nzac test by BEN EVANS

EDITORS Margaret Agee and Philip Culbertson C/o School of Counselling, Human Services & Social Work Faculty of Education University of Auckland Private Bag 92601, Symonds St Auckland 1150 Email: m.agee@auckland.ac.nz Email: p.culbertson@auckland.ac.nz E D I TO R I A L B OA R D Tina Besley, California State University, San Bernadino, California Peter Bray, Eastern Institute of Technology, Taradale Richard Cook, Bethlehem Institute, Tauranga Sue Cornforth, Victoria University of Wellington Kathie Crocket, University of Waikato, Hamilton Hans Everts, University of Auckland Robert Manthei, Retired, 50 Gracefield Ave., Christchurch Judi Miller, University of Canterbury, Christchurch Irene Paton, private practitioner, Christchurch Jan Wilson, Auckland University of Technology Jeannie Wright, Massey University, Palmerston North SUBSCRIPTIONS Copies of the Journal are provided free of charge to all members of the NZAC. For separate subscriptions or single-issue purchase, please contact NZAC, PO Box 165, Hamilton. Single-issue costs: Within New Zealand $25 (GST and post included) Overseas $NZ35 (post included)

G E N E R A L I N F O R M AT I O N The New Zealand Journal of Counselling is the official publication of the New Zealand Association of Counsellors.

The Journal’s aim is to promote counselling practice and research that reflect the unique cultural context of Aotearoa New Zealand, respecting and encouraging the partnership principles of Te Tiriti o Waitangi/The Treaty of Waitangi. The Journal is a forum for the sharing of ideas, information, and perspectives on matters of common concern among practitioners and those undertaking research in the field. In the content of the Journal, the Editors wish to be inclusive of a wide range of topics and perspectives, representing the diversity of interests within the profession. The Editors welcome the submission of papers, including commentaries on topical issues, literature reviews, research reports, practice-based articles, case studies and brief reports from the Association’s members and applicants, as well as from others outside the Association with interests relevant to the field of counselling. We welcome papers that represent a wide range of research methodologies, and that contribute to the development of knowledge in the theory and/or practice of counselling. The overriding criteria for selection are that the material is professionally relevant, that the presentation is of high quality, and that the writer has communicated effectively, in an interesting and engaging way, with readers.

N ZAC N EWS L E T T E R The Association also publishes a newsletter, Counselling Today, which provides more frequent and informal information about NZAC activities and New Zealand counselling in general.

Manuscripts are welcome from practitioners, counsellor educators, academics, researchers and administrators involved in counselling or in related fields. Guidelines for contributors are available in PDF form from the editors. All articles are reviewed by two referees in a double-blind process.

CORRESPONDENCE All correspondence regarding manuscript submissions should be sent to the Editors, preferably by email (see addresses above).

The opinion and comment contained in articles are those of particular author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the Journal’s Editors, the Association, or any other person.

N ZAC M E M B E R S H I P Enquiries about NZAC membership and all other correspondence should be directed to: NZAC, PO Box 165, Hamilton

The copyright of articles contained in the Journal is vested in the New Zealand Association of Counsellors and articles may not be reprinted without the express permission of the Association.

PRODUCTION Make-up: Afineline, Wellington Printing: Taieri Print, Dunedin

ISSN: 1171-0365

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009: Volume 29/2

Contents

Editorial

iii

Visionary Words A Reflexive Discussion about Counselling Work with a Young Pasifika Woman Who Has Experienced Post-death Visions Sarah Penwarden

Working with Students Who Have Asperger’s Syndrome Counsellor Strategies

Dave McMillan

Possibilities and Limits of Cross-disciplinary Supervision An Exploratory Study

Kathie Crocket, Fran Cahill, Paul Flanagan, John Franklin, Robyn McGill, Ange Stewart, Mary Whalan, and Diane Mulcahy

National Survey of School Guidance Counsellors and Their Professional Supervision

Wendy M. Payne and Steve K. W. Lang

Interpreting “Partnership” as a Core Value Some Implications of the Treaty of Waitangi for the NZAC Code of Ethics

Alastair Crocket

The Therapeutic Process of Interactive Drawing Therapy

Russell Withers

Biographical Information

Guidelines for Contributors

The New Zealand Journal of Counselling Editorial

As co-editors, we have been working hard to keep the New Zealand Journal of Counselling a site of lively debate, thought-provoking information on new theories and their pertinence, and a creative modelling of practice. As we have continued to dream into the future, we’ve discovered that we’d like to encourage an even richer mix. We hope to make each new issue a stimulating blend of theory-based research, practicebased research, responses or rebuttals to previous articles that have been published, conference presentations, case studies, and the occasional review of some important new book that has particular applicability to practitioners in Aotearoa New Zealand. In all of these areas, we welcome your formal submissions, and would be happy to discuss your ideas in advance, whether in the formative stage of development, or further on, when you have an article in draft form. In many, though not all, ways, this issue illustrates just such a mix. Sarah Penwarden begins the issue with a reflective, practice-based article, looking closely at her own work with a young Pasifika woman whose father had died recently. At the same time that she examines issues associated with clients’spirituality, and with power and privilege in the counselling room, Sarah also explores a creative form of reflection between herself and her client, in the use of poetry as a matrix of communication and healing between counsellor and counsellee. As we were preparing Sarah’s article for publication, we were reminded of a related piece by Peta Palalagi (2007), on the use of poetry as selfsupervision, in Penina Uliuli: Contemporary Challenges in Mental Health for Pacific Peoples (ed. Culbertson, Agee, and Makasiale, 2007). The autism spectrum disorder known as Asperger’s Syndrome affects about one in every 300 people, suggesting that in New Zealand there are around 15,000 people who live with this condition. The syndrome is more often diagnosed in younger males than in any other group, raising questions about how autistic behaviours trigger our own fears of “young men out of control.” Dave McMillan’s practice-based article explores the way that, as a school counsellor, he has worked with two secondary school males who have Asperger’s, and offers a challenge to us all to develop more informed and supportive understandings of those whose behaviour is often labelled as disruptive and whose intentions are often misinterpreted.

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Editorial

The next two articles are built upon qualitative and quantitative research done in the New Zealand context of professional counselling practice. Eight authors— Kathie Crocket, Fran Cahill, Paul Flanagan, John Franklin, Robyn McGill, Ange Stewart, Mary Whalan, and Diane Mulcahy—worked as a team to explore the values and benefits, shortcomings and misunderstandings that can proceed out of crossdisciplinary supervision. Based on semi-structured interviews with six supervisors from the fields of counselling, social work, and psychology, who supervised a wide range of other professionals in both private practice and health settings, the study explores how this diversity might open up new avenues of insight for the reflective supervisee, the limitations of cross-disciplinary supervision, and whether registration will provide expanded or reduced opportunities for NZAC supervisors to work in an unexpected creative mix. Wendy Payne and Steve Lang present the results from a comprehensive internet survey of school counsellors in New Zealand that was undertaken for two purposes: to gather information about school guidance counsellors and the schools in which they work, and to examine the delivery, functions, and primary goals of their work with professional supervisors. The article is intriguing on several counts, including the varieties of supervisory structures that school counsellors use, the profile of school counsellors that information from the survey elicited, including the spread of counselling availability across schools ranging from the lowest to the highest decile, and the way that school counsellors make use of professional organisations such as NZAC. All professional activities in which we engage in New Zealand take place within the envelope of the Treaty of Waitangi. Alastair Crocket raises some hard questions about how the NZAC Code of Ethics must be understood within the context of the Treaty, including the implied theoretical questions at play within the counselling room and beyond when we sit with clients in a practice informed by both the Code and the Treaty. In that situation, who is in partnership with whom? His argument may surprise and challenge you. We were reminded of the seminal article by Selma Fraiberg, Adelson, and Shapiro (1975), called “Ghosts in the Nursery,” which pointed out to counsellors and psychotherapists that not everyone who is present in the counselling room is necessarily visible. Russell Withers has been the pioneer of Interactive Drawing Therapy (IDT), and has published on that modality previously in the Journal. Here, he details and illustrates (literally) the step-by-step process of IDT and the importance of the drawing therapist’s ability to understand where the client is at any given moment on the path toward

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Philip Culbertson

recovery. Various forms of art therapy are used widely among mental health practitioners in New Zealand, and even if you don’t practise art therapy regularly, there is still a great deal to be learned from the article. We believe that this issue of the Journal offers a wide range of creativity and challenge, and we are grateful to those practitioners throughout Aotearoa New Zealand who are willing to share their thinking and their work, through the pages of this journal, with a wider professional audience. But not everything new can be learned from the articles alone. A check of the inside cover will reveal that there have been some significant changes to the Journal’s Advisory Group, renamed the Editorial Board. In part, this change has been driven by our shift to making the Journal more accessible through the Open Access process, which requires that a certain percentage of our Advisory Board members hold academic appointments. The change also weaves the Journal more tightly but more inclusively into the counsellor education programmes throughout the country, providing us with a Board that includes a healthy representation of researchers, practitioners and trainers, and members with experience in multiple roles. Although we had planned to be celebrating the launch of our Journal in its new online Open Access format with this issue, as we go to print the website is still in development, due to factors beyond our control. By the time the next issue is published, however, the Journal site will be open to view. Watch this space! Philip Culbertson and Margaret Agee Co-editors, New Zealand Journal of Counselling

References

Fraiberg, S. H., Adelson, E., & Shapiro, V. B. (1975). Ghosts in the nursery: A psychoanalytic approach to the problem of infant/mother relationships. Journal of the American Academy of Child Psychiatry, 14(3), 386–422. Palalagi, P. P. (2007). “Keep your doughnuts to yourself ”: Using poetry in Pasifika professional practice. In P. Culbertson, M. N. Agee, & C. ‘O. Makasiale (Eds.), Contemporary challenges in mental health for Pacific peoples (pp. 160–176). Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.

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Visionary Words A Reflexive Discussion about Counselling Work with a Young Pasifika Woman Who Has Experienced Post-death Visions Sarah Penwarden

Abstract In this article I discuss the counselling work I did as a palagi school counsellor with a young Pasifika woman who had recently lost her father. The counselling involved re-membering practices and poetry writing. After briefly presenting the clientâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s story, I reflect critically on three dimensions of the counselling process: how I worked with her spirituality; how I chose to use poetry in counselling, and how I made sense of power and privilege in the room. The purpose of this article is to contribute to discussion about how best to support clientsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; spiritual experiences when they are disclosed in counselling, particularly around the afterlife, and about how to gauge the ways in which power and privilege are operating in a session, particularly when there are cross-cultural dimensions.

Stories of loss

I saw Casey1 for a total of six counselling sessions over the course of a year. In the first session, I explained the limits and boundaries of counselling and invited her to set the agenda for our talk. Casey disclosed that her father had recently died and she had been having dreams about him. In the dreams, her father was asking her to help look after her mother, and not to give up on school or church. Casey described how her father had recently appeared to her family: one family member had seen Dad walking around the community; her brother spoke of how their father had visited him in hospital, and other family members came home after a night out and saw the house lights flicker on and off, even though there was no-one home.

