Pediatric Leaders on Health and Resilience: Listen to Parents

"We need to actively engage parents before we jump to invest in pre-K for all," Jack Shonkoff, director of the Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University wisely proclaimed yesterday at the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) Symposium on Child Health, Resilience and Toxic Stress in Washington, DC. Promoting a "two generation approach,"  symposium speakers recognized that not only the child, but the parent-child relationship, is the concern of the pediatrician.

One of the speakers addressed the problem of "uncompensated time." This phrase hit the nail on the head. Time and space is the treatment. People need to feel safe to be able talk about what is important.  This includes both the clinician and the parent. When the pediatrician feels stressed by a waiting room full of patients that the current system of care demands he must see, he is not able to be present with a parent in the way that careful listening requires.

It  is like a set of Russian dolls. The society values the clinician's time, offering the opportunity to listen to the parent, who listens to the child. And as many at the symposium recognized, it is not just pediatricians, but also child care workers, teachers, home visitors and others who have the opportunity to support stressed parents. All policy needs to be focused on protecting space and time to listen. Listening is not high tech. But it is this space and time, where parents feel safe and valued, that we have the opportunity to grow healthy brains and minds.

Pediatrician and journalist Perri Klass gave a beautiful talk about Reach Out and Read, a national program that distributes books to parents in pediatrician's offices. She spoke honestly about the growing realization that benefits were not from larger vocabulary or "school readiness." Rather it was the act of reading, the gentle sound of the parent's voice, fully in the moment with the child, that was responsible for positive results.

One audience member asked a wise question about giving a book to a mother who has herself not been read to, and so does not have a model for this kind of intimate interaction. Klass responded that this is true of any advice or guidance we give to a parent. Her response leads back to the notion that rather than giving information, or teaching skills, first we need to listen, to be curious about the experience of the person we are with.

My first book, Keeping Your Child in Mind, whose second chapter is "Listening to Parents, Strengthening the Secure Base"  translates the explosion of contemporary research that Shonkoff referred to in his presentation. The book shows what this approach looks like for a range of everyday parenting concerns from newborn to teenage years.

While the symposium was occurring, a relevant headline,  A Case Study in Maternal Mental Illness, on New York Times front page, told the tragic story of a mother's struggles with her belief that she had caused her baby harm. This conviction eventually led to her jump from a building with her infant strapped to her chest. While one cannot fully understand the treatment she received by reading a newspaper article, it appears that there were multiple interventions along the way, all of which treated the mother and baby separately. Many pediatricians reassured the mother that there was "nothing wrong." Psychiatrists diagnosed depression and prescribed medication.

Knowing the research on the value of treating parent and child together, I can't help but wonder if time with an experienced clinician who could sit on the floor with both parent and baby, might have offered the opportunity to make sense of her suffering and so set the pair on a different path. In the abundance of advice, reassurance and diagnosing of illness, was there time and space for listening?

For when parents, who may be stressed and overwhelmed, feel heard, recognized and understood, they are better able to do the same for their child. When  parents listen to their child, are fully present with their child, they offer the opportunity build resilience and the capacity to manage adversity. It is not about giving information, or even about teaching skills. It is about supporting parents' efforts to connect with their most competent self.

Central to this view is the notion of the good-enough mother, a phrase coined by pediatrician turned psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott, and demonstrated in the contemporary research of developmental psychologist Ed Tronick. The good-enough mother is not perfect. But it is her very imperfection that drives development forward in a healthy way. Parents make mistakes. It is through these mistakes, and their subsequent recognition and repair, that children learn to manage the inevitable challenges of life.

It was an inspiring symposium, but we may be making this more complicated than it needs to be. All the best science tells us that our single aim should be to protect time and space for listening to parents, and so to children. This is the road to health and resilience.

Keep Mothers in Mind for Mothers Day and Mental Health Month

In recognition of May as National Mental Health Awareness Month, President Obama made a proclamation that included this statement

My Administration is also investing in programs that promote mental health among young people. 

While he went on to speak of working with teachers and students, my hope is that Obama will recognize that prevention starts with parents and babies. A social and cultural valuing of parents, as occurs in countries like Australia and Finland, is the path to a truly preventive model.

A recent issue of the journal Current Problems in Pediatric and Adolescent Health Care identifies the following:

The presence of parental psychological problems, such as depression or anxiety, can lead to prolonged periods of disorganized parent-infant social interaction, compromising long-term infant outcomes. A wealth of studies has shown that maternal depression is a strong predictor of infants' social, emotional, and cognitive problems throughout the lifespan.

Representative Ellen Story and her Postpartum Depression Commission have recognized this fact. While the initial focus of the group had been on screening for postpartum depression, it has expanded to focus on the emotional well being of parents during pregnancy and in the postpartum period. This includes supporting of strong, healthy parent-child relationships.

One of the initiatives is a new program MCPAP for Moms. The aim of the program is to provide statewide support for pediatricians, obstetricians and other clinicians who have the opportunity to identify and treat new parents who may be struggling with a range of perinatal emotional complications. MCPAP for Moms is partnering with the wonderful organization, MotherWoman, to integrate the community based perinatal support model, as well as the important and valuable program at the Massachusetts School of Professional Psychology,  the MSPP Interface Referral Service, that connects people in need of help with appropriate care.

D.W.Winnicott observed in his work as a pediatrician and psychoanalyst what he termed the "ordinary devoted mother." In the early weeks and months, when the infant is completely helpless, he relies on this devotion. When his caregivers are present in this way, development proceeds in a healthy direction. But when a parent is, in the words of Winnicott's biographer Adam Phillips, "preoccupied by something else," in the face of such things as social isolation, depression, anxiety or even PTSD, containing the helpless baby can be very difficult. Add a fussy baby to the mix, and this is where development can first get off track.

I am happy to be part of the MCPAP for Moms initiative because its leaders recognize the need to the focus is on the relationship. It is not only about treating the mother, but also bringing in the baby- identifying stressed early relationships and finding ways to support those relationships.

The baby is an active participant from the start. Crying, sleep and feeding problems often affect the emotional well being of new parents. The baby's mood can affect the parents, and the parents' mood can affect the baby. Parent and baby can interact in a way that causes worsening of each other's distress. This is the point at which help is needed- for the parent, for the baby, for the relationship.

