimize the damage to the patient-victim, thereby presenting himself
in a particularly unsympathetic way.
It is understandable for anyone being sued to experience anxiety
621
over the prospect of an investigation. This reaction may heighten
defensiveness and cause attempts at self-defense to include angry
counterattacks. Charges of ethical violations, founded in truth or not,
engender extreme anxiety, defensiveness, and even rage, as one’s
livelihood and professional reputation are threatened. Under such
stress, people often behave in extreme ways that may not be typical
of them and that present them in an unfavorable light. While people
have characteristic ways of reacting to stress, we have found that
these reactions taken alone are incomplete and misleading indicators
of the professional’s competence and underlying character structure.
Extreme reactions—bona f ide posttraumatic stress reactions occa-
sionally accompanied by suicidal ideation—are not at all unusual, but
are usually short-lived if the assessment process can be experienced
as an attempt to understand the complexity of the process (while
still holding the transgressor fully responsible). Some uncooperative
transgressors may eventually become cooperative and amenable to
rehabilitation, but the personal acceptance and ownership of what they
have done may take some time. Still, it remains true that rehabili-
tation is not an option until this acceptance occurs. For some trans-
gressors, the acceptance of full responsibility for the misconduct
never comes to pass.
COMMON CHARACTERISTICS
OF SINGLE-VICTIM CASES
Some of these aspects are situational, either in the life of the analyst
or therapist or in the therapeutic context. Others are deep-seated
personality characteristics or defensive styles that appear to represent
long-standing vulnerabilities in the character of the transgressor. Still
other elements are best described as intersubjective, as arising from
within the codetermined transference-countertransference enactment
of the treatment dyad.
The psychopathology of these analysts is variable. Most have
narcissistic and masochistic issues, but these may not be apparent.
Depression or despair may be overt or just beneath the surface. Omnipo-
tence and grandiosity may also be at work. However, we are reluctant
to pathologize this spectrum of analysts. Who among us can claim to be
entirely free of similar struggles? Indeed, one could argue that a healthy
dose of grandiosity is necessary to treat our most disturbed patients.
From the point of view of the analyst or therapist, the sexual
involvement with the patient represents a one-time occurrence. By this
we mean that though the relationship may continue over time (from
weeks to years), there is only one patient with whom he has engaged
623
in sexual misconduct. Boundary crossings with other patients may be
reported, but these are not generally beyond the type or level that are
committed at one time or another by all of us. It is common for a trans-
gressor’s other analysands to report acceptable analytic work being
done concurrently with his ongoing sexual relationship with that one
patient. In other words, the misconduct, though an extreme ethical
violation, can occur in an otherwise ethically sound and competent
practitioner.
For the lovesick group, the sexual relationship is experienced by
both participants, at least for a time, as a true love affair. They usually
share a fantasy that each is rescuing the other and that they are soul-
mates who understand each other’s needs like no one else. Rationaliza-
tions are employed, especially by the analyst or therapist, to support the
therapeutic nature of the relationship (Celenza 1995). Role reversals
occur in which the analyst or therapist discloses personal problems to
the patient, often justifying this by citing examples of famous analyts
(e.g., Ferenczi, Winnicott, or Jung) who had similarly transgressed.
Finally, the analyst or therapist is typically in the midst of a life crisis
such as divorce, a lifeless marriage, illness or death in the family, the
suicide of a patient, malpractice litigation, or bankruptcy (Gabbard
and Lester 1995).
and frustrating, such that the patient takes on the persona of a “bad”
maternal object.
The transgression with the patient can be understood as an attempt
to manage and dominate (through sexualization and triumph) the
patient’s aggression, as well as the analyst’s own. On a conscious or
unconscious level, the transgression can function as a masochistic sur-
render to the patient’s hostility, experienced by the analyst or therapist
as intolerable and unbearable because of the way it replicates (for him)
the despair experienced within the mother-child dyad. The sexual mis-
conduct, then, establishes a sadomasochistic relationship that includes
a projection of the analyst’s aggression into the patient, rendering the
analyst masochistically tied to the patient’s cruelty and control. This
description of masochistic surrender is not a sanitized way of explain-
ing or excusing the transgressor’s or therapist’s behavior. It is an attempt
to formulate the defensive transformations of his aggression, which
have resulted in a pathological compromise formation, perhaps of
the kind to which we may all be vulnerable.
By examining common transference-countertransference dynam-
625
ics, we are in no way attributing any ethical responsibility to the patient
for their actualization. It is our experience, however, that many of the
victims in these cases are actively suicidal at the time of the mis-
conduct, lending an urgency to the treatment. Thus, sexual misconduct
can often be understood as an egregious mismanagement of suicidality
(Eyman and Gabbard 1991; Gabbard and Lester 1995).
Many patients who are victims of sexual misconduct have histories
of severe childhood trauma. For some of these patients, the enactment
with the analyst is experienced as a loving and protective act, a sacri-
f icing of herself to meet the analyst’s needs. Just as the patient may
have rescued an abusive parent in childhood, so she may seek to rescue
the analyst from his depression and despair (Gabbard and Lester 1995;
Apfel and Simon 1985). We have found that such a rescue fantasy in the
patient often defends against awareness of her own competitiveness,
envy, and destructiveness, all of which, of course, remain unexamined
in the context of the misconduct.