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When Casey spoke warmly about her relationship with her father, I was attuned to the therapeutic possibilities of the presence of her deceased father. Using remembering questions,2 I researched with Casey some of the meanings for her of her father’s ongoing presence in the family. I invited her to tell me about the kind of person he was, and the contributions he had made to her life. I also invited her to talk about the times and places when she felt most connected to her father’s presence. I asked her what her father might appreciate about her now and what hopes he might have for her future. She spoke about what she valued in her relationship with her father and how she remembered their closeness. In the next session, Casey spoke about wider issues with family and friends. Her story of the family’s visions stayed with me, and I wrote my experience of her story in poetry. During the third session, I gave Casey a copy of what I had written. She was surprised and pleased, commenting that she recognised some of the words. Later, she said she had given a copy of the poem to her mother, who laminated it and stuck it on the fridge. With Casey’s permission, I sent the poem off to a poetry magazine. I heard later that it was accepted for publication. Once it was printed, I showed Casey a copy of the poem and she was delighted. In a later session, Casey talked about how she knew her father was with her sometimes and felt a sense of his presence. She also talked about how she felt she had to “move on” in her grieving. For Casey, this meant not crying so much and knowing that her father was in a happier place. Over the course of six sessions, we talked about a variety of other concerns at home and school, and at one point she brought with her a friend who had troubles of her own. As my time in that particular school was drawing to a close, Casey and I talked about ending counselling and who else she might talk to in future. I contacted her a year later to ask for her permission to write up our counselling together as a story for other counsellors, and she agreed. Working with a client’s spirituality

When Casey disclosed the family’s visions, I had clear choices therapeutically about validating or invalidating these experiences. I chose to explore with the client the meaning for her of some of the visions, without “reading” meaning into them. In this way I sought to strengthen the client’s sense of continuing bonds with her father (Klass, Silverman, & Nickman, 1996). When it comes to grieving, Hedtke (1999) has suggested that professionals can act as “gate keepers of knowledge” who may consciously or otherwise impose on clients

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Sarah Penwarden

outmoded ideas about the stages of grief, or about the “right” way to grieve, thereby undermining a family’s own wisdom. Counsellors may feel uncomfortable when extraordinary or spiritual experiences come up in counselling. Although there is evidence that post-death visions of the deceased by surviving family members are relatively common, in our mechanistic worldview these encounters are often explained away (Nowatzki & Kalischuk, 2009). In fact, there is evidence that an active continuing bond may be a lifelong phenomenon (Klugman, 2006). Margaret Bowater (2003), a New Zealand dreamwork therapist, has collected dozens of examples of “spirit visits,” when the deceased has appeared to family members. She believes it is important for counsellors to validate these visions for families, especially when they help people accept death more calmly. In looking at the Pasifika world, though little has been written academically, there is evidence that post-death visions of the deceased are not uncommon (Dernbach, 2005; Mageo, 1996). Mageo has described the role of spirits in Samoan culture, while Dernbach’s study highlighted a community in Micronesia where the people expect recently deceased family members to appear as “spirit visitors” who might want to deliver important messages to them. Death is understood as a journey marked by social ritual. They believe the spirits of the dead occupy a liminal space between this world and the afterlife, and it is part of the role of the community to help facilitate the process of “becoming dead.” Cabrini Makasiale, a psychotherapist of Tongan ancestry, suggests that in Pacific Island belief systems, physical death is not the end, but only a transition into life with or without God (Makasiale, 2007). For Pacific Island people, the spirit may keep in touch after death to be a guide. Death marks the ending of the physical self, but the spirit remains. For the grieving family, the manifestation of the deceased’s spirit after death contains an element of hope, because the family member is gone, yet not gone (Makasiale, personal communication, 2008). As counsellors, we need to respond sensitively to these spiritual experiences when they are reported in counselling. Winslade and Hedtke (2004) argue that if we are not careful, the bereaved person’s sensory experiences of the deceased risk being banished to the margins of “…the psychotic or paranormal, rather than including them as ordinary aspects” of grief-related experiences (p. 51). In fact, post-death encounters may have a healing and therapeutic effect when a person feels reconnected to their loved one (Nowatzki & Kalischuk, 2009). By providing an understanding atmosphere, a counsellor can facilitate the client’s sense of validation in the face of loss.

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Visionary Words

Griffith and Griffith (2002) have suggested that “an attitude of wonder” is an important quality in a therapist. We join with our clients in wondering about the significance and meaning of spiritual experiences which appear in their lives. As therapists, we are privileged to be witnesses for our clients’ spiritual stories, and because of the power imbalance between counsellors and clients, it is important that we listen primarily to what meaning our clients make of their stories. Poetry in counselling

Turning to look at the use of poetry in counselling, one of the purposes of poetry may be to try to put words to the spiritual. “Poetry at its best calls forth our deep Being” (Housden, 2003, p. 2). Peta Palalagi, a Niuean group facilitator, writes that “Poetry unlocks parts of myself that I never knew before” (Palalagi, 2007, p. 161). In this way, poetry comes from within the individual poet, springing from an expression of his or her soul. Poetry can also be a means of communicating between people, “a window that hangs between two or more human beings who otherwise live in darkened rooms” (Dobyns, 1997, p. 17). Poetry can be used in a variety of ways in therapy. First, clients can express their experiences through writing poems. Perie Longo (2009) runs poetry therapy groups where, each week, participants’ poems are typed up and bound in a notebook. Poetry can also be co-written between counsellor and client. Behan (2003), a narrative therapist, often takes notes of clients’ expressions and co-authors poems with them. He offers poems to clients and invites them to circulate the poems to their family and friends. He argues that “poetry has ‘space between’ to describe multiplicity, tentativeness and ambiguity and is perhaps better suited to render visible these subtle stories from therapy conversations” (Behan, 2003, p. 1). He also suggests that co-writing poems with clients has enhanced the quality of his listening in counselling. Narrative therapist and academic Jane Speedy writes up poetic documents after a session, using her clients’ own words. She is very careful to distinguish between “poetic accounts,” which are co-written with clients in counselling, and “poetic re-memberings,” which are written by the therapist (Speedy, 2005). Her preference is for “taking notes from the language of people who consult us, not our own words” (Speedy, 2005, p. 295). She finds poetic documents helpful in capturing stories from therapeutic conversations and enabling clients to be aware of how their stories change over time. Poems can also be written for clients. Two Danish researchers developed poetic

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forms of representation of participants’ stories for their doctoral theses. They produced what one referred to as “poetic condensations,” and the other as “poetic accounts.” One researcher listened for “rhythm, recognition and feelings in the words in the text” (Hølge-Hazelton & Krøjer, 2008, p. 21). When they presented their work to participants, they responded that the poems had given them a feeling of recognition, that they had been understood. Power in counselling

In working with Casey, there were many invitations to take up a powerful position. As a reflexive practitioner I seek to be accountable for the ways in which I use power in a session. A poststructuralist analysis of power suggests that the counselling relationship will always be a relationship of power. However, the exercise of power is constantly fluctuating in response to discourses (Monk, Winslade, & Sinclair, 2008). While counsellors may be vehicles of power, they are able to choose, within professional and cultural requirements, how power is deployed in a session (Guilfoyle, 2005). A counsellor cannot create a “power-free zone,” but she can facilitate a relationship where the flow of power is mutual, as opposed to unidirectional. How counsellors approach the exercise of power in their practice is in fact an ethical question. Monk et al. (2008, p. 185) ask: • Does a counsellor stand on her own expert knowledge or make room for the client’s knowledge? • Does the counsellor decide the topics of conversation or grant the client some decision making authority in the counselling process? • Does the counsellor name the problem (diagnosis) and decide on the “treatment”…or does she share this authority with the client? Michael White (2005) has written about therapeutic posture, where he advocates taking up a “decentred and influential” posture in conversations (p. 9). Decentred means giving priority to the personal stories of people’s lives, where people have “primary authorship.” Influential means not imposing an agenda, but building a scaffold through questions and reflections to help people more richly describe their lives. A vivid example of such a process can be found in his earlier article, “Saying hullo again: The incorporation of the lost relationship in the resolution of grief ” (White, 1988).

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Power and counselling with Pasifika peoples

The particular dynamic of cross-cultural counselling can be an ethical minefield in relation to power. Speedy (2005) has noted the “myriad opportunities for therapists to engage in the imposition of meanings when their clients’ lives differ from their own or do not fit with the professional or political theories to which they hold” (p. 285). Given the real possibilities for miscommunication and misinterpretation with differing worldviews in cross-cultural counselling, why do it? The challenge is to use what David Augsburger (1986) terms “interpathy,” the ability to extend oneself to believe, see, and value what another person believes, thereby entering the assumptive world of another person. Karen Lupe (2007) suggests that meeting a client from another culture in his or her own world is most possible when the therapist is “conscious of the connection with his or her own heart and is willing to listen to those heart messages.” This is even more important in Pasifika culture, where “the heart is the primary centre of thinking” (Lupe, 2007, p. 133). Cabrini Makasiale (2007) talks about the importance of therapists being aware of the power they hold in the relationship when they work with Pacific Island clients, and “how impactful the words of the therapist are because the images of God, parents, elders, and other authority figures are transferred to her or him” (p. 112). She also describes the openness and vulnerability of Pacific Island clients, who generally trust that the counsellor will be caring and giving (Makasiale, 2007). For a palagi counsellor, there may be particular responsibilities in being careful of the Pasifika client’s “thinking heart.” As well as power, it is also important to be aware of the social privileges that go with being palagi. Akamatsu (2002) has noted that being the dominant majority gives white people numerous unearned privileges that are so taken-for-granted that they are virtually invisible and unnoticed by those who enjoy them. Tuckwell (2006) argues that white counsellors hardly ever consider the impact of their skin colour on counselling relationships. One way of not noticing my privilege as a white person is to assume that everyone uses language as I do. Bird (2004) talks of how she engages with the “specific and experiential language each person uses to represent the life they are immersed within” (p. 160). By not taking language at face value, and by inviting clients to describe the world behind their words, we are using language with care. Language does not simply describe the world we live in, but actively shapes it (Culler, 1997). It is important therefore to be aware of how language uses both therapist and client, as well as the ways in which both therapist and client are using language.

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Sarah Penwarden

Reflexivity

Reflexivity is a way of making meaning of my counselling work. It involves a process of “disciplined self-reflection” (Wilkinson, 1988) about the ways in which I shape my work through underlying assumptions, conversational moves, use of language, and a variety of other factors. Reflexivity requires thinking critically about my practice and the ideas which currently inform it (Paré, 1999), and about the effect of these knowledges on the client (Kuenzli, 2006). A “reflexive loop” occurs when I practise counselling, and then reflect on my work through conversations with colleagues and supervisors, reading and professional development, which I then integrate back into my practice. There has been much to reflect upon in the work I did with Casey. I found that in the end, I was asking myself questions for which I did not have any answers. Initially, I was interested in the effect of my co-elaborating with Casey upon her stories of ongoing connection with her deceased father. She did not give me specific feedback about this, but did respond warmly to the questions which developed her sense of her father’s presence. I was left with questions about the effect of my bringing an “attitude of wonder” to her spiritual experiences, and how this might have supported Casey’s sense of hope. In paying attention to power, there were many opportunities to “engage in the imposition of meaning” of my culture onto Casey. My choice when working in the territory of Casey’s spiritual beliefs was to hold back my own interpretations and meaning-making regarding her family’s visions. I chose to adopt a validating and supportive stance towards her spiritual experiences, avoiding pathologising them. I worked collaboratively with Casey, in that to every session she brought her agenda for what we would talk about. My stance was to be curious about her life, open to learning from her about her concerns and intentions, and the cultural world she lives in. There were indicators that counselling was working for her: she came back a number of times, and supported another student in coming for counselling. It is more complex to think of how my privilege as a palagi affected the work. How do I gauge the impact of my skin colour on the counselling relationship? I found it difficult to notice how this affected our counselling work. At one point, I was aware of living in two worlds: the world of my work, where I listened to Casey talk about her life as a young Pasifika woman, and my own world, where I had access to many different freedoms, financial rewards, and social settings that may have been closed to her. This was particularly relevant when it came to having a poem published.

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Visionary Words

In reflecting further on my use of poetry with this client, I found I carried some discomfort around it. This was partly around the change of focus that the poem introduced into the counselling for part of a session, shifting from Casey’s story to the poem, which was my creative response to her story. I did not plan to write a poem, but Casey’s story made a powerful impression on me. My own history involves experiencing bereavement when I was a teenager, but unlike Casey, I had no sense of the ongoing presence of the deceased person in my life or my family’s life. For this reason, her experience was poignant for me. I did not disclose this to her. After the first session I was left with an almost visual “sense” of her story. In my mind, her words created a vision which I attempted to turn into words. This might have remained part of my own processing after a session, but I chose to give her a copy of it. In this, there was an aspect of mutuality, as I was affected and moved by her story. Out of the three different approaches to using poetry in counselling (written by client, co-written by client and counsellor, written by counsellor), the most powerful approach may be where the counsellor writes a poem for the client. The danger here is that the counsellor positions herself as the special person, prized for her ability to craft words, and the client is a passive recipient. On the one hand, Casey was thrilled to read the poem; she took it home and showed it to family, and her mother responded positively to it. On the other hand, it is easy to imagine how my words might map over her world and offer a different interpretation. Behan’s (2003) collaborative approach of co-writing poems with clients and checking with them that they have been represented accurately would appear to offer a model which reflects a greater sense of choice and consent by clients. My preference, now that I have reflected more, would be to invite the client to write a poem if she wished, or to offer a poem based solely on her words (a “poetic account”) or to co-write a poem together if she wished. When considering the therapeutic impact of my choice, my hope was that the poem would give Casey the assurance that she had been listened to, that I had heard her story. Poetry, by its very nature, allows for reader response, where the reader actively participates in the creation of meaning (Hoover, 1994). Poetry can be “read” in different ways. This ambiguous quality allows for the co-elaboration of meaning between writer and reader. In offering her the poem, I did not give an interpretation of it. In this way, the power lay with Casey to interpret it as she wanted. Her perspective was that the poem was “cool.”