By valuing the role of parents, and investing resources in the early weeks, months, and years when the baby's brain is most rapidly developing, we will be engaging in promotion of mental health and primary prevention of mental illness.

Alexs Wake: trauma, creativity, and healing

Martin Goldsmith's new book, Alex's Wake: A Voyage of Betrayal and a Journey of Remembrance is at one level a history lesson as memoir. It offers a view of the horrors of the Holocaust from a deeply personal perspective. Goldsmith describes a six week journey with his wife in 2011 to follow the path of his grandfather Alex and uncle Helmut. Revisiting the locations where they lived, he describes the transformation from a life of prosperity and success, through the early years of Hitler's regime, to their ill-fated voyage aboard the SS St Louis where the promise of freedom in Cuba ended in return to France, and eventually to a final demise at Auschwitz.

The book also reads as demonstration of the healing power of story telling, and of the transformation of terrible loss in to great beauty. The book has its origin in tragedy, as the death of the author's father is followed less that a year later by the sudden death of his brother. Goldsmith writes:

Exactly eleven months later, on March 30, 2010, I received the shocking inexplicable news that my brother had died. A once brilliant student at Stanford University...Peter had in recent years been struck low by physical ailments and a profound depression that, I am sure, was exacerbated by the long-standing family guilt and shame. Now he was gone, quickly felled by a heart attack. He was 60.

The guilt and shame to which he refers is connected to his own father's untold history; the story of how his father and brother, Goldsmith's grandfather and uncle, were left behind to experience a brutal and gruesome end. In the wake of the loss of his own father and brother, Goldsmith finds himself driven to tell that story before his own 60th birthday.

Both Goldsmith's parents escaped Nazi Germany, a story he tells in his previous book, The Indistinguishable Symphony. But his grandfather and uncle were left behind, despite desperate letters of appeal.

There were reasons aplenty why every effort under the sun might have failed to win his family's freedom, but the inescapable fact remains that Alex begged his son to save his life and my father failed to do so.

Goldsmith's parents never spoke of this early history, a fact he understands as an effort to protect him and his brother from the truth. He describes the experience of growing up in that silence:

The guilt that my father carried he passed on to my brother, Peter, and me as our emotional inheritance...How little they suspected that, even without words, we could feel and absorb the unspoken pain that circulated like dust in the air of our home, and how much we were aware of the darkness, the enormous unknown yet deeply felt secret that obscured the light of truth. 

Goldsmith is motivated by his own loss to follow a different path from his father and brother. He sets off on this journey of discovery. As such loss is transformed in to creativity.

Many reviews focus on the fascinating history revealed in the book, particularly the terrible, but less well recognized, maltreatment of Jews in France during World War II. I found myself drawn to the story of the two Goldsmith brothers. One lost his way, eventually succumbing to depression and ill health. The other, I hope, found his way to health, in part through the very book I am writing about.

I well understand how those who directly experienced the horror of the Holocaust may be too close to speak about, much less mourn their loss. It may be for them, in a sense, unmournable.  It is left to the next generation, inheriting not only their loss, but also their strength, to tell their story.

Goldsmith's father denied his Jewish heritage. Goldsmith writes:

 And there was no acknowledgement that we were Jews, despite that being the singular reason for our family's violent dismemberment. When I, as a teenager, discovered our religious roots, my father dismissed it all by declaring that we were, at most, "so-called Jews," He did not choose to regard himself as a Jew despite the unavoidable fact that he'd been bar mitzvahed, that his parents were both Jews..."Adolf Hitler thought I was a Jew, so I had no choice. I choose to exercise that choice now. I am not a Jew," he said.

Yet Goldsmith finds his way to his Jewish identity, resonating on a profound level with the Kol Nidre prayer of Yom Kippur and eventually being Bar Mitzvah'd himself at the age of 55.

At one point in his journey Goldsmith discovers a memorial etched with the words of the Talmud, "Who Saves One Life Saves the Entire Universe." Knowing how this untold story may have been instrumental in Goldsmith's brother's death, one can view this book as an effort to save his own life. This brings to mind yet another Jewish concept, Tikkun Olam, which refers to humanity's shared responsibility to "heal the world." With the writing of Alex's Wake, Goldsmith has done his part.

Rising numbers of kids expelled from preschool and diagnosed with autism: are they linked?

Two alarming news items compete for attention. The first,  a New York Times editorial entitled Giving Up on Four-Year-Olds describes a recent report showing expulsion from preschool as a form of discipline occurring in increasing numbers. A second speaks to the new CDC statistics indicating that 1 in 68 children have autism, a change from 1 in 88 just 5 years ago.

Perhaps both represent a lack of value of space and time for listening, in particular for listening to children and parents. Elizabeth Young-Breuhl might refer to both phenomena as prejudice against children. 

Each child who is expelled from preschool has a story. Similarly, every child diagnosed with autism has a story. It takes time, and a safe non-judgmental environment to bring these stories to light and so make sense of a child's behavior.

There may be witnessed domestic violence. When  a child lives in fear, he may respond to the "threat" of a child standing too close to him in line by pushing him. A reprimanding voice may lead to escalation of stress and even the development of a "fight-flight reaction." Being sent to the principal's office leads to further disorganization. 

Sensory processing challenges are often prominent. A withdrawal from social interaction makes sense from the perspective of a child who is flooded and overwhelmed by a busy classroom. Crawling under a desk may not be something "wrong" but rather an adaptive response.

Increasingly structured school environments, with little room for variation and high student:teacher ratios may exacerbate both of these problems. 

However, once we have the opportunity to hear the story, what to do to help the child becomes clear. One boy whose behavior had escalated to the point where he was throwing things at the teacher felt calm if he could start the day with a few minutes buried under the plastic balls in the ball pit. Another who would run in circles much of the day discovered music. When she was invited to sing or play an instrument she could sit calmly with the other children. Another family recognized how the level of chaos in the home was particularly problematic given their son's vulnerabilities, and took steps to change that environment.

A recent New York Times article describes a wonderful school program, Head Start Trauma Smart, an example of an innovative program that takes time to listen to the story, make sense of a child's behavior and respond appropriately. In contrast, expelling children for "acting out" may result in a cascade of worsening behavior problems.