Many patient-victims also fall into the diagnostic spectrum of
Cluster B personality disorders or dissociative disorders. As we all
know, treatments of such patients are among the most challenging for
any analyst or therapist, and phases of suicidality are often part of the
process. The prospect of the patient’s suicide may arouse narcissistic
mortif ication and separation anxiety in the analyst, who feels he must
do anything in his power to avoid losing the patient. The patient’s deep
sense of abandonment and intense ambivalence about closeness may
also stir up countertransference hate in the analyst or therapist (see
Maltsberger and Buie 1974).
Most of us abhor being cast in the role of the bad object and deny
the hatred engendered in response to the patient’s transference hate. In
such a situation, we may choose to provide a defensive form of love
that directs all of the aggression in the dyad to an outside party, usu-
ally the malevolent father or mother. This “disidentif ication with the
aggressor” (Gabbard 1997) maintains our professional identity as a help-
ful and benevolent professional rather than a loathsome practitioner
who is hostile toward or overwhelmed by a dif f icult patient.
Overreliance on reaction formations of this nature is a problematic
defensive style that we regard as a potential precursor of therapist-
patient sexual misconduct (Celenza 1995, 1998).
The threat of suicide, of course, is the ultimate injury to the thera-
pist’s sense of professional mastery and self-worth. Patient and analyst
626
may collude in the magical hope that the therapist has a capacity to
omnipotently heal the patient’s lifelong sense of badness and self-
loathing. Meanwhile, the patient may secretly sense the therapist’s
defensive posture and recognize that enormous feelings of hatred lie
just beneath the surface. The therapist’s despair and rage at the patient’s
tendency to thwart all therapeutic efforts may lead to an escalation of
boundary transgressions under the impression that only extraordinary
measures can reach the patient. Sexualization may transform such
despair into something exciting and positive (Coen 1992; Gabbard 1996).
Ultimately, the childhood trauma is repeated through sexual boundary
violations under the guise of “loving” the patient back to health.
In addition, the analyst or therapist may be prone to feeling in-
tensely degraded, as indicated by the warding off of his own hostility
and its projection into the patient. The analyst or therapist may engage
in a hypomanically charged fantasy of being special to the patient, a
fantasy that is fueled in part by the analyst’s or therapist’s reaction-
formed hatred of the patient. Often in the course of a rehabilitative
treatment process the analyst or therapist comes to recognize his esca-
lating sexualization as an attempt to avoid the countertransference
hate generated by the patient’s undermining efforts, depressive despair,
and frank suicidal threats (Celenza 1991, 1998).
to me.” Yet we are all more similar than different. The characteristics
of the transgressor as outlined above do not have hard-and-fast bound-
aries between them. They often shade into one another. Elements of
each can be found in the others, and we can f ind aspects of each in
most of us. This raises again the persistent question, How different are
these transgressors from you and me?
A useful way to address this question is to note the multilayered
way in which the problem of sexual misconduct currently exists in our
own minds. A common reaction on f irst hearing of misconduct is to
disbelieve the allegations or to see the analyst as victim of a destruc-
tive patient. An extreme reaction that may follow is to demand the
transgressor’s immediate expulsion from the analytic community. This
reaction usually arises from an inability to imagine ever trusting the
transgressor again, an inability or refusal to identify with his or her
circumstances and state of mind, or extreme anger at the damage
done to the reputation of the analytic community.
Once the initial shock has worn of f, however, questions linger
in our minds as we struggle to come to terms with the problem. In
634
response to the precipitating factors and in an attempt to put ourselves
in the analyst’s place, we f ind ourselves saying, “I can resonate with
this dilemma.” Then a countervailing thought emerges: “But I wouldn’t
do that.” Another reaction follows: “I can imagine a fantasy of surren-
dering to . . .” or “With a patient like this, I have crossed . . . .” And
then a counterresponse: “But I can’t imagine feeling that way or doing
that. What is it about him that’s different from me? He does have
those inhibitions or that specif ic vulnerability.” And f inally: “Is that
different from me? Maybe yes, maybe no.”
Such obsessional ruminations are common in all of us. They are
part of an introspective process in which we should all continuously
engage as we monitor the impact our work is having on us. We believe
that the “us versus them” mentality in effect replicates the very com-
partmentalization or vertical splitting that makes one vulnerable to
committing boundary violations. It disavows vulnerability and, perhaps
grandiosely, denies fallibility as well.
Another way to address the problem turns the whole question of
sexual misconduct on its head. Rather than ask why sexual miscon-
duct occurs, we might usefully consider why in most cases it does
not. Love of one sort or another regularly finds its way into the intensely
intimate experience of the psychoanalytic process. Why, then, aren’t
Andrea Celenza
32 Ingleside Road
Lexington, MA 02420
E-mail: [email protected]
Glen O. Gabbard
Department of Psychiatry
Baylor College of Medicine
One Baylor Plaza
Houston, TX 77030
Fax: 713–798–3138
E-mail: [email protected]