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Sarah Penwarden

I also held some discomfort about the poem being published. Although Casey was very pleased to see the poem published, I felt it would have been more congruent with my values about my use of power in our relationship if I had acknowledged her contribution. My hesitations were around the ethics of confidentiality in counselling, which clashes with the public acknowledgement of her in inspiring the poem. In hindsight, I regret not having discussed with Casey ways of acknowledging her contribution to the poem before sending it for publication. Conclusion

In working with Casey, I chose to support and validate her experiences of post-death visions of her father. Through re-membering questions, I sought to strengthen and develop her ongoing sense of his presence in her life, believing that a continuing bond can be sustained throughout life. In counselling, I wondered together with Casey about the meaning of the family visions. Throughout our time together, I was also aware of the operation of power in the room. In giving her a copy of a poem I wrote after hearing her story, I did take up a position which was more powerful than collaborative. But my hope was to offer to her a creative response to her story, one which demonstrated that I had listened to her and had valued what she had said. My creative response was in a form which allowed and invited her interpretation. Finally, in my own reflection I like to think of the poem as capturing a moment in time, a recent visionary experience for the family. By the end of our counselling, Casey was talking about “moving on” in her thoughts about her father—living with a sense of his presence in a different way. My hope was that the poem would serve as a reminder of a time when the father occupied a liminal space in the family, when he came back after death just to say hello. He was seen on the street He was seen on the street wearing white; blurry, softened, just out of range. Home late, they saw house-lights flicker, curtains blow, though there was no wind.

He appeared at his son’s bedside in hospital scrubs, cheating at cards, then visited his daughter’s dreams, reminding her of her future.

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Though they’d kissed his swollen body months before, when the back door blew shut, and the walls shook, they said, “That’s just Dad, coming back to say hello.” Reprinted with the permission of Poetry New Zealand Notes

1. Distinguishing details have been changed to protect the client. 2. In working with a client around grief, I have been influenced by contemporary understandings of loss that emphasise the importance of continuing bonds (Klass et al., 1996), and of clients’ being enabled to make meaning in an ongoing way of their loss (Neimeyer, 2001). I have also been influenced by Michael White’s “Re-membering conversations” (White, 2005). These are conversations which reflect on the contribution of the significant (deceased) figure to the person’s life, and the person’s contribution to the figure’s life. Through these kinds of questions, the person who has died is reincorporated into the life of the person still living. I have also attended a workshop by John Winslade which included a “Re-membering Conversations” exercise, with questions designed to facilitate the client’s experience of ongoing connection with a lost loved one (Winslade & Hedtke, 2004). References

Akamatsu, N. (2002). Cultural racism: The air we breathe. International Journal of Narrative Therapy & Community Work, 4, 48–51. Augsburger, D. (1986). Pastoral counseling across cultures. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster. Behan, C. (2003). Rescued speech poems: Co-authoring poetry in narrative therapy. Retrieved February 25, 2009, from http://www.narrativeapproaches.com/ Bird, J. (2004). Talk that sings: Therapy in a new linguistic key. Auckland: The Edge Press. Bowater, M. (2003). Dreams and visions around death. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 24(1), 39–50. Culler, J. (1997). Literary theory: A very short introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dernbach, K. (2005). Spirits of the hereafter: Death, funerary possession, and the afterlife in Chuuk, Micronesia. Ethnology, 44(2), 99–123. Dobyns, S. (1997). Best words, best order: Essays on poetry. New York: St Martins Griffin. Griffith, J., & Griffith, M. (2002). Encountering the sacred in psychotherapy: How to talk with people about their spiritual lives. New York: The Guilford Press. Guilfoyle, M. (2005). From therapeutic power to resistance? Therapy and cultural hegemony. Theory & Psychology, 15(1), 101–124. Hedtke, L. (1999). Multiplying death, dying and grief narratives. Retrieved March 20, 2009, from http://www.rememberingpractices.com/webDocs/multiplying.pdf Hølge-Hazelton, B., & Krøjer, J. (2008). (Re)constructing strategies: A methodological experiment on representation. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 21(1), 19–25.

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Hoover, P. (1994). Postmodern American poetry: A Norton anthology. New York: Norton. Housden, R. (2003). Ten poems to change your life. London: Hodder & Stoughton. Klass, D., Silverman, P., & Nickman, S. (Eds.) (1996). Continuing bonds: New understandings of grief. Washington, DC: Taylor & Francis. Klugman, C. (2006). Dead men talking: Evidence of post death contact and continuing bonds. Omega, 53(3), 249–262. Kuenzli, F. (2006). Inviting reflexivity into the therapy room: How therapists think in action. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Longo, P. (2009). Poetry as therapy. Retrieved August 1, 2009, from http://www.spcsb.org/pdfs/ resources/a-poetry_as_therapy.pdf Lupe, K. (2007). An ocean with many shores: Indigenous consciousness and the thinking heart. In P. Culbertson, M. N. Agee, & C. ‘O. Makasiale (Eds.), Penina uliuli: Contemporary challenges in mental health for Pacific peoples (pp. 122–135). Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Mageo, J. M. (1996). Continuity and shape-shifting: Samoan spirits in culture history. In J. M. Mageo & A. Howard (Eds.), Spirits in culture, history, and mind (pp. 29–54). New York: Routledge. Makasiale, C. ‘O. (2007). The use of symbol and metaphor in Pasifika counseling. In P. Culbertson, M. N. Agee, & C. ‘O. Makasiale (Eds.), Penina uliuli: Contemporary challenges in mental health for Pacific peoples (pp. 109–121). Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Monk, G., Winslade, J., & Sinclair, S. (Eds.) (2008). New horizons in multi-cultural counseling. Los Angeles: Sage. Neimeyer, R. (Ed.) (2001). Meaning reconstruction and the experience of loss. Washington, DC: American Psychological Society. Nowatzki, N., & Kalischuk, R. (2009). Post-death encounters: Grieving, mourning, and healing. Omega, 59(2), 91–111. Palalagi, P. P. (2007). “Keep your doughnuts to yourself ”: Using poetry in Pasifika professional practice. In P. Culbertson, M. N. Agee, & C. ‘O. Makasiale (Eds.), Penina uliuli: Contemporary challenges in mental health for Pacific peoples (pp. 160–176). Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Paré, D. (1999, May). Discursive wisdom: Reflections on ethics and therapeutic knowledge. Paper presented at Millennium World Conference on Critical Psychology, Sydney, Australia. Speedy, J. (2005). Using poetic documents: An exploration of poststructuralist ideas and poetic practices in narrative therapy. British Journal of Guidance and Counselling, 33(3), 283–298. Tuckwell, G. (2006). Specific issues for white counsellors. In C. Lago (Ed.), Race, culture and counselling: The ongoing challenge (2nd ed., pp. 204–216). Berkshire: Open University Press. White, M. (1988, Spring). Saying hullo again: The incorporation of the lost relationship in the resolution of grief. Dulwich Centre Newsletter, 7-11. White, M. (2005). Michael White workshop notes. Retrieved April 1, 2009, from http://www. dulwichcentre.com.au Wilkinson, S. (1988). The role of reflexivity in feminist psychology. Women’s Studies International Forum, 11, 493–502. Winslade, J., & Hedtke, L. (2004). Re-membering lives: Conversations with the dying and bereaved. Amityville, NY: Baywood.

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Working with Students Who Have Asperger’s Syndrome Counsellor Strategies Dave McMillan

Abstract Misunderstandings on the part of teachers about the reasons for socially inappropriate behaviour have the potential to cause major problems for some young men with Asperger’s Syndrome. This was evident in the cases of two students with whom I have worked as a guidance counsellor in a New Zealand high school. Narrative Therapy concepts of “thin” and “thick” descriptions are used to provide more sympathetic and supportive understandings of their behaviour. Those more helpful “thick” descriptions make use of current diagnostic criteria and research about Asperger’s Syndrome. Methods of working therapeutically with adolescents and their families are presented from Motivational Interviewing, Solution-Focused Therapy, and contemporary, evidence-based perspectives. School guidance counsellors can have an influential role in challenging unhelpful “thin descriptions” about the problematic behaviours, in developing those more supportive “thick descriptions,” and in promoting more socially appropriate behaviour in these young people through therapeutic interventions. Potential challenges in this work are also addressed.

As a school counsellor whose background includes working with young people who have Asperger’s Syndrome, I have become concerned about the vulnerability of some such young people when some of the behaviours they exhibit may be misunderstood by other staff within the school. This article begins with a description of two such cases, in which the behaviours of these adolescent boys with Asperger’s Syndrome were misinterpreted by some staff. The students’ behaviour was perceived as maliciously intended. As a result, both students were at risk of serious school disciplinary consequences.

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Dave McMillan

Case scenarios Gary

Gary was a 13-year-old boy with Asperger’s Syndrome who was very isolated from his peers in his mainstream high school. Gary described himself as being the “guy that nobody knows.” He had a very positive classroom relationship with his female teacher. Gary also had a consuming interest in spies and secret agents. He had a rich fantasy life in which he saw himself as a secret agent, and in his role as a secret agent he obtained personal details about where his teacher lived. He then followed her home and took photographs of her and her family. His teacher was distressed and disturbed by Gary’s behaviour. Questions were raised about whether there were more sinister intentions underlying his behaviour, and whether he could remain a student at his high school. Paul

Paul was a 14-year-old boy in an academically high-achieving class. Gifted at maths and science, he found art difficult and saw it as being pointless. He also struggled with his fine motor skills, so that many of the activities in art class became an experience in frustration. Few of his usual classmates were in his art class. The class was very noisy and less structured than other classes, which his peers enjoyed but which Paul found quite distressing. In art class one day, for no apparent reason, Paul called out that he was going to stab his teacher. Shocked, the teacher requested extra assistance from her Deans. Paul was led away to meet with the Principal, and his family, to discuss the consequences of his action, the future safety of staff, and his place in the school. Asperger’s and concepts from Narrative Therapy

Concepts and terms from Narrative Therapy, particularly “thin descriptions” and “thick descriptions,” are helpful here in arguing that any discourse which describes such unusual behaviours, within the context of Asperger’s Syndrome, as being “dangerous” is both inaccurate and unhelpful. Narrative Therapy is based on the postmodern position that we design stories to explain ourselves and the world around us (Winslade & Monk, 2007). Paul’s story of himself as a secret agent came into conflict with the dominant cultural story, that a young male following a female is “disturbing” and potentially “dangerous.” I have not been trained in Narrative Therapy, but have found the concepts of “thin” and “thick” descriptions useful in my counselling work with young men who have Asperger’s Syndrome. “Thin descriptions” of persons and their behaviour are often developed by others, miss the complexity of a situation, ignore individuals’ self-understandings, and rule out other alternative meanings (Morgan,

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2000). Such a labelling process could have a potentially devastating impact, entrenching a restrictive and negative self-concept for someone with Asperger’s Syndrome and reducing the potential for making safer behavioural choices. “Thick” descriptions do not support or sustain problems; rather, they focus on creating space for healthy change and a sense of agency in one’s life (Morgan, 2000). “Thick” descriptions take into account a much wider variety of information so that strengths, social connectedness, values, hopes, interests, and more can be taken into account. A more useful “thick” description will contextualise the behaviour in terms of the diagnostic criteria for Asperger’s Syndrome. Understanding the interpersonal, empathic, distress tolerance, and impulsivity management challenges that a young person with Asperger’s Syndrome faces should ensure a focus on support and skill development. Such an approach would make it more likely that Gary, Paul, and the thousands of other youngsters with Asperger’s Syndrome in New Zealand schools will have their differences and strengths recognised and their behaviour accurately explained, and will be offered appropriate support. The diagnostic criteria for Asperger’s Syndrome

The causes of Asperger’s Syndrome are not fully understood at present, although there appear to be genetic factors (Attwood, 2007) and distinctive neurological features at play that differentiate this group from their same-age peers (Baron-Cohen, 2003). From my experiences, students with Asperger’s Syndrome have often shown significant strengths in areas such as science, maths, and computers, for logical systems can be easier to understand than people’s emotions and behaviours. Many have also had an enviable ability to focus their energies for long periods on their personal areas of interest. The most commonly used diagnostic tool is the DSM-IV. However, I have followed the example of the much-respected psychologist Attwood, who uses the broader diagnostic criteria of Gillberg (1991). A Swedish doctor, Gillberg developed diagnostic criteria for Asperger’s Syndrome that extend beyond those of the DSM-IV. His criteria include the inability to interact with peers, lack of desire to interact with peers, poor appreciation of social cues, socially and emotionally inappropriate responses, limited interests and preoccupations, and the misinterpretation of literal and implied meanings (Gillberg, as cited in Bauer, 1996). In my experience, because of their reduced social motivation and limited social interaction, some people with Asperger’s Syndrome, like Gary and Paul, at times do not