The massive rise in autism numbers may reflect a need to name a problem with certainty, rather than taking the time to let the story unfold, to let a child grow in to himself. Perhaps if parents, teachers and clinicians had the opportunity to get a child the help he needs without pressure to name the problem, the numbers would be much lower.

Clearly there are significant differences between these two issues. But an underlying theme emerges. 

Legal marijuana, antidepressants, and the danger of not listening

 A popular blog post Why I Tried to Kill Myself at Penn is making its way around the college-age crowd. The author calls attention a high-stress a culture that does not value listening.

During my sophomore year at Penn, I tried to kill myself by swallowing a bottle of Wellbutrin. I spent 4 days in the hospital.
Penn’s response? – Sending some administrator to see me in the hospital (HUP). The first and only thing that she said was, “Are we going to make this an annual pattern?” because I had been hospitalized the year before. I said “No” and she gave me her business card.
After suicides, everyone laments, “Why didn’t they talk?” Often, we did. People just didn’t want to listen, because in the moment it was easier for everyone if you put on a smile and pretended to be okay.

A parent recently described calling the emergency student support services when she was worried about her son's emotional state during his first semester at college. After a five minute conversation, she was told by the person who responded to her call, " We can make an appointment with the psychiatrist to see if he needs medication."

I thought about these two stories when a study, a survey of 1,829 people being prescribed antidepressants, was released showing a much higher than expected rate of serious psychological side effects:

Over half of people aged 18 to 25 in the study reported suicidal feelings and in the total sample there were large percentages of people suffering from 'sexual difficulties' (62%) and 'feeling emotionally numb' (60%). Percentages for other effects included: 'feeling not like myself' (52%), 'reduction in positive feelings' (42%), 'caring less about others' (39%) and 'withdrawal effects' (55%). However, 82% reported that the drugs had helped alleviate their depression. 

Professor Read concluded: "While the biological side-effects of antidepressants, such as weight gain and nausea, are well documented, psychological and interpersonal issues have been largely ignored or denied. They appear to be alarmingly common."

Psychiatric medication side effects are a double-edged sword. The first, that receives the most, though as indicated by this study insufficient, attention is from the medication itself. But the second, and equally if not more serious, is the way prescribing of psychiatric medication becomes a replacement for listening.

What makes us human is our ability to empathize. Drawing from both Buddhism and psychoanalysis, the "presence of mind" of another person is responsible for therapeutic healing. "Being with," "bearing witness," are other phrases that describe this phenomenon. When we jump to a pill we run the risk of skipping this step. If the medication itself also has psychological side effects, it is not surprising that, in combination with feeling alone and unrecognized, a person might attempt suicide.

Psychiatric medication may be necessary when an individual is unable to function without it. Ideally such a determination is made in the setting of both psychotherapy and other self-regulating activities such as yoga or meditation. But that is not the way these medications are used. Because they can be so effective at eliminating distress in the short term, our fast-paced, quick-fix culture makes them very appealing, almost irresistible.

I decided to include the topic of legalization of marijuana in this post as a kind of cautionary tale. In California cannabis is commonly prescribed to treat anxiety. Psychiatric diagnoses and drug prescribing are often based on symptoms alone, as is well captured in this amusing though disturbing anecdote from a Psychology Today post by psychologist Jonathan Shendler:

During my first week as a psychiatry department faculty member, a fourth-year psychiatry resident—I will call her Gabrielle—staffed a case with me. She gave me some demographic information about her patient (38, White, female) and then proceeded to list the medications she was prescribing. The rest of our conversation went something like this:“What are we treating her for?” "Anxiety." "How do we understand her anxiety?"Gabrielle cocked her head to the side with a blank, non-comprehending look, as though I had spoken a foreign language. I rephrased the question.“What do you think is making your patient anxious?”She cocked her head to the other side. I rephrased again.“What is causing her anxiety?"
Gabrielle thought for a moment and then brightened. “She has Generalized Anxiety Disorder.”“Generalized anxiety disorder is not the cause of her anxiety,” I said. “That is the term we use to describe her anxiety. I am asking you to think about what is making your patient anxious.”She cocked her head again.“What is going on psychologically?”“Psychologically?”
“Yes, psychologically.”There was a pause while Gabrielle processed the question. Finally she said, “I don’t think it’s psychological, I think it’s biological.”

As we are on the cusp of general legalization of marijuana (that I do not oppose) it becomes imperative that psychiatric medications not replace listening. It is essential that we protect time and space for being present, for curiosity, for empathy. Otherwise we are simply offering another way, and one that is not without side effects itself, to devalue the role of human relationships in healing.

ADHD, bipolar disorder and the DSM: A need for uncertainty?

A recent article in the New Republic, provocatively titled “ADHD Does Not Exist,” starts out well enough. The author, a psychiatrist with “over 50 years experience” points to the fact that ADHD describes a collection of symptoms, rather than their underlying cause. Using stimulants to control these symptoms, he argues, is analogous to prescribing pain medication for cardiac chest pain rather than addressing the underlying circulatory problem.  But my antennae went up when he applied his views to a case, and concluded that his patient, a 12-year-old-boy, was misdiagnosed with ADHD, when in fact he had bipolar disorder. My level of alarm rose when he went on to describe his treatment:

In William’s case, the family agreed to try medication first without psychotherapy, to see what kind of impact the pharmaceutical treatment could have. The first medication we tried, an anti-seizure drug commonly prescribed for bipolar disorder, reduced the boy’s mood and behavioral symptoms dramatically but resulted in side effects including upset stomach and dizziness. We started William on lithium, and within two months we found a dosage that worked well for him, reducing his symptoms to very mild levels, with no significant side effects.

There is no mention of developmental history or family relationships. There is no exploration of the context in which these symptoms occur, and certainly no evidence that William’s experience being bounced from medication to medication is being considered.  Dr. Saul in essence replaces one treatment of symptoms without determining the underlying cause with another treatment of symptoms without addressing the underlying cause.

The author points to a strong family history of bipolar disorder to support his diagnosis. Statistics from the National Institute of Mental Health indicate that when a parent or sibling has bipolar disorder, a child is up to six times more likely to develop the illness.