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receive the usual feedback from peers as to whether their behaviour is developmentally normal or not. This has the effect of prolonging an inappropriate behaviour. Berney (2004) has researched this area and lists a number of factors that can predispose an adolescent with Asperger’s Syndrome to socially inappropriate or unusual behaviour: innate lack of concern for outcomes, inborn deficits in the awareness of outcomes, impulsivity that is linked to higher rates of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and anxiety symptoms, social naivety such as mistaking positive social interactions for love and misinterpreting social rules, as well as overriding obsessive interests. Gillberg’s diagnostic criteria, when applied to Gary and Paul’s case scenarios, can provide information upon which to build more understanding and supportive “thick” conclusions. Both Gary and Paul exhibited difficulties interacting with peers, meaning Gary never checked out whether his special interest in secret agents was considered “normal” by peers and adults. Difficulties interpreting social cues meant that Paul assumed that his noisy classmates were being so deliberately to annoy him. Both boys exhibited socially and emotionally inappropriate behaviour in the way they responded to a loud and unstructured class setting—in Paul’s case, even responding with a threat. Gary’s secret agent interest was so compelling that it occupied all his energy, to the exclusion of other activities, had repetitive qualities, and was more about rote than meaning. Attwood’s (2007) own assessment tool also checks on sensory hypersensitivities, such as Paul’s level of distress at class noise levels. As has been shown, this diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome is a condition based on social rather than intellectual impairments. Such diagnostic information can therefore assist school guidance counsellors in more helpfully reframing the behaviour and motivation of students with Asperger’s Syndrome. A school guidance counsellor who is well informed about Asperger’s Syndrome is in a strong position to assist high school aged adolescents who present with such behaviours to gain the self-knowledge, social awareness, and behavioural strategies to successfully modify their own behaviour. In 250 counselling hours with 25 adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome, I focused on a number of areas in order to support them in adapting their behaviour to fit better with socially accepted conventions. Aspects of this work have included encouraging the students to develop their own unique motivation to change; discussing and recording their own knowledge of helpful and unhelpful behaviours; building a self-concept based on attributes and strengths rather than deficits; acquiring skills to better regulate emotions, thoughts, and behaviours; embedding personal safety and sustainable change through the education of the people

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around them; and building support networks with family, peers, school staff, and community members. Defining the client population and the behaviour

Research suggests that Asperger’s Syndrome may occur at rates as high as 1:100 (Ministry of Health, 2007), which would mean that approximately 26 adolescents fitting the diagnostic criteria might be among the 2600 students at the high school where I work—effectively, enough students to fill an entire classroom. The kinds of behaviour that caused concern in the cases of the two young men described above would not necessarily be characteristic of all such students. One study revealed that only 12% of its sample population—people with Asperger’s Syndrome—had exhibited “bizarre antisocial acts,” such as those shown by Gary and Paul (Wing, 1981). However, to label such behaviour as “disturbing” or “dangerous,” and the boys as legally culpable, would involve unfairly comparing these young men with Asperger’s Syndrome to their developmentally typical peers, as there was no intent in either situation to cause harm. Such a comparison is contrary to contemporary research findings, which suggest that people with Asperger’s Syndrome lack the requisite mens rea or criminal intent, and the intent to cause harm (Katz & Zemishlany, 2006), for such behaviours to be legally considered as “criminal.” I would argue that labelling these behaviours as “criminal,” or even as “dangerous” in this client population is, in narrative terms, a “thin” description which, through ignoring contextually relevant alternative discourses, can have tragic implications. It is also important to note that there are much lower rates of offending among people with Asperger’s Syndrome when compared to the general population (Attwood, 2007). “Thin” descriptions have negative effects on how others may perceive us, and how we perceive ourselves. They do a young person with Asperger’s Syndrome a disservice through focusing on perceived deficits. Such a deficit model can become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as evidence is gathered by self and others that supports the problematic discourse. When I think about the adolescents that I work with who have Asperger’s Syndrome, like Gary and Paul, I hold in mind the life story of a private client, John, with whom I have worked in the past. John is a man in his thirties with Asperger’s Syndrome, who presents as intelligent and personable. The lack of understanding of John’s functioning as a person with Asperger’s Syndrome meant that his behaviour was interpreted on the basis of “thin conclusions” as “troublesome” and “verbally

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aggressive,” and resulted in a life of unfulfilled potential, inadequate support, and nights in police cells. This cautionary tale illustrates the necessity for more accurate and sympathetic contextual understandings of the behaviour of people with Asperger’s Syndrome. John could instead have been framed as a man with sensitivities to noise and crowds, so that living alone rather than in community group placements would have reduced his stress. Had his verbal abruptness been understood as a common characteristic of people with Asperger’s Syndrome, he could have been referred for social skills support to organisations such as Autism NZ or Rainbow House in Auckland. Such interventions would represent examples of more understanding and supportive “thick” descriptions in action, instead of the judgemental attitudes and punitive treatment he so often received. Asperger’s Syndrome in the high school environment

Diagnostic material, such as is included in this article, can be used by school guidance counsellors to contextualise behaviour in the process of “thickening” descriptions about adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome. As the adolescent psychiatrist Werry (1988) has noted, diagnosis in the area of the autistic spectrum should guide us in determining the best treatment for a young person generally, including within the contexts of family and school. “Thick” descriptions are built out of alternative stories and meanings that can reduce the impact of problems, as well as creating opportunities for behavioural change and more positive readings of a person and their behaviour (Morgan, 2000). Developmental and school-specific contextual information can also support school guidance counsellors in working with students with Asperger’s Syndrome to build “thick conclusions” about themselves. This information can also be used to deconstruct the “thin” problem-based conclusions that others may have about them. Adolescence is a particularly challenging developmental stage for a young person with Asperger’s Syndrome. Subtle social nuances, which the adolescent with Asperger’s may not understand, become more important as adolescents individuate from their parents and build identity-forming peer relationships (Watkins, 2000). A self-identity built on “thin conclusions” around deficits is more likely for adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome, as they become more aware of their differences from their same-age peers. Those differences may elicit teasing. Teasing and bullying may hone in viciously on their differences, such as motor clumsiness, flat verbal intonation, obsessive special interests, and strict adherence to rules and routines (Haskins & Silva, 2006).

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A profound sense of isolation, difficulties in initiating social interactions, and unfulfilled desires for greater intimacy were common features when Muller, Schuler and Yates (2008) interviewed eighteen adults with Asperger’s Syndrome; and indeed, both Gary and Paul were isolated socially and very lonely. In addition, school staff members, peers, family members, and the adolescent with Asperger’s Syndrome may all struggle with the huge variances in the ability of the person with Asperger’s. For example, Paul was able to work on university-level mathematics at age fifteen, but could not tolerate being in the company of classmates for more than an hour. Factors such as social isolation and the likelihood of being the victim of bullying certainly must contribute to the very high rates of mental health problems in people with Asperger’s Syndrome, with as many as 80% having serious anxiety issues (Dasari, 2005). In turn, mood issues such as anxiety make it even more difficult to manage challenging emotions and to self-regulate impulsive behaviour when stressed, as in the case of Paul, or obsessive behaviour in the case of Gary. Therapeutic strategies for working with adolescents who have Asperger’s Syndrome

In my work as a school guidance counsellor with students who have Asperger’s Syndrome, I focus on two areas: the work in the counselling room with the young person, and the work outside of the room in gaining valuable information from families, linking with Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS), providing Asperger’s Syndrome-specific psycho-educational teaching and learning information for staff, and building support and resilience through expanding and deepening interpersonal community connections. A school guidance counsellor is in a unique position to perform these tasks, although there are many challenges, as will be explored later in this article. Motivational Interviewing

In my initial work in the counselling room with a student who has Asperger’s Syndrome, the focus is on making use of Motivational Interviewing techniques to build therapeutic rapport. Motivational Interviewing makes use of client-centred techniques, such as empathic reflection and open questions (Arkowitz & Miller, 2008), so that a young person feels heard and develops trust in the counsellor. Such factors are just as necessary for successful counselling with clients with Asperger’s Syndrome (Meyer, 2001) as they are with any other client. Dissonance between students’ current behaviour

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and their personal values is discussed, in order to encourage the contemplation of change (Arkowitz & Miller, 2008). With Paul and Gary, their behaviour was dissonant with their goals of fitting in with their peers. Because of this dissonance, they were both willing to contemplate making behaviour changes in order to avoid standing out, and to be better accepted by their peers. Motivational Interviewing guides the counsellor toward appropriate questions and strategies that encourage the adolescent to contemplate his or her own reasons to change. This approach acknowledges that clients are often ambivalent about changing; in this instance, Gary was very motivated to continue the behaviour due to his obsession with secret agents but also desired to fit in with his peers. By clarifying personal reasons for and against making changes, Arkowitz and Miller (2008) have shown that young people are less likely to resist change and often spontaneously begin developing plans for change. Solution-Focused Therapy

Another counselling modality that I use is Solution-Focused Therapy. Philosophically, like Motivational Interviewing, it also makes use of the position that young people with Asperger’s Syndrome have a lot of knowledge and understanding about their own lives that can be incorporated into supportive counselling and affirmed as a strength (Birdsall & Miller, 2002). I have used Solution-Focused questioning with people who have Asperger’s Syndrome and found it to be an effective approach. Clients are seen as the experts on their own lives, and may have strategies for keeping themselves safe while living in accordance with their own values about what is important for them (Birdsall & Miller, 2002). Questions are used to gather information about what has worked well and not so well in the past. I like to record information under headings such as friendships, school, family, and the community. This work provides the person, his family, and the school staff with a written resource that makes the most of the client’s strengths in visual learning (Attwood, 2007). The resource can be used as a tool to focus on what can be done to manage or prevent challenging situations. I like to suggest strategies that they may not have tried, drawn from information previously developed by other adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome. Such an approach has assisted a number of my clients in co-creating more positive “thick descriptions” about themselves. Confidence has developed as they focus on times when they have had

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a sense of agency in their lives, where they have been successful in managing their problem behaviours, and where past mistakes were reframed as learning experiences. The next stage of the counselling work focuses on learning new skills. Current evidence-based strategies

An important aspect of individual counselling with young people who have Asperger’s Syndrome focuses on skill development. Deficits in awareness and skills around recognising and regulating emotions and problem behaviours need to be identified and worked on directly. Attwood (2007) recommends adapting CBT strategies, using a method called Social Stories, and doing Attribute work in order to overcome these deficits and to support adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome in modifying their behaviour. His three-step CBT approach involves establishing a baseline for challenging moods and behaviour on visual analogues; providing psycho-education around how thoughts affect behaviour and can be self-defeating; and building a “toolbox” of strategies for cognitive restructuring, stress management, and self-reflection that have been well-practised. Social Stories is a tool whereby socially appropriate behaviour is clearly described and recorded for use in potentially challenging social situations. Social Stories was developed by Carol Gray (2000) and involves the counsellor’s writing a template for how a person can behave in socially appropriate ways in order to cope with a specific challenging situation. A social story gives people with Asperger’s Syndrome a template that they can, in effect, learn by rote and then follow to meet their own emotional and social needs in safe ways. I have written such stories down for another boy with Asperger’s, who wanted to find a girlfriend but did not recognise the behaviours that revealed whether a girl was or was not romantically interested in him. Because he did not know the appropriate behavioural steps, he would make unwanted advances. The social story helped him to avoid making such social errors in the future. Attribute work was developed by Attwood (2007), and I have found it a useful tool in building a broader sense of self that incorporates the many positive aspects of Asperger’s Syndrome. The activity involves going through a long list of generic human attributes and recording them as either Qualities or Difficulties. This is a structured way to identify the attributes of the people with Asperger’s Syndrome in order to build their own personal profile and identify the way they are affected by the syndrome. Students have often moved from the “thin description” of a deficit-based self-concept to a “thick description” that celebrates their abilities as being diverse and different, rather than defective.

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Dave McMillan

Building networks outside the counselling room

As well as providing individual counselling, school guidance counsellors can support students with Asperger’s Syndrome beyond the counselling room by advocating for them and educating others in the school community about Asperger’s. The role of the school counsellor can be pivotal in building networks to keep adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome safe from disproportionate consequences in response to behaviours such as those displayed by Gary and Paul. Extra-therapeutic factors such as social networks have been identified as accounting for up to 40% of the successful outcomes after clients enter counselling (Mallinckrodt, 1996). School guidance counsellors can liaise with families to gain valuable information in order to build a profile of an adolescent with Asperger’s Syndrome. Such a profile would include support systems, successful activities, and historically useful strategies for managing challenging emotions and eliminating problematic behaviours. School guidance counsellors can build relationships with the local CAMHS teams in order to gain support in managing any mood or medication issues, and for assistance with the education of school staff and families about Asperger’s Syndrome. A successful strategy I have used in schools is to work with students to build a list of teaching and learning strategies that have worked well for them in the past. This can provide a practical, useful resource for teachers to work from, in order to make minor modifications to their lessons. Such adaptations can have a positive effect on the learning of a student with Asperger’s Syndrome. The school guidance counsellor is often a key person for locating and liaising with community services. Autism NZ is generally a good place to start for locating services in each region of the country. Community groups that provide Asperger’s-specific services, such as social skills training, and general groups that can build on the special interests of adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome, can nurture important skills, self-esteem, and social networks. Such an approach wraps supports around people with Asperger’s Syndrome in a way that will serve them well and will continue to keep them safe when they have moved beyond the secondary school environment. The school guidance counsellor, in my experience, can be a key person in the location and coordination of services and interventions for the benefit of students with Asperger’s Syndrome. Challenges that may arise in counselling adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome

There are potential challenges for school counsellors in undertaking the complex and labour-intensive tasks that have been outlined here as a possible template for

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supporting adolescent students with Asperger’s Syndrome. The first challenge in need of consideration is the adverse counsellor-to-student ratios in New Zealand high schools—for example, 1:750 in my school. Finding the necessary time to work in the way that is recommended here may be impossible when having to make time allocation judgements based on current caseloads and levels of risk. Such a preventative model may not always be realistic. Developing trusting relationships with adolescents who have Asperger’s Syndrome also presents a challenge to school guidance counsellors. Trust is built slowly, as they may have a lifetime of negative experiences with helping professionals (Meyer, 2001). With students I have counselled, these negative experiences have included late or incorrect diagnoses, being prescribed medications with unwanted side effects, broken promises, and not being included in the development of their own care plans. As part of this trust-building process, I let the student choose the length of the session; ten minutes was all that was manageable initially with one boy, who now works with me for an hour. Letting the student set the agenda builds trust and is a reparative experience. With another student, we might talk for 50 minutes about his special interest topic of aeroplanes, and the ten minutes of therapeutic counselling is gently interwoven with that more motivating material. Another challenge I have faced in my work with students who have Asperger’s Syndrome can be working with a family system that is under pressure or overwhelmed due to years of conflict, isolation from friends and family, self-blame, and worries about the future (Hornby, 1992). A sympathetic and helpful school guidance counsellor can be seen as a “rescuing hero.” This can potentially lead to the counsellor becoming overly responsible for positive outcomes in challenging circumstances. Keeping a focus on wrapping a number of support people and services around adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome and their families may enable some of the tasks associated with keeping the students safe to be shared more widely. This may prevent the counsellor becoming enmeshed or feeling overly responsible for outcomes. Final words

The young people whose experiences I have discussed in this article serve to illustrate how unusual behaviours by students with Asperger’s Syndrome can be framed as being “dangerous” and how such a label can have adverse consequences. Such a “thin” description does not take into account the broader contextual information about Asperger’s Syndrome that can explain the behaviour in ways that will not have such

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negative impacts on the lives of these adolescents. School guidance counsellors can play a key role in supporting this client group in learning the skills they need to enable them to modify their behaviour appropriately. An eclectic, integrated approach is recommended for school guidance counsellors in order to support adolescents with Asperger’s Syndrome in staying safe. Strategies from Motivational Interviewing, Solution-Focused Therapy, and evidence-based methods, as well as extra-therapeutic factors, such as family support and linking with community groups, can be usefully incorporated. My experience suggests that such an approach is effective and worthwhile, despite the challenges this very labour-intensive approach presents for “time-poor” school guidance counsellors in New Zealand secondary schools. References

Arkowitz, H., & Miller, W. R. (2008). Learning, applying, and extending motivational interviewing. In H. Arkowitz, H. A. Westra, W. R. Miller, & S. Rollnick (Eds.), Motivational interviewing in the treatment of psychological problems (pp. 1–26). New York: Guilford. Attwood, A. (2007). The complete guide to Asperger’s Syndrome. London: Jessica Kingsley. Baron-Cohen, S. (2003). The essential difference: Men, women, and the extreme male brain. London: Allen Lane. Bauer, S. (1996). Asperger Syndrome. Retrieved April 18, 2007, from www.udel.edu/bkirby/ asperger/as_thru_years.html Berney, T. (2004). Asperger syndrome from childhood into adulthood. Advances in Psychiatric Treatment, 10, 341–351. Birdsall, B. A., & Miller, L. D. (2002, October). Brief counselling in the schools: A solutionfocused approach for school counsellors. Counseling and Human Development. Retrieved April 18, 2007, from http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qa3934/is_200210/ai_n9111337/ Dasari, M. (2005). Asperger’s syndrome and anxiety. Retrieved April 18, 2007, from www.aboutourkids.org/aboutour/articles/aspergers_syndrome_and_anxiety.html Gillberg, C. (1991). Clinical and neurobiological aspects of Asperger Syndrome in six family studies. In U. Frith (Ed.), Autism and Asperger Syndrome (pp. 122–146). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gray, C. (2000). The new social story book: Illustrated edition. Arlington, TX: Future Horizons. Haskins, B. G., & Silva, J. A. (2006). Asperger’s Disorder and criminal behaviour: Forensicpsychiatric considerations. Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law, 34, 374–384. Hornby, G. (1992). Counselling family members of people with disabilities. In S. E. Robertson & R. I. Brown (Eds.), Rehabilitation counselling: Approaches in the field of disability (pp. 176–201). Bury St Edmonds: Chapman and Hall.

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Katz, N., & Zemishlany, Z. (2006). Criminal responsibility in Asperger’s Syndrome. Israel Journal of Psychiatry and Related Sciences, 43(3), 166–173. Mallinckrodt, B. (1996). Change in working alliance, social support and psychological symptoms in brief therapy. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 43(4), 448–455. Meyer, R. N. (2001). Establishing the working relationship: Observations on counsellor sensitivity to the dynamics of counselling with Asperger Syndrome adults. Retrieved September 4, 2007, from http://www.rogernmeyer.com/counseling_articles_establing_the_working_ relationship.html Ministry of Health. (2007). Draft evidence-based guidelines for autism spectrum disorder. Retrieved September 24, 2007, from http://www.moh.govt.nz/moh.nsf/pagesmh/5597/ $File/draft-asd-guideline-jan007.doc Morgan, A. (2000). What is narrative therapy? An easy-to-read introduction. Adelaide: Dulwich. Muller, E., Schuler, A., & Yates, G. B. (2008). Social challenges and supports from the perspective of individuals with Asperger syndrome and other autism spectrum disabilities. Autism: The International Journal of Research & Practice, 12(2), 173–190. Watkins, C. E. (2000). Asperger’s disorder. Retrieved April 18, 2007, from http://www. baltimorepsych.com/aspergers.htm Werry, J. S. (1988). Diagnostic classification for the clinician. In E. Shopler & G. B. Mesibov (Eds.), Diagnosis and assessment in autism (pp. 49–58). New York: Plenum Press. Wing, L. (1981). Asperger syndrome: A clinical account. Psychological Medicine, 11(1), 115–129. Winslade, J. M., & Monk, G. D. (2007). Narrative counselling in schools: Powerful and brief. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press.

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Possibilities and Limits of Cross-disciplinary Supervision An Exploratory Study Kathie Crocket, Fran Cahill, Paul Flanagan, John Franklin, Robyn McGill, Ange Stewart, Mary Whalan, and Diane Mulcahy

Abstract This small, qualitative New Zealand study explored some of the limitations and possibilities of cross-disciplinary supervision. It was based on semi-structured interviews with six supervisors from the fields of counselling, social work, and psychology, who supervised a wide range of other professionals in private practice and in health settings. Identified benefits of cross-disciplinary supervision include the sharing of knowledge between disciplines, and the potential decentring of supervisor knowledge. Cross-disciplinary supervision was represented as a diverse range of practices, depending upon the careful and skilled negotiation of agreements, including the acknowledgement of professional and organisational mandates and accountabilities. Two areas of potential further study are identified: the extent to which counsellors and counselling supervisors participate in cross-disciplinary supervision, and the effects that counsellor registration may entail for cross-disciplinary supervision.

Two apparently contradictory directions are current in supervision. In one direction, supervision has come to be understood as a discipline in its own right. This direction produces the possibility of inter-disciplinary, or cross-disciplinary, supervision. In the second direction, professional regulation and membership have come to require predominantly within-discipline supervision. Within counselling, there has been little exploration of these apparently contradictory directions. This article begins by outlining each direction, before exploring the limited literature on cross-disciplinary supervision.

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Supervision is increasingly promoted as a generic activity, with frameworks that apply across theoretical differences and across disciplines (Bernard & Goodyear, 2009; Carroll, 1996; Holloway, 1995), and as a profession in its own right (Grauel, 2004). In New Zealand, inter-professional interests in supervision were highlighted by way of two national supervision conferences (see Beddoe & Worrall, 2001; Beddoe, Worrall, & Howard, 2005) that brought together a wide range of health and social service professionals. Cross-disciplinary supervision occurs in a range of contexts: peer supervision groups within agency settings include practitioners from a range of disciplines; supervisors in private practice offer supervision to those from other disciplines; and within health settings where multi-disciplinary teams are commonplace, interdisciplinary supervision is also common. Both in New Zealand and internationally, it is mostly social workers who have written about various aspects of new developments in cross-disciplinary supervision (Davys & Beddoe, 2008; O’Donoghue, 2004; Simmons, Moroney, Mace, & Shepherd, 2007). O’Donoghue attributed the emergence of cross-disciplinary supervision to developments in collaborative practice in health and social services, along with the separation of clinical and management functions in social work, and the growth of private practice in supervision. Participants in an inter-professional supervision education programme suggested that they benefited from exposure to a greater breadth of knowledge (Davys & Beddoe, 2008). At the same time as these apparently collaborative moves towards inter-disciplinary supervision, the regulatory environment—including membership policy changes within the New Zealand Association of Counsellors (NZAC), the membership requirements of the Aotearoa New Zealand Association of Social Workers (ANZASW), and the Health Practitioners Competence Assurance Act (2003)—tends to create a counter direction, toward within-profession supervision. Regulation of the health and helping professions in New Zealand requires professional groups to articulate scopes of practice in an attempt to make clear distinctions between the professional practices of each group (Cornforth, 2006). These processes have the potential to heighten inter-professional rivalries and claims to hierarchy: each professional group claims exclusive practices which compete with the claims of other groups. One possible consequence of moves towards solidifying distinctions between professional groups is the construction of supervision as a discipline-specific task, one that can be properly undertaken only with a senior within-profession supervisor. Moving supervision towards exclusivity may have effects that do not benefit practitioners or their clients. For example, without access to cross-disciplinary supervision, rural

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practitioners’ supervision options are more limited (Webb, 2006); professions might lose the contribution of experienced supervisors who currently identify with more than one profession, while having only one professional membership; and the options of those seeking modality match will also be limited. The literature we identified explored cross-disciplinary supervision where there was, variously, a commonality of setting, typically health (Hyrkas, AppelqvistSchmidlechner, & Paunonen-Ilmonen, 2002; Mullarkey, Keeley, & Playle, 2001; Rains, 2007), of client group (Thomasgard & Collins, 2003), or of practice modality, and thus of values (Townend, 2005). An inter-disciplinary model taught in an inter-disciplinary supervision programme was the focus of Davys and Beddoe’s (2008) New Zealand study. Questions arise about what kinds of common ground are needed for effective cross-disciplinary supervision, and how these grounds are established. The literature offers some possible responses to these questions. Practitioners need guidelines for negotiating the complexities of cross-disciplinary supervision, suggested O’Donoghue (2004) and Simmons et al. (2007). O’Donoghue proposed two sets of guidelines, one for social work practitioners, and the other for supervisors of social workers. He suggested that cross-disciplinary supervision be undertaken in addition to within-profession supervision, for example, and that it should be agreed to by the employing organisation. A set of practice recommendations offered by Townend (2005) included familiarity with each other’s professional code; knowledge of each other’s professional background; transparent acknowledgement of difference in status; and a common theoretical base. Describing cross-disciplinary supervision in a district health board (DHB) setting as an aspect of a clinical supervision strategy, Rains (2007) identified a number of benefits. These benefits appear to have been founded on an overall strategy of education in supervision, for those participating both as practitioners and as supervisors. Interdisciplinary supervisor development groups were formed to strengthen supervisor practice. These supervisors used Davys’ (2001) reflective learning model of supervision, which Rains suggested is applicable across disciplines as it is “clear,” with a “process able to be followed without difficulty by supervisors” (p. 62). Like Rains, Mullarkey et al. (2001) wrote in terms of the value of a “shared philosophy of care” (p. 210) among those participating in cross-disciplinary supervision in their own workplace setting. The literature cited here focuses mainly on inter-disciplinary settings and teams. It offers little guidance to those in private practice who supervise across disciplinary differences. This absence is significant: Copeland (2000) noted the different challenges of supervision in organisational and private practice contexts. For counselling, there is