But when it comes to an individual child and family, not only are statistics meaningless, but they may also preclude exploration of the underlying cause of the child’s symptoms. These symptoms are usually due to a complex interplay of biology and environment. Statistics do not speak to the effect of early intervention in decreasing the risk. 

Consider Jacob, a five-year-old boy I saw recently in my behavioral pediatrics practice. He was adopted, and two biological relatives had bipolar disorder. A pediatrician, his adoptive parents and a neurologist suspected that he too had the disorder. But with space and time to hear the story, the following emerged.

Jacob had been an easy baby. Then when he was about two, he experienced a number of significant losses. A foster child with whom he was very close was removed from the home because of behavior problems. Just weeks after his adoptive mother, Alice, learned she was pregnant, her sister died suddenly of a cerebral hemorrhage. Jacob’s maternal grandmother, in the face of the loss of her own daughter, threw herself in to caring for Jacob’s baby sister. 

Jacob’s mother wept in my office as she spoke of her own loss, not only of her sister, but also of her mother who withdrew in the face of her grief. Shortly after these events, Jacob’s behavior problems began in earnest. He became alternatively clingy and aggressive. When I saw the family, no one had slept through the night for a long time.

Jacob might very well have a biological vulnerability to emotional dysregulation inherited from his parents who carried the bipolar label. But multiple losses, subsequent disruptions in attachment relationships, sleep disruption, and other factors had significant roles to play in development of his symptoms. Had he, like William, been prescribed medication for his symptoms, this story, and the meaning of his behavior, would not have been heard. For every child I see in my practice, there is a story, often equally complex, behind the symptoms. 

Rather than offer time and space for the nuances, complexities and uncertainties of human behavior and relationships, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) paradigm, with its diagnoses of disorders based on symptoms, often followed by prescribing of medication, creates an aura of certainty, as in “you have X and the treatment is Y.” But there is virtually no evidence of any known biological processes corresponding to either ADHD or bipolar disorder (or any other DSM diagnoses, for that matter.) This certainty implied in the giving of a diagnosis and prescribing of medication has a kind of comfort, but also a real danger. There is no room for curiosity, for wonder, for not knowing.  Jacob’s behavior was a form of communication. Giving medication to control his behavior is in effect a silencing of that communication.

A recent New York Times article, “The Dangers of Certainty,” addresses this issue in a very different context. The author describes how he was profoundly influenced by the 1973 BBC documentary series, “The Ascent of Man,” hosted by Dr. Jacob Bronowski. The article describes an episode in which Bronowski discusses Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.  

Dr. Bronowski’s 11th essay took him to the ancient university city of Göttingen in Germany, to explain the genesis of Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle in the hugely creative milieu that surrounded the physicist Max Born in the 1920s. Dr. Bronowski insisted that the principle of uncertainty was a misnomer, because it gives the impression that in science (and outside of it) we are always uncertain. But this is wrong. Knowledge is precise, but that precision is confined within a certain toleration of uncertainty….Dr. Bronowski thought that the uncertainty principle should therefore be called the principle of tolerance. Pursuing knowledge means accepting uncertainty. ..In the everyday world, we do not just accept a lack of ultimate exactitude with a melancholic shrug, but we constantly employ such inexactitude in our relations with other people. Our relations with others also require a principle of tolerance. We encounter other people across a gray area of negotiation and approximation. Such is the business of listening and the back and forth of conversation and social interaction. 

As he eloquently put it, “Human knowledge is personal and responsible, an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty.”The relationship between humans and nature and humans and other humans can take place only within a certain play of tolerance. Insisting on certainty, by contrast, leads ineluctably to arrogance and dogma based on ignorance.

The episode takes a dark turn when the scene shifts to Auschwitz, where many members of Bonowski’s family were murdered. The article’s author, a professor of philosophy at the New School, offers this interpretation:

The pursuit of scientific knowledge is as personal an act as lifting a paintbrush or writing a poem, and they are both profoundly human. If the human condition is defined by limitedness, then this is a glorious fact because it is a moral limitedness rooted in a faith in the power of the imagination, our sense of responsibility and our acceptance of our fallibility. We always have to acknowledge that we might be mistaken. When we forget that, then we forget ourselves and the worst can happen. 

I can already hear the shouts of outrage that I dare to compare mental health care with Nazism. Having grandparents who survived a concentration camp, I know well that this is a highly fraught subject. But of course that is not what I am doing. I am simply pointing to this article as a beautiful articulation of the value of uncertainty, especially in the context of understanding human behavior.

Lessons from Adam Lanza: Listen Early and Listen Well

The just released report, Shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, from Connecticut's Office of the Child Advocate offers a searing account of the holes in our mental health care system. The report is careful to point out that no causative link exists between their findings and the events at Sandy Hook. However, this in-depth investigation offers an opportunity, if we are able to hear and take action on its recommendations, to begin to fix a system that without significant attention may lead to an ever growing epidemic of serious mental illness.

I highlight 4 key points addressed in the 114-page report:

1) Early means early.

When significant problems in social-emotional development are identified, the greatest investment of resources ideally should come well before age three. In this time period, when the brain is rapidly growing and changing,  opportunity exists to set development on a healthier path. The report states:

A review of information regarding AL’s early years with his family does not reveal any profound tragedies or traumas. However, records clearly indicate the presence of developmental challenges and opportunities to maximize therapeutic and intensive early intervention. These observations underscore the importance of parental and pediatric vigilance regarding children’s developmental well-being. AL was referred for early intervention late in his toddler years, when he was almost three. By this time, he presented with several developmental challenges, including significant speech and language delays, sensory integration challenges, motor difficulties, and perseverative behaviors.

I would also like to highlight the report's important statement:" Research-based intervention to support improved sensory processing through occupational therapy is a critical service for these children."

2) The problem is located not exclusively in the child, but in parent-child relationships.

The report describes significant ongoing marital conflict, with Adam's father described as a "weekend father" who was not involved in the emotional lives of his children. There is evidence that Adam's mother might have had significant emotional illness. She was preoccupied with her own health and mortality despite the fact that her doctors reports do not show signs of physical illness.  While these findings do not represent " profound tragedies or traumas," the story is one of a biologically vulnerable child with two parents preoccupied and emotionally unavailable.

When a problem is placed squarely in a child,  the relational nature of these problems may be missed. Perhaps by addressing the issues in the marriage and the mother's mental health, room could have been made in their minds for thinking about the meaning of Adam's increasingly disturbed behavior.

3) Need for collaborative care with adequate reimbursement. The report states:

Pediatricians’ offices must have resources to conduct comprehensive and ongoing
developmental and behavioral health screening for youth, with appropriate reimbursement strategies to support this work.

 Children and their families should have access to quality care coordination, often reserved only for children with complex medical needs, but beneficial for children with developmental challenges and mental health concerns. Care coordination should facilitate more effective information-sharing between medical, community, and educational providers.

When people are stressed and vulnerable, they will share what is important only when they feel safe. Parents may experience terrible shame in the face of a child who is struggling and a marriage that is collapsing. Clinicians need to be reimbursed for time spent listening to parents. Time spent in coordination of care, a critical part of comprehensive treatment, also should be reimbursed.

4) Listening, not placing blame, will lead to meaningful change.

The report concludes by emphasizing that it "in no way blames parents, educators or mental health professionals for AL's heinous acts." I remain hopeful that blame can stay out of the conversation. Already media coverage has focused on the one adversarial aspect of the report that suggests the school "appeased" his mother, perhaps because she was white and wealthy.

All the accumulated evidence points to extreme suffering in the Lanza home over many years; suffering that went unheard and unrecognized. Blaming the school or the mother is not only unhelpful but also diverts attention from the critically important recommendations in this report.

 We are in the midst of an epidemic of violence and mental illness. The recommendations, particularly those I have outlined above, may offer a way off that path. I hope that those in a position to effect these changes will be open to listening. If this comprehensive report can be used to make substantive changes in the education, health care and mental health care systems, then some meaning may be found in the senseless, tragic loss of life at Sandy Hook.

Music and mental health: a tribute to Pete Seeger

This morning while driving my son and two friends to practice for their high school singing group, we listened, as part of an NPR report on his death at age 94, to Pete Seeger tell the story of his song Where Have All the Flowers Gone. His voice, his message and his music together had a profound calming effect on me, and I suspect on my passengers as well. There was quiet, and perhaps even a tear shed by others besides me.

In my behavioral pediatrics practice I make a point of asking about a child's interest in music. Whether the presenting problem is one of anxiety, frequent meltdowns, inattention, hyperactivity, or a range of other concerns, I have found that music often has a calming effect.  One little girl, whose mother was under considerable pressure to have her diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication, stopped her scattered and frenetic play to sing me a song. Another, struggling with social anxiety, who for much of the visit refused to speak, at first with his back to me and then with increasing boldness, did the same. When parents see this effect of music on their child, they are moved to incorporate music in to our efforts to support development of emotional regulation. Problems with emotional regulation are central to all of these behavioral symptoms.

I was in need of emotional regulation myself this morning after spending the weekend embroiled in a difficult discussion about the subject of "ADHD." In a conversation on a list serve made up primarily of child psychiatrists, I pointed to a recent study about ADHD that showed very poor long-term outcome. I wondered if there might be an alternative explanation to that offered by the authors of the study, namely that ADHD is a chronic illness that requires lifelong treatment. Could it be, I asked, that the poor long-term outcome is because we are not properly treating the problem in the first place? That when we diagnose based on symptoms alone, and treat with behavior management and medication, we fail to address the full complexity of symptoms of dysregulation of attention, behavior, and emotion? I wondered how we would separate this issue from the possible long-term effects of stimulant medication itself.

I got a huge amount of push back, with a number of people implying that I was "unscientific," and that I might be affiliated with the church of Scientology. Given that there is extensive scientific evidence supporting an alternative paradigm for understanding symptoms of dysregulation of attention, behavior and emotion, this suggestion particularly got under my skin.

Not only music, but dance, martial arts, yoga and other activities have an important role to play in self-regulation. This is particularly true for children who have biological vulnerability to dysregulation, including those with problems of sensory processing. All of these activities occur in the context of important relationships, relationships that themselves are essential to development of emotional regulation. My little patients perform their songs in the context of a growing relationship with me.

But if we employ a purely medical model, diagnose ADHD, anxiety or any range of problems using the DSM ( Diagnostic and Statistical Manuel of Mental Disorders), we miss the relational and historical context of these symptoms. We need to offer room to hear the individual story of a child and his family in order to make sense of his symptoms. This story is itself can be a kind of music. Dar Williams incredible song "After All"  offers a beautiful example.

When children present with a range of behavioral symptoms, if we simply "manage behavior" and treat with medication, where is there room for the music?

Arlo Guthrie, who frequently performed with Seeger, in his song Alice's Restaurant, proposed that everyone being evaluated for the draft walk in singing the chorus of his song, and in doing so create an anti-war movement.

Borrowing the idea, espoused by both Arlo and Pete, of changing the world with music, what if every new evaluation of a child with a behavior problem included singing and/or listening to one of Pete's songs? It might help calm everyone down-parent, clinician, and child alike. If, in turn, the next generation were helped to develop in a healthy way, with an ability to think creatively and engage effectively in a complex social environment, it might change the world.

ADHD, the aggressive child and the elephant in the room

(Three recent news items lead me to republish a post that predated my Boston.com days. The first is a new study showing that antipsychotics and stimulants can be used together in treatment of aggression associated with ADHD. The second is a recent New York Times article, The Selling of Attention Deficit Disorder, the third an article from today's New York Times: ADHD Experts Re-evaluate Study's Zeal for Drugs. I am hopeful that 2014 will be  a year of radical rethinking about what we now call "ADHD.")

In the Tony award winning play God of Carnage two couples meet in an elegant living room for an ostensibly civilized conversation about the aggressive act of one couple’s child against the other’s. The meeting soon degenerates to reveal the underbelly of conflict in the two marriages. Husband and wife hurl insults, precious items and even themselves with escalating rage. We see, as they attempt in vain to focus on the children’s behavior, the proverbial “elephant in the room.” 