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a second absence: little is known about the extent to which counsellors in New Zealand participate in cross-disciplinary supervision, as practitioners and as supervisors, and what the possibilities and constraints might be. This study set out to investigate the perspectives of supervisors who offer crossdisciplinary supervision, and to consider possible implications for counsellors who offer cross-disciplinary supervision, or participate in such supervision as practitioners. These were the research questions: • What is enabled by cross-disciplinary supervision? • What is constrained by cross-disciplinary supervision? Research method

The study was undertaken by students and teachers within a postgraduate counselling supervision programme, the university having granted ethical approval for the project. Participant privacy and identifiability was one ethical consideration. In response, in this article we have used random initials in naming each participant. We employed qualitative inquiry strategies (Burman, 1994; McLeod, 2001; Reissman, 2008). Semi-structured interviews (Appendix 1) with supervisors who were experienced in cross-disciplinary supervision generated the data for the study. Interviews were audio-recorded for transcribing by each researcher. Supervisors were identified from each researcher’s professional networks. A number of interviews were across disciplinary differences. Table 1 shows the professional identities of researchers and participants, and participants’ settings and qualifications. Table 1: Professional identities, settings, and supervision qualifications Researcher

Participant

Participant: Primary setting for supervision practice

Participant: Supervision qualifications

Nurse educator

Social worker

Mental health DHB

CIT/Weltec1 through DHB; Grad Cert (ACE/UoA)2

Plunket nurse

Clinical psychologist

Health DHB (contract)

CIT/Weltec through DHB

Counsellor

Social worker

Health DHB

Grad Cert (ACE/UoA)2

Spiritual director

Counsellor

Private practice

Counsellor

Private practice

Counsellor

Counsellor/ psychologist

Private practice

1. Central Institute of Technology/Wellington Institute of Technology 2. Auckland College of Education/The University of Auckland

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

ACC case manager Career practitioner Chaplain—armed services Child therapist Counsellor Counsellor/social worker/residential GP/doctor Lawyer Manager Mental health nurse Mental health support worker Minister of religion—parish Needs assessor Nurse Occupational therapist Physiotherapist Probation officer Psychologist Psychiatric registrar Social worker/counsellor Social worker Speech and language therapist Stopping violence workers & facilitators Victim support workers Volunteer—human rights support

Practitioners

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X X

X X X X

Social worker (health setting) SP

Supervisors Counsellor/ registered psychologist [does supervision & counselling] (private practice) EN

X X X

X (+ students) X

Counsellor (school setting & private practice) GF

Counsellor (former social worker) (private practice) WR

X X X

Social worker (mental health setting & private practice) BT

X (+ students) X

Clinical psychologist (health setting— contract) KA

Table 2: Cross-disciplinary supervision: Who we talked to (supervisors) and who they supervise (practitioners)

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Possibilities and Limits of Cross-disciplinary Supervision

The three counsellors in our study all supervised in private practice (external supervision); the two social workers and one psychologist supervised in DHB settings, the social workers offering internal supervision and the psychologist being contracted to offer “embedded” supervision (Costanzo & Ungar, 2007). Participants had engaged in supervision with a wide range of practitioners—including social services, health, pastoral ministry, administration, law, and the voluntary sector—as Table 2 shows. The transcript texts became familiar to us as a research group through a series of individual and shared readings. Our purpose was to position ourselves in dialogue with the accounts of supervision as told in the transcript texts. This dialogue included individually written responses, and conversations with each other in pairs and as a group, where we accounted for what we were finding significant. We engaged particularly with resonance and dissonance among: the different transcripts; our readings of and responses to the transcripts; the ideas offered by participants in similar settings; the ideas offered by participants from the same professional group; participants’ ideas; and our own professional experiences. One challenge was to maintain inquiry when a participant represented our profession in ways dissonant with our own experience. A second challenge was to refrain from generalisations when there was resonance between participant perspectives: we had interviewed only six supervisors. Valuing both resonance and dissonance, we began to identify particular stories of inter-disciplinary supervision, rising up out of the layers of our dialogic engagements with the research data. Results

We report fragments of these stories, organised around four themes: the benefits of cross-disciplinary supervision; entering the contracting process; contracting for accountabilities; and the limits of cross-disciplinary supervision. 1. Benefits of cross-disciplinary supervision

Participants spoke of a range of benefits of cross-disciplinary supervision—for the practitioners and their practice, for the practitioners’ organisations, and for the supervisors themselves. A number of participants spoke about how their “outsidedness” (EN) contributed to the supervisory work. Distance from the discipline offered positions of inquiry to the supervisors so that systems and practices were not taken for granted:

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It [disciplinary difference] does keep me from presuming, perhaps it keeps me from being able to collude with the kind of powerful ways of looking at things [that are familiar]. (WR) What I can offer them is the ability to not over-connect with their stories.… I don’t know the answers so it gives me the ability to really be the naïve inquirer, which helps them really think about what they do know. (SP) Some participants reported that their own disciplinary skills enhanced the practice of other professionals. My social work practice was enabling those other two disciplines [nursing and occupational therapy] to start broadening their particular perspectives. (BT) …a number of social work students felt that there was a gap around the skills of building effective consultative, collaborative conversations with clients and with families. A number of them said, “Where do we go now to get that?” And I can imagine a social worker who is new to the practice, on having that experience then saying, “Well, OK, so maybe what I need is some counselling supervision.” (GF) …working [from a social work perspective] with the mental health nurse…she was no longer focusing on the individual but was actually starting to involve bringing in the family/whanau as part of the therapeutic practice. (BT) Enhancing the skills of practitioners also had institutional and organisational effects. SP suggested that cross-disciplinary supervision steps outside familiar hierarchies in other health professions: There was a lot of hierarchical stuff in nursing that kind of meant that supervision didn’t work because of all that fear…the feeling that they are being watched, assessed, judged in some way…there is that historical fear.… [N]urses have started asking for supervision that is actually attending to the building of relationship, to addressing the issues that are present…really emphasising the importance that supervision is first and foremost a relationship.… We have made a lot of progress with that. WR also identified possibilities for changing institutional practices. He suggested that cross-disciplinary supervision might offer practitioners the means to critique practices of power relating to gender, religion, and culture—“the power structures and the patriarchy in those sorts of churches.”

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It [institutional practice] has to do with knowledges and which knowledges get privileged and which don’t.… I find that people very easily give away their own sense of integrity—that may not be the right word. Power? Knowledge? Knowing!—and almost not even notice they have knowing…when their own knowing doesn’t kind of align with some of the dominant ideas…about how to run a funeral or what you should do on a hospital visit.… I love helping a person find what actually they do and why they do it and what that relates to in terms of their own intentions. BT identified ways in which supervision across disciplines had effects on overall team work when the practitioners worked in a multidisciplinary team context: “We were able to start looking at how that particular nurse’s practice acted on other parts of the team and the areas they overlapped in and how to resolve some of the tensions.” Within an organisational context, SP suggested that training in the use of supervision as part of the development of an organisational culture contributes to the value of cross-disciplinary supervision: Training the supervisors is really important. And training supervisees on how to get the most from supervision so that they are really informed. It kind of addresses some of that power imbalance so they know what to expect and if they don’t get it they have learnt some skills to ask for it. Disciplinary difference also offered positions of inquiry for GF: For me just to be able to keep the question…what else is important for me to know here?… I am absolutely the non-expert in that context…that’s also a benefit, because it keeps me really, really in that position of not knowing—and therefore alert to asking and checking. GF later described this positioning: …[it’s] not that much different from the benefits I see in working with clients: of taking me into worlds that I don’t know about—and expand my thinking, and challenge maybe, some ideas that I might have that need to be open to review. And I think that that’s quite an important aspect—how I as a supervisor, as a practitioner, as a teacher of this work, continually put myself in a position of being open to review what the work is about.

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The range of perspectives on benefits was diverse. For example, GF identified disciplinary difference as having the potential to teach her as a supervisor, while BT’s statements emphasised that social work perspectives benefit other health professions. 2. Entering the contracting process

Participants all referred to the contracting process, suggesting variously that contracts should outline reciprocal roles, accountabilities, commitments, and expectations. However, contracting was given different emphases by different participants. Speaking about what was a new area for her, cross-disciplinary supervision of a human rights volunteer, GF said: To begin with we did a lot of talking about what it [supervision] might look like because neither of us was very sure [about] how we would manage the process, and to negotiate what supervision was. What, if anything, should go elsewhere and who we were being accountable to? In the absence of a shared professional code, “fit” was found through “the principles that we shared in common…the principles of social justice and equity.” Also addressing the practice of working for shared understandings when practitioners come from diverse professions, EN reported: …more thorough[ness] in the contracting phase. In finding out what they want, speaking more openly, more thoroughly, about what could get in the way of the cross-disciplinary nature of the relationship; and ensuring that I am clear about what they are wanting. Because I think, especially people who haven’t had the experience of supervision might have some notions about [supervision] that might not match what I see my role being. Really breaking it down and fine tuning, and getting that alignment. I think it takes more time. I encourage there to be more time than…with a matching discipline. In a DHB setting, SP also gives time to negotiating a working agreement so that there are shared understandings of what supervision offers: When we contract, I will probably spend a couple of sessions really looking at how we are going to work together, what our expectations are, where difficulties might arise in terms of what I may or may not know [about their professional field] and what we are going to do about that.

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KA also supervised, on contract, in a DHB health setting. As she spoke about supervision contracts, there was less emphasis on the process of negotiation. Rather, she spoke in terms of a contract that “defines.” Showing the researcher the alreadyprepared contract she uses, she reported: We always have a contract. It defines confidentiality; it defines expectations, so that you know what you are actually wanting from each other. So I have got practical details; I’ve got operation fees, that kind of thing; emergency consultations when needed; grievance process when there is dissatisfaction on either side; values governing the process, the sort of supervision process governed by confidentiality and mutual respect and so on; and then the supervisor’s accountability; the supervisee’s accountability; and then the content is following the TAPES model; if you have clients at risk; discussion of caseload. Whether through defining or negotiating, participants represented effective contracting as being critical for cross-disciplinary supervision. 3. Contracting for accountabilities

There was considerable variation in the frameworks for accountability of which participants spoke. GF noted the importance of clarifying accountabilities in cross-disciplinary supervision: What’s the usefulness of coming to someone like me with a counselling background—how might that enhance your social work practice? How else does your social work practice remain accountable and ethical? “An out clause” in the contract was BT’s term for his sense of responsibility to take action when practitioners are considered to be “working in a dangerous or unsatisfactory way.” BT presented his same-profession responsibilities, in such a situation, as reporting to the professional advisor of social work, and his cross-profession responsibilities to a generic team leader. BT distinguished between, on the one hand, “professional supervision” of other social workers with whom he shares a code of ethics and, on the other hand, more limited “clinical supervision,” focusing only on client work, for other professionals. In his experience, where there was no shared professional code, accountabilities in supervision were shaped by an organisation’s code of practice, policies, and processes, along with the Ministry of Health’s Mental Health Sector Standards.