It brought to mind another depiction of the nature of the elephant, presented by the pharmaceutical industry. A recent issue of The Journal of Developmental and Behavioral Pediatrics features prominently a two page ad from Shire, makers of drugs commonly used for treatment of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). A mother and her son sit at the desk of a doctor in a white coat. Behind them is a large elephant draped in a red blanket on which is printed the words, “resentful, defiant, angry.” The ad recommends that these symptoms, in addition to the more common symptoms of inattention and hyperactivity, should be addressed. This is the message: doctors should be treating these symptoms with medication.

From my vantage point of over 20 years of practicing pediatrics, where I sit on the floor, not in a white coat, and play with children, I believe that the play’s depiction of the nature of the elephant is much more accurate and meaningful than that of the pharmaceutical industry. In the play the elephant is the environment of rage and conflict in which the aggression occurs, while in the ad the elephant is the child’s symptom. Consider these two stories from my pediatric practice (with details changed to protect privacy.)

Everything was a battle with six year old Mark. Though I asked both parents to come to the visit, Mom came alone. She was furious.”Tell me what to do to make him listen.” We had a full hour visit, and as she began to relax, she shared a story of constant vicious fighting between herself and her husband. Mark, who had been playing calmly and quietly, took a marker and slowly and deliberately made a black smudge on the yellow wall. His mother was too distracted by her own distress to stop him. I said, “You cannot draw on the wall, but maybe you are upset about what we are talking about.” He came and sat on his mother’s lap. She reluctantly revealed her suspicion that his angry behavior was a reflection of the rage he experienced at home. She agreed to get help for her marriage, and Mark’s behavior gradually began to improve.

Jane’s parents became alarmed when her aggressive behavior began to spill over into school. Her third grade teacher told them that not only was she distracted and fidgety, but she seemed increasingly angry. At our second visit, Dad became tearful as he described his cruel and abusive father. He acknowledged being overwhelmed with rage at Jane when she didn’t listen. He yelled at her and threatened her. He longed for a positive role model to learn how to discipline her in a different way. He realized he needed help to address the traumas of his own childhood in order to be a more effective parent for Jane. 

If the elephant in the room is the child’s symptoms, as the drug companies would have us believe, then medication may be the solution. Children taking medication for ADHD often tell me that it makes them feel calm. The full responsibility for the problem then falls squarely on the child’s shoulders. 

For Mark and Jane, and countless children like them, the elephant in the room, however, is not the child’s symptoms. It is the environment of conflict in which the symptoms occur. If the family environment is the elephant, the treatment of the problem is not as simple as prescribing a pill. Families must acknowledge and address seemingly overwhelming problems. The parents’ relationship with each other, and each parent’s relationship with his or her own family of origin, often contributes significantly to this environment. 

In the supportive setting of my office, Mark and Jane’s parents were freed to think about their child’s perspective and experience. Rather than focusing on “what to do” they understood what their children might be feeling growing up in an environment of conflict and rage. This ability for parents to think about their child’s feelings has been shown, in extensive research at the intersection of developmental psychology, genetics and neuroscience, to facilitate a child’s development of the capacity to manage strong emotions and adapt in social situations. 

In another interesting link between this ad and God of Carnage, one of the fathers is an attorney representing a drug company. He speaks loudly on his cell phone, seemingly oblivious to the effect of his behavior on the other people in the room. His conversation reveals the profit motive of the drug company taking precedence over the well being of the patient. 

God of Carnage was written by Yasmina Reza, a French playwright. While the play itself is hugely entertaining as a witty farce about family life, an important message was in a brief scene at the very end. The telephone rings. The mother answers. It is her daughter, all upset about the loss of her pet hamster, which the father had “set free” one night because he was annoyed by the animal’s habits. Suddenly the mood of the play, which was lively with scintillating dialogue throughout, becomes serene as the mother speaks lovingly to her distraught daughter. Perhaps most of the audience was barely aware of the sudden mood change. Yet it lifted this delightful play into universal significance. Freeing herself from the preceding chaos, she calmly gives her full attention to her daughter’s experience.

The popularity of the play gives me hope that people are hungry for a different way to think about children and families than that offered by the pharmaceutical industry, which, with the money to place an attention getting ad, has a very loud voice. It is joined by the equally loud voice of the private health insurance industry, which supports the quick fix of medication over more time intensive interventions. In contrast, Mark, with his black smudge on my yellow wall, has a very small voice. His voice says “Please think about my feelings, not just my behavior.”

His voice is particularly critical now, as our country strives to create social policy and a health care system that values prevention and primary care. Parents, if they are supported and nurtured, know what is best for their children. We as a culture must demonstrate that we respect both the difficulty and the critical importance of being an effective parent. In this way we will be able to help children, not only by treating their symptoms, but giving an opportunity for deeply rewarding changes in the important relationships in their lives.

Days of Awe and the Certainty of Neuroscience

Just like the digital codes of replicating life held within DNA, the brain's fundamental secret will be laid open one day. But even when it has, the wonder will remain, that mere wet stuff can make this bright inward cinema of thought, of sight and sound and touch bound into a vivid illusion of instantaneous present, with a self, another brightly wrought illusion, hovering like a ghost at its centre. Could it ever be explained, how matter becomes conscious?

The actual words written by Ian McEwan, in his novel Saturday about a day in the life of a neurosurgeon, are worthy of awe of the human mind. In a recent blog post I referred to a piece by psychologist Gary Marcus in which he calls attention to "the trouble with brain science." Perhaps inspired by this very piece of writing, he refers to the lack of a bridge between neuroscience and psychology comparable to the bridge between genetics and living beings that discovery of the double helix provided.

I describe how absence of this bridge is the problem inherent in the oft-used comparison between depression, or ADHD, and diabetes. NIMH director Thomas Insel has called for a study of the neuroscience of mental illness in the same way we study cancer, food allergies, and diabetes.

Diabetes is a disorder of insulin metabolism. Insulin is produced in the pancreas. For the pancreas, there is no corresponding mind in the realm of thoughts and feelings. The pancreas does not love, does not grieve, does not produce great literature.

This wish to compare psychological experience to physical illness ostensibly comes from a wish to destigmatize emotional suffering. But in fact it may have the opposite effect, as it devalues the  human relationships. It is an effort to apply certainty to situations ripe with uncertainty.

There is a dark side to the certainty of neuroscience. Years ago I treated a young girl, Charlotte, who had been diagnosed with ADHD by a previous doctor.  I took over her care, following the standard practice in pediatrics for visits every 3 months for review of "symptoms" of hyperactivity and inattention and adjustment of medications. When she continued to struggle, her parents paid a large sum of money to have a brain scan done by a doctor who claimed to identify the exact location of her problem. Despite the alleged certainty of these results, her "symptoms" continued. I referred the family to a therapist, but lost touch with them when I left that practice.

Recently I learned from her mother, Jennifer, when I ran in to her on the street, that she was doing much better. "I know why," she told me. She had hidden from me, and from herself, that all along Charlotte's stepfather had been physically and emotionally abusing her. Only now, with this story brought to light, could she begin to heal.

Missing from treatment of this girl was not knowledge of brain science, but time for listening.  In 30-minute visits every three months, with Charlotte and Jennifer together in the room, neither she nor her mother felt safe enough to share what was really going on.

The week between Rosh Hashannah, the days of Awe, and Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement, seems an appropriate occasion for contemplating these issues. It offers an opportunity for awe at the wonder of the human mind. It might also offer opportunity to atone for not listening to children like Charlotte. When we make diagnoses, and use brain scans to verify them, we may miss the complexity of human experience. The essence of being human is the ability to find meaning in behavior. I hope that going forward, we can protect space and time to listen, to discover that meaning. We are not likely to find it on a brain scan.

Are iPad attachments for bouncy seats and potty seats a violation of infants rights?

I was contemplating writing a blog post about the movement by the Boston-based advocacy group Campaign for a Commercial Free Childhood urging Fisher-Price to recall the baby bouncy seat with an attachment for insertion of an iPad. When I then received an email from a colleague with a link for another product- a potty seat with an attachment for an iPad- there was no going back. I decided not to include the link to that product so as not to inadvertently be a source of free advertising, but it is easy to find. 

In our technology driven culture, a position maintaining that we need to put on the brakes is a challenging one to take. The force of "progress" is so powerful that one runs the risk of seeming out-of-touch or old fashioned. But in these two products I believe we have come face-to-face with exploitation of children ( and their parents) or what I have described in a previous post as a "prejudice" against children. I would even go so far as to say it is a violation of infants' rights.

In today's society, where parents are often living in a state of high stress, with little support, either practical or emotional, the appeal of these products is very understandable. The allure of the screen is equally, if not more powerful for the infant. So from a marketing perspective, from a moneymaking perspective, it is a recipe for success. 

I became aware of the concept of infants' rights in my role as a board member of the Massachusetts chapter of the World Association of Infant Mental Health. A preliminary version the Declaration of Infants' Rights, a work in progress, reads:

The young child’s capacity to experience, regulate, and express emotions, form close and secure relationships, and explore the environment and learn are fundamental to mental as well as physical and developmental health throughout the life span.

So how do these products violate these rights? Lets start with toilet training. Recently I had the opportunity to write the parent guide for a new children's book, Potty Palooza. I identify the relational nature of toilet training:

Toilet training occurs in relationships. This includes a child’s relationship with his body, as well as his relationship with you. Toilet training will occur under the influence of a child’s inborn desire for mastery in relation to his body. A normal developmental movement toward separation and independence, together with your child’s wish to be like you and to please you, will move the process forward.

I do not know what will happen if you insert a screen between parent and child as part of this process (and sitting on the potty with a book is an entirely different experience.)  It is likely that the draw of the screen will interfere with a child's ability to read his body's natural signals.  The desire for treasured "screen time" will become the motivation for sitting on the potty, replacing his natural motivation to please his parents and to gain mastery over his body in a healthy way.  

Turning to the Ipad in the bouncy seat, the possible effects are more insidious and diffuse. Sitting in the bouncy seat in kitchen watching mom or dad prepare dinner is a time of great learning; a time of significant brain development. This learning occurs both through direct interactions with adults and older siblings, as well as through observation. The iPad interferes with both. As CCFC writes:

The Apptivity Seat is the ultimate electronic baby sitter. Because screens can be mesmerizing and babies are strapped down and “safely" restrained, it encourages parents to leave infants all alone with an iPad. To make matters worse, Fisher-Price is marketing the Apptivity Seat—and claiming it’s educational—for newborns. Parents are encouraged to download “early learning apps” that claim to “introduce baby to letters, numbers and more.” There’s no evidence that babies benefit from screen time and some evidence that it might be harmful. That’s why the American Academy of Pediatrics discourages any screen time for children under two.

Extensive evidence at the interface of neuroscience and developmental psychology shows how the brain is wired in relationships, with the most rapid brain growth occurring in the first three years. Instead of making products that come between parent and infant, our focus needs to be on supporting early caregiver-infant relationships, in the form of such things as parental leave, quality childcare and screening for and treatment of postpartum depression.

Buddhism, brain science, and parenting: towards an integration

In the past week I had two profound yet seemingly polar opposite conversations about how to promote healthy development.

The first was among fellows and faculty of the UMass Boston Infant Parent Mental Health Post-Graduate Certificate program (IPMH) about a new study, The Effect of Poverty on Brain Development, published in the current issue of JAMA pediatrics. Using brain imaging techniques, researchers showed that the children raised in poverty had smaller volumes of specific areas of the brain. They describe how the "caregiver" can "mediate" against the effects of poverty. The effects on the brain were less in the setting of "caregiver support." The group was addressing the ways in which this study fit with the abundance of new research in developmental psychology, neuroscience and genetics.

In conversation with the IPMH group, made up of many brilliant and often like- minded colleagues, who I affectionately refer to as "my peeps," I expressed concern that the exclusive focus on "brain science," where parents are referred to as "mediators," the emotion is excluded. It can become a way to distance from, or even leave out, the passion inherent in these profound love relationships.

Perhaps even more worrisome, I said, is that by making the discussion primarily about poverty, there is a risk of creating a kind of "us-them" mentality.  Certainly there are plenty of well-off families raising children in an environment of high stress and emotional neglect. Similar to the focus on "brain science," it becomes another way of distancing from the problem. 

I shared with the IPMH group my recognition that pointing to the value of listening, of creating an environment of respect for all parents and children, is seen by many as "soft." For example, I felt very alone when one pediatrician referred to my work, in a none-too-kindly tone as, "that baby whisperer stuff."