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BT also indicated his preference for using the ANZASW Code of Ethics with other health professionals, suggesting that it is “more encompassing” and “works better within a bi-cultural code.” His comment was that the counselling code “was significantly light…and still very much within a dominant mono-cultural type perspective.” He further commented that “initially, with Mental Health nursing and OT, a part of the agreement associated with taking up supervision was that I have a copy of their code of ethics—and each brought a copy to the first few sessions—and see how they could be enhanced by the social work code of ethics.” In order to understand the ethical responsibilities of those she supervises, EN also encourages them to bring their code of ethics: “Together we could look through and see in what way the code might guide or inform or support them in their work.” At the same time, she spoke of hesitation in offering guidance based on codes of professions other than her own: …that is like the technical part of their work, in a sense. Whilst I can provide a forum for them to consider their code and what it might mean to them, I think it would be better for them to have someone from their profession to support them to interpret their code. KA also reported referring to the practitioner’s professional code: “…in the end we always have to go back to that, what are your professional ethics in your professional group?” Asked about being drawn, as a supervisor, into the web of responsibility for client practice, KA replied: “I haven’t thought about that because really it [cross-disciplinary supervision] is about empowering the particular clinical professional to do the best they can.” For KA, accountability includes having notes of the session, and “producing paper work,” mindful of audit. These diverse comments raise a central question for cross-disciplinary supervision. BT represents it as focused largely on overseeing clinical competence, while for SP, WR, GF, and EN, cross-disciplinary supervision is largely for professional development: I don’t want to be supervised by a motor mechanic who only knows about spark plugs. I want to be supervised by someone who knows about personal identity, knows about what it means to be human, what it means to be a reflective person— someone that can do some stuff and then stand back and look at it and wonder what it means. Someone who’s other-centred and benevolent. (WR)

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She [another professional] had asked for supervision from another discipline and she seemed really excited at the possibility that this might be for her development. (SP) In contrast to BT’s practice in a health setting with an emphasis on sector standards and codes of ethics, GF supervised, in private practice, a social justice activist with no codified external framework. Cross-disciplinary supervision, as represented by our participants, thus encompasses a range of accountabilities. This diversity points to the importance of the clear negotiation of agreements to produce shared understandings of responsibilities, and at least some sense of “alignment” of purpose, if crossdisciplinary supervision is to produce benefits for practitioners and those they work with. 4. Limitations of cross-disciplinary supervision

Participants identified limitations to cross-disciplinary supervision—differences between codes of ethics; working with students and new graduates; limited knowledge of the cultures of other professions; as well as the potential involvement of line management in the absence of shared professional lines of responsibility. KA’s was the exception to this account. Asked if she saw any limits to the practice of cross-disciplinary supervision she replied: I honestly haven’t encountered them yet. As a psychologist, I believe psychology is just a life skill that applies to old, young, male, female. A few people would probably say that the limits would be culture.… I see psychology to be pretty universal. As we have noted earlier, cross-disciplinary supervision involves negotiating different ethical codes. BT commented: “…it’s very difficult to work across codes…” EN suggested that supervisors are limited in interpreting codes of ethics of other disciplines and thought that this should be the task of senior members within that profession. Some participants were clear that they preferred not to work across disciplines with new graduates or while students were in training. I wouldn’t be supervising new graduates from other disciplines.… I think that’s developmental stuff. (SP) I think there might be certain circumstances where the same-discipline supervision would be mandated…when somebody is new to New Zealand, if somebody is a new grad, or if there are performance issues. (SP)

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People in training.… I wouldn’t advocate [cross-disciplinary supervision] for people in training because there’s a mentoring, training component in supervision. (WR) These reflections point to the value of disciplinary-specific knowledge within supervision. As WR put it, there are two emphases, the first evoking shared experiences and the second related to practical knowledge: I think that sometimes people do need someone from within the trade to simply go, “I’ve been here” as well. …institutional knowledges, or trade knowledges, which I guess can help support someone, I can’t offer that.… You know that idea of being supervised by someone in the trade.… The nuts and bolts of it? So, a little bit more like the apprentice model. (WR) GF commented, “I don’t know what I don’t know about the context, the particular context that the work is taking place in.” The narrower responsibilities of a cross-disciplinary supervisor were commented on by BT, as he distinguished clinical from professional supervision: “I think it’s very hard and probably would be inappropriate to do professional supervision or [to supervise] in terms of a professional framework [with non-social workers].” He went on to suggest that in professional supervision with a social worker, he would look at career development, and he would address aspects that …[the practitioner] could not see [themselves] and I would probably start working on a recommendation of possible future training, in-service, or professional development that the social worker could do to compensate or cover areas that are concerns for me as supervisor. In cross-disciplinary supervision, his supervisory focus was limited to clinical practice with clients. Although acknowledging that she didn’t have expertise in the “content area,” EN suggested that other professionals came to her for supervision, not for “those technical, clinical things in their job” but for “the relational component in their work.” It is not always possible to draw clear disciplinary distinctions. Both GF and BT indicated that they were currently supervising practitioners with combined social work/counselling roles: I would feel comfortable in providing supervision [for the person with] the 0.5 social work role and 0.5 counselling role, but NZAC is saying that person should have a

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counsellor [as supervisor].… ANZASW is saying that [the supervisor] must be a social worker—which is the reason I was brought in by the agency. (BT) Discussion

While we would be very cautious in drawing any conclusions about cross-disciplinary supervision on the basis of such limited data, we offer some comments about what we learned. There was a distinction between counselling supervisors and others in terms of the site of practice. The three counsellors in our study all supervised in private practice; the two social workers and one psychologist supervised in DHB settings. These differences have effects for what is contracted, and how, and thus for the processes of cross-disciplinary supervision. A linked difference is that the counsellors supervised mostly social service practitioners and small numbers of health professionals, and the three non-counsellors mostly supervised a wider range of health professionals. The question arises, perhaps, about the potential effects of counselling becoming registered as a health profession (NZAC, 2008): might registration offer counsellors opportunities to supervise a wider range of health professionals? A further inquiry is also suggested: a national, profession-wide study of counselling supervision, such as O’Donoghue, Munford and Trlin’s (2006) study of New Zealand social work supervision, might include investigation of the sites of counsellors’ supervision practices and the professions with which counsellors experience quality supervision. Within-group differences were a further point of interest, drawing attention to Grauel’s (2004) point that there are multiple, competing versions of supervision. For example, SP and BT are both social workers, engaged in inter-disciplinary supervision in health settings. Both suggested that inter-disciplinary supervision contributes to the development of other professionals. But from BT, working with the particular responsibilities of a mental health setting, we learned clearly of the actions that he would take, as supervisor, to respond to “dangerous or unsatisfactory practice,” both in same-discipline and inter-disciplinary supervision. The terms of the regulatory environment strongly flavoured our reading of the BT transcript. For SP, however, the regulatory environment of the health sector seemed much more in the background, although she said that workers she supervises are “dealing with life and death.” Opportunities for supervision to provide professional development for other professionals, rather than limited clinical oversight, were much more to the fore in her descriptions of inter-disciplinary supervision. SP expressed an overall preference for supervising disciplines other than her own: in inter-disciplinary

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supervision she experienced “more freshness.” However, for BT, same-discipline supervision, with a shared social work code, produced fewer dilemmas. These within-profession contrasts again point to the importance of the exploratory phase of contracting in supervision. Cross-disciplinary supervision, we suggest, will be productive as a result of thoroughly talking through, agreeing to, and regularly reviewing the purposes and effects of the practice for each unique situation in its professional and employment context. Relevant to contracting is the matter of the mandate for supervision. In the case of those supervising in DHB health settings, supervision was mandated by practitioners’ professions, employers, or Ministry of Health sector standards: these mandates produced the accountability. The counsellors’ private practice settings and the range of practitioners with whom they engaged in supervision took the matter of mandates and accountabilities into different territories. Some supervision relationships that had been contracted by counselling supervisors may have been based more on a covenantal relationship (Axten, 2004) where the external mandate was less clear: a human rights activist, a lawyer, a manager, for example. Shaped by covenantal considerations, the emphasis appears to have been on the individual agreement and the supervisor’s code of ethics, rather than the practitioner’s organisational or professional requirements. Distinctions among different forms of supervision in the counsellors’ accounts, however, tended to be muted rather than sharply defined. Nonetheless, we suggest that it is worth asking, where there is no professional or organisational mandate, whether the practice is always appropriately called “supervision.” Is any privately contracted reflection on practice “supervision”? For example, we attempted to use the idea of a duty of care for clients as distinguishing supervision from consultation offered to other professionals who wish to reflect on their work. However, the term duty of care carries overlapping legal and moral implications which troubled attempts at distinction. We conclude that there are limits to our language: these data offer the reflection that the word “supervision” is expected to do a great deal of work. Again, we return to the significance of individual supervision agreements, and wider professional and employment contexts, in shaping practice foci for cross-disciplinary supervision. A noteworthy potential contribution of cross-disciplinary supervision is its view from “elsewhere,” from outside the discipline. This view can offer inquiry that disturbs what is taken for granted, at a wider within-profession level, within organisations, and by individual practitioners. There is also the matter of “fit” and shared philosophy that

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echoes among Mullarkey et al. (2001), Rains (2007), and GF—“the principles that we shared in common…the principles of social justice and equity.” These values that GF names also stand at the centre of the NZAC Code of Ethics (NZAC, 2002): we suggest that cross-disciplinary supervision founded on these values would serve the profession of counselling well. Conclusion

Central to cross-disciplinary supervision is the matter of mandate, whatever the professions of the parties or the sites of practice. Mandates will be both individual and professional/organisational. In some situations, the professional and organisational mandate and accountability is the central focus, while in others the focus is the individual worker and the unique supervision contract. As supervisors and practitioners explore the purpose of each cross-disciplinary supervision arrangement, it would seem important, then, to clearly negotiate the focus. It may be useful to explore the possibilities of employing distinctions that have been commonly used or more recently introduced into some social service practice—clinical supervision, professional supervision, cultural supervision, administrative supervision, personal supervision, or consultative supervision, for example. The reverberations of resonance and dissonance between accounts of cross-disciplinary supervision in our study, we suggest, are likely to echo out into professional practice. We call it all supervision, the diverse supervisions these six supervisors engage in. And we all call it supervision across different disciplines, even when it seems to be a very different practice. Thus, cross-disciplinary supervision requires practitioners and supervisors to engage in distinguishing together the particular emphasis of the supervision work they are agreeing to do together. With good will, too, crossdisciplinary supervision might enhance inter-professional respect.

References

Axten, D. (2004). The development of supervision ethics. In M. McMahon & W. Patton (Eds.), Supervision in the helping professions: A practical approach (pp. 105–116). Frenchs Forest, NSW: Prentice Hall. Beddoe, L., & Worrall, J. (Eds.). (2001). Supervision: From rhetoric to reality. Conference proceedings. Auckland: Auckland College of Education. Beddoe, L., Worrall, J., & Howard, F. (Eds.). (2005). Weaving together the strands of supervision. Conference proceedings. Auckland: Faculty of Education, The University of Auckland.

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Bernard, J. M., & Goodyear, R. K. (2009). Fundamentals of clinical supervision (4th ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Merrill. Burman, E. (1994). Interviewing. In P. Banister, E. Burman, I. Parker, M. Taylor, & C. Tindall (Eds.), Qualitative methods in psychology (pp. 49–71). Buckingham: Oxford University Press. Carroll, M. (1996). Counselling supervision: Theory, skills and practice. London: Cassell. Copeland, S. (2000). New challenges for supervising in organisation contexts. In B. Lawton & C. Feltham (Eds.), Taking supervision forward: Enquiries and trends in counselling and psychotherapy (pp. 162–174). London: Sage. Cornforth, S. (2006). A discursive approach to the registration debate. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 26(3), 1–15. Costanzo, L., & Ungar, M. (2007). Supervision challenges when supervisors are outside supervisees’ agencies. Journal of Systemic Therapies, 26(2), 68–83. Davys, A. (2001). A reflective learning process for supervision. In L. Beddoe & J. Worrall (Eds.), Supervision: From rhetoric to reality. Conference proceedings (pp. 87–98). Auckland: Auckland College of Education. Davys, A., & Beddoe, L. (2008). Interprofessional learning for supervision: “Taking the blinkers off.” Learning in Health and Social Care, 8(1), 58–69. Grauel, T. (2004). Professional oversight: The neglected histories of supervision. In M. McMahon & W. Patton (Eds.), Supervision in the helping professions: A practical approach (pp. 3–16). Frenchs Forest, NSW: Prentice Hall. Holloway, E. (1995). Clinical supervision: A systems approach. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Hyrkas, K., Appelqvist-Schmidlechner, K., & Paunonen-Ilmonen, M. (2002). Expert supervisors’ views of clinical supervision: A study of factors promoting and inhibiting the achievements of multiprofessional team supervision. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 38(4), 387–397. McLeod, J. (2001). Qualitative research in counselling and psychotherapy. London: Sage. Mullarkey, K., Keeley, P., & Playle, J. F. (2001). Multiprofessional clinical supervision: Challenges for mental health nurses. Journal of Psychiatric & Mental Health Nursing, 8 (3), 205–211. New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2002). Code of ethics: A framework for ethical practice. New Zealand Association of Counsellors operating manual (pp. 37–51). Hamilton: Author. New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2008, April). Special registration newsletter. Hamilton: Author. O’Donoghue, K. (2004). Social workers and cross-disciplinary supervision. Social Work Review, 16(3), 2–7. O’Donoghue, K., Munford, R., & Trlin, A. (2006). What’s best about social work supervision according to Association members. Social Work Review, 18(3), 79–92.

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Rains, E. (2007). Interdisciplinary supervisor development in a community health service. Social Work Review, 19(3), 58–65. Reissman, C. H. (2008). Narrative methods for the human sciences. Los Angeles: Sage. Simmons, H., Moroney, H., Mace, J., & Shepherd, K. (2007). Supervision across disciplines: Fact or fantasy. In D. Wepa (Ed.), Clinical supervision in Aotearoa/New Zealand: A health perspective (pp. 72–86). Auckland: Pearson. Thomasgard, M., & Collins, V. (2003). A comprehensive review of a cross-disciplinary, casebased peer supervision model. Families, Systems & Health, 21(3), 305–319. Townend, M. (2005). Interprofessional supervision from the perspectives of both mental health nurses and other professionals in the field of cognitive behaviour therapy. Journal of Psychiatric & Mental Health Nursing, 12, 582–588. Webb, S. (2006). Supervision for new counsellors: An alternative view. Counselling Today: Newsletter of the New Zealand Assocation of Counsellors, 27(1), 17.