I knew I was not alone when the second conversation occurred a few days later at  a workshop at Austen Riggs entitled The Interplay of Psychoanalysis and Buddhism: Partners in Liberation. It was all about emotion and interconnectedness.

In a post a number of years ago, I wrote about receiving a letter from a reader who had been "awakened by the tradition of Zen Buddhism" and found my that my work, as described in my book Keeping Your Child in Mind ( see excerpt below), resonated with his experience.

Being understood by a person we love is one of our most powerful yearnings, for adults and children alike. The need for understanding is part of what makes us human. When our feelings are validated, we know that we’re not alone. For a young child, this understanding helps develop his mind and sense of himself. When the people who care for him can reflect back his experience, he learns to recognize and manage his emotions, think more clearly, and adapt to his complex social world. 

When families come to see me in my pediatrics practice for “behavior problems,” both parents and children feel estranged and out of control. They are disconnected, angry, and sad. I help them recognize each other. Meaningful change happens when we share these moments of reconnection. 

While I do not know very much about about Buddhism, I have been greatly influenced by psychoanalysts D.W. Winnicott and Peter Fonagy. I attended the workshop because I was curious to learn more about the relationship between Buddhism and psychoanalysis. In particular I was interested in the place of mourning, for I have increasingly come to recognize that meaningful change, and with it the joy of connection, occur most often when parents move through moments of profound sadness.

Workshop leader Joseph Bobrow spoke with a kind, gentle manner while conveying a sense of quiet authority that was calming and containing. He described the Buddhist notion of "re-authoring our suffering" of "representing our suffering in safe circumstances without shame" so that the story can "take its place in a hierarchy." He described "riding the waves of affect" to "transmute them in to the waves of life." He spoke of "transmuting sorrow" so that it does not "hijack" us." He spoke of how the therapist's "presence of mind," is what  calms, regulates and heals the patient.

When parents are flooded with stress and feeling overwhelmed by their child's behavior, I may ask them to slow down and describe in great detail a specific moment of disruption. This can be very difficult to do. Listening to Bobrow speak about meditation and Zen Buddhism, I heard many links to this process. Meditation can be about noticing how we become derailed by patterns of  thought and behavior. Similarly, by slowing things down, parents become aware of how their child's behavior provokes them, and how they may unintentionally attribute meaning to their child's behavior that is markedly different from the child's true intention.

If a parent recognizes in his response to his child's behavior a surge of rage that is linked to a memory of his own father slapping him across the face, the tears may start to flow. Now we have an opportunity to, as Bobrow said "use the suffering to turn straw in to gold." For in the face of this realization, of this "riding the wave of affect" this father can "re-author the suffering" and in doing so separate his own experience from that of his child. It is just this slowing down that helps him to see his child as himself. In turn the child, himself feeling recognized and understood, becomes calm.  This "meditative" process can be what underlies the moments of profound joy and connection between parent and child that follow.

My two experiences this week seem at first glance to be worlds apart.  I wonder if a piece Bobrow wrote on his Huffington Post blog following the Newtown shooting might point in the direction of integration.

We are helpless, we want it fixed, and become prone... to either-or thinking. But there is no silver bullet. Silver bullet, compartmentalized thinking is the problem. Cumulative trauma compromises the capacity for making connections, for holistic reflection. At it's extreme, the other becomes "not me," so I can eliminate him or her with impunity, Intellectually, it's like bubble living: psychology here, culture there, economics somewhere else. Climate? Fuhgetaboutit. We must grasp our fundamental interconnectedness, and with it the intimate and often unseen interplay of psychological and cultural forces and social and political action.

 I wonder if a third conversation, including both my IPMH colleagues and Bobrow, would lead to some real progress.

Epigenetics, Psychoanalysis, and Listening to Parents

Psychoanalysts for over a hundred of years have recognized the significance of early relationships in health and development. Now the exploding science of early childhood offers evidence that early parental care regulates physiology, influences development of the stress response, and even affects the expression of genes and structure and function of the brain.

The latest issue of the journal Neuropsychoanalysis provides an integration of psychoanalytic thought and contemporary developmental and evolutionary science. The article by Myron Hofer, and the accompanying commentary contain an abundance of evidence for the significance of early relationships.

Michael Meaney, a father of the new and rapidly growing field of epigenetics, offers this comment.

As Hofer noted, “maternal- infant interactions ... regulate the basic physiology of developing infants (such as sleep states, body temperature, autonomic balance, level of general motoric activity, and adrenal and growth hormone levels)”. These studies also revealed that these same maternal regulators were a source of information that shaped long-term phenotypic adaptation [gene expression and individual charcteristics.]

But all the science in the world may fall on deaf ears if our culture does not support parents in being present with their infants in the way the research suggests is critically important. 

If we pass laws condoning 8-week maternity leave, how can we take in and apply this abundance of research pointing to the significance of the early weeks, months and years? If, rather than addressing the problem of parents feeling overwhelmed and alone, and offering meanignful support, we are quick to diagnose them (and their children) with ADHD and prescribe medication, opportunities to make use of this wealth of scientific evidence are lost.  

Beatrice Beebe, a leading researcher in infant development whose detailed videotapes of mothers and infants offer elegant evidence for the richness and complexity of early parent-child relationships, praises Hofer's integration of theory and research. But Beebe, in conversation with a colleague of mine who is a general pediatrician, suggested that video be used in every 4-month well child visit. This comment represents a kind of disconnect between science and reality. The science certainly supports this kind of investment in time and attention to parent-child relationships in infancy.  But in today's fast-paced world of primary care, where clinicians are under pressure to see more and more patients in less and less time, such a suggestion is almost laughable.

In his concluding remarks, Meaney points in the right direction:

Developmental psychobiology established the conceptual framework within which to better understand the biology of early experience. The challenge is to now translate the emerging scientific advances into psychiatry and clinical psychology.

It seems like a kind of chicken-egg phenomenon. If as a culture we can place value on parents caring for themselves in order to be present with their children; if we value time for listening to parents and children together in the setting of primary care as well as mental health care, we may be better able to hear what the science is (and has been) telling us.