Appendix 1

Interview guidelines (for guidance of researchers only) Cross-disciplinary supervision What is enabled and what is constrained? Inquiry

What is your original/current profession? What other professional groups are represented in those who engage with you in your supervision practice? How did it come about that you have taken up cross-disciplinary supervision as a supervisor? Have you experienced cross-disciplinary supervision yourself as a practitioner? How do you see cross-disciplinary supervision as different from within-profession supervision? What possible limits do you identify? What responses do you consider a supervisor might make, given these limits? What responses do you consider a practitioner might make, given these limits? What actions do you take to learn about the practitioner’s field? What aspects of their professional life and practice do you agree that supervision will address? What actions do you take to understand the ethical responsibilities of those from other professions?

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What benefits do you identifyâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;for the practitioner or for you as supervisor? What is made possible that might not otherwise be possible? What key texts/documents do you see as important for either of you? Do you distinguish between supervision and consultation? How might crossdisciplinary consultation be different from cross-disciplinary supervision? Are there social service or health professional groups that you would not work with in supervision? Why would this be? Do you consider supervision to be a discipline in addition to and separate from your original discipline, or do you see it as part of your original discipline? How long have you been a supervisor? How long have you engaged in within-discipline supervision? How long have you engaged in cross-discipline supervision? What kinds of professional education or training in supervision do you have?

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National Survey of School Guidance Counsellors and Their Professional Supervision Wendy M. Payne and Steve K. W. Lang

Abstract School guidance counsellors were surveyed in order to explore their unique and complex role and the professional supervision they access. Two hundred and thirteen school guidance counsellors responded to an online survey sent to all secondary and area schools in Aotearoa New Zealand. The focus of the survey was twofold: first, to gather information about school guidance counsellors, the schools in which they work, and their participation in counselling supervision; and second, to examine the delivery, functions, and primary goals of their professional supervision. The results indicate that two-thirds of school guidance counsellors who responded are women, 90% are over 40 years of age, and 94% take part in professional supervision; while the latter figure is encouraging, the 6% who do not take part in supervision are a matter of concern. It is hoped that this report will stimulate further discussion and research into the professional status of school guidance counsellors so that the demanding work they do can be better understood and supported.

Guidance counsellors have been employed in secondary schools in Aotearoa New Zealand for nearly fifty years, yet despite this, systematic research into their working lives and needs is limited, with even less known about the supervision they receive. The purpose of this study was to explore the nature of the role of school guidance counsellors, with specific regard to the extent to which they access supervision. To understand the reasons that school counsellors might access supervision, it is important to appreciate the unique nature of their position in the education setting.

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Wendy M. Payne and Steve K. W. Lang

School guidance counsellors Policy and provision

The management, provision, and role of guidance and counselling have changed dramatically over the fifty years that counsellors have been employed in the school sector. Significant alterations in the structure and management of secondary schools have occurred as a result of changes in government policy, education management reform, and social and economic changes. Two policy documents—the Picot Report (Picot, 1988) and Tomorrow’s Schools (Ministry of Education, 1988), legislated with the Education Act (1989)—ushered in an era of self-governed, self-responsible, accountable schools (Leane, 2000). The implications of the changes for school guidance counsellors have included a move away from their regulated, prescribed management in the 1970s, where training was mandated and each secondary school had a designated guidance counsellor (Hermansson & Webb, 1993). Although Boards of Trustees have a legal obligation to provide an environment that is safe both physically and emotionally (Ministry of Education, 2005), and counsellors play a significant part in ensuring this within each school, currently, the employment of counsellors is optional for schools and this has resulted in reduced provision (Alison, 2004; Crowe, 2006). Employment conditions and job descriptions are at the discretion of school Boards of Trustees; thus, wide variations in the scope of school guidance counsellors’ roles are apparent (Agee & Dickinson, 2008), and few Ministry of Education guidelines are evident. According to Crowe (2006), “the effectiveness of guidance programmes has been compromised, with the work of guidance counsellors going on mostly unnoticed, often with little acknowledgement or recognition of its value” (p. 24). Counsellor role and client issues

The role of school guidance counsellors is varied and demanding (Manthei, 1999). They provide counselling for individual students, family/whänau groups, and teachers. In addition to counselling for personal problems, educational issues, professional or career issues, and crisis counselling, they may be involved in student advocacy and mediation, restorative justice processes, arranging referrals and liaising with outside agencies, as well as school-wide and management-related responsibilities such as policy development, pastoral care leadership, and the delivery of programmes (Ministry of Education, 2009). Many counsellors are responsible for administering entry tests for new students, visits to contributing schools, and the orientation of new students, as well as possibly having a teaching component in their role (Miller, Manthei, & Gilmore, 1993).

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Young people are faced with complex societal, cultural, economic, technological, and global changes (Agee & Dickinson, 2008). Students present with wide-ranging issues, from daily “hassles” to major life events including truancy, bullying, body image problems, depression, and suicide attempts. Depression is a relatively common occurrence according to a survey of the health and well-being of secondary school students, where significant symptoms of depression were reported by 7% of males and 15% of females (Adolescent Health Research Group, 2008). In 1999, Manthei reported that the most frequent student problems brought to counselling included career decisions, family problems, educational problems, peer conflict, and disruptive behaviour. The most frequently presenting problems may well have changed in the intervening ten years. Trauma, such as sexual and physical abuse, suicide, sudden death, or violence adversely affects one in five young people. For many young people, risky behaviours such as binge drinking, drink driving, drug abuse, and unsafe sexual activity are features of their lives (Adolescent Health Research Group, 2003, as cited in Agee & Dickinson, 2008). Combining these with other major life issues such as divorce, relationship problems, teen pregnancy, abortion, and sexual identity development, it is clear that school guidance counsellors regularly deal with intense, complex counselling scenarios (Manthei, 1997). In the words of one school counsellor: Many of our clients represent a virtual layer cake of social, educational, personal, family and psychiatric misfortune. Many are in the too hard basket for many agencies who give up because of no shows and lack of co-operation. Schools don’t have a choice. School counsellors have to be there for their clients. (Manthei, 1997, p. 32) An unknown quantity: How many counsellors work in schools?

The number of people employed as school guidance counsellors is unknown. At the time of this research (2008), it was not possible to access a reliable database listing school guidance counsellors or the schools that employ them. According to the Ministry of Education-hosted website Te Kete Ipurangi, 472 schools have secondary school-aged students. However, it cannot be assumed that there are 472 school guidance counsellors, as school size and management policy determines staffing, and some schools may have several counsellors while others may not have any. Previous research and survey data provide an indicator of the potential numbers of school guidance counsellors. A comprehensive survey of school counsellors in 1997 elicited 212 replies (Manthei, 1998). The most recently published survey of school

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guidance counsellors, conducted by the Post Primary Teachers’ Association (PPTA) in 2004, elicited 256 responses (Alison, 2004). In 2006 there were 301 school guidance counsellors who were members of the New Zealand Association of Counsellors (NZAC) (Crowe, 2006), while 310 school guidance counsellors responded to an unpublished survey by NZAC (James Shepherd, personal communication, November 2, 2008). It is reasonably safe to assume that between 300 and 400 people are employed in a school guidance counsellor role, although on the basis of the number of schools with secondary-aged students, it is possible that the figure is actually between 400 and 500. This lack of comprehensive statistical information about counsellors in schools would appear to be another example of the degree of marginalisation of this group of professionals by the Ministry of Education. School guidance counsellors are working in an increasingly complex role within school systems, in which they maintain demanding caseloads of clients presenting with challenging issues. Professional supervision is therefore an integral ethical and professional necessity (Feltham & Dryden, 1994). Supervision

Supervision in the context of this study refers to the regular, ongoing relationship with a trained, experienced professional as a primary resource to maintain and develop safe, ethical, and effective practice (NZAC, 2002). Supervision is a source of personal support and professional mentoring, as well as serving as a conduit for professional and personal learning, and providing a process of accountability to the profession (ibid.). Supervision may also be termed clinical supervision, professional supervision, or counselling supervision, and the term “consultation” is sometimes used. Supervision is recognised internationally as a mechanism for providing counsellor education; it develops competence and contributes to a counsellor’s professional identity (Kazantzis, Calvert, Orlinsky, Rooke, Ronan, & Merrick, 2009). Professional associations, including NZAC, have therefore made regular supervision an ongoing requirement for membership, whether one is qualified or in training (Carroll, 2007; NZAC, 2002). The frequency of supervision may be dependent upon the developmental level of the counsellor, caseload demands, and personal stressors (NZAC, 2006). In Aotearoa New Zealand, Manthei’s (1999) survey revealed that an overwhelming majority (92%) of school guidance counsellors accessed supervision and that 53% attended supervision at least fortnightly, with the average being once every three weeks. While supervision is recognised as a critical component of practice by professional bodies such as NZAC, the Ministry of Education is less forthcoming. Scant reference

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to supervision is made aside from some guidance in the form of a scenario provided in a Performance Management Systems document: A secondary school has a guidance counsellor who either: • is a member of a professional organisation, for example, the New Zealand Association of Counsellors (NZAC); or • is abiding by a professional code of ethics and the requirements of the job description. In this instance, the code requires the guidance counsellor to participate in external professional supervision. (Ministry of Education, 2009) However, there is no compulsion for school guidance counsellors to join an association such as NZAC, nor is there a governing or guiding body within the education system for school guidance counsellors (Crowe, 2006). The overall purpose of supervision is the professional development of the counsellor and the welfare of the client. Professional supervision can contribute to effectiveness, counter burnout, increase confidence and competence, and aid development, by breaking down professional isolation and providing counsellors with personal support, professional mentoring, and the opportunity to reflect on their practice. “This process of thinking and reflecting becomes an experiential one that accommodates the whole person—feelings, mind, body and spirit” (Agee, 2008, p. 2). Through this process, the effects of stress are mediated (McMahon & Patton, 2000). Conversely, a lack of supervisory support can not only increase stress but can also intensify negative feelings, resulting in less effective practice and growing feelings of role dissatisfaction for school counsellors (Somody, Henderson, Cook, & Zambrano, 2008). The relationship between the counsellor and his or her supervisor serves as a protective measure for counsellor, client, and employer. A trusting, open relationship influences the issues raised and the level of honesty and depth of their exploration. A weak or superficial bond between counsellor and supervisor exposes the possibility of risk (Kaiser, 1997). Failure to ensure the quality and appropriateness of the counsellor’s work can have dire ramifications, as evidenced in a report of an investigation conducted by the Health and Disability Commission (2006) where failure to abide by the NZAC Code of Ethics in regard to breaking normal counsellor/client boundaries resulted in a finding in favour of the complainant, the client, and a $40,000 fine incurred by the school counsellor. As a process, supervision is complex, and its delivery takes on a variety of forms, models, and styles (Carroll, 2007), as represented in Table 1.

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Table 1: Types of supervision (adapted from Carroll, 2007; NZAC, 2006). Type of supervision

Description

Self-supervision or internal supervision

Supervisee uses a range of steps to examine own counselling processes in a systematic, reflective manner. Preparation for other forms of supervision rather than a replacement.

Face-to-face, one-to-one supervision

Involves one supervisor and one supervisee. Generally regarded as the most popular form of supervision. Often a requirement of training. Systematic and highly educational.

Face-to-face group supervision

Covers a wide range of supervision practices, including using group processes as a basis for learning, or working with individuals within a group.

Peer or co-supervision (one to one or group)

Individuals take turns at being supervisor and supervisee. Models vary but may include a mixture of goal-setting, taped session evaluation, discussion of readings and case presentations. Used mainly by experienced counsellors who have a desire to share experiences and knowledge.

Telephone and video link

Generally one-to-one or co-supervision conducted by telephone or video link.

Internet and email supervision

Online text based supervision.

Cultural supervision

Accessed when counsellor is working with a person from a culture different to his or her own.

Various models define and describe similar functions of supervision under different names. For example, the educative function of supervision (Kadushin, 1976, as cited in Carroll, 2007) has also been described as formative (Proctor, 1988) and developmental (Hawkins & Shohet, 2006). The following general descriptors encompass the various models: Educative function: This is the ongoing development of counsellorsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; competencies in terms of skills, knowledge, and understanding, in order to work effectively with clients. It includes counsellorsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; awareness of their own reactions to clients and other ways of working with them (Copeland, 2005). Restorative function: This is the containment aspect of supervision, whereby

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counsellors are encouraged to consider the impact on self from their work with clients’ distress and pain, and to take the time to deal with their own emotions and reactions (Carroll, 2007; Copeland, 2005). Administrative function: This is essentially the “quality control” of counsellors’ work and encompasses all aspects of their accountability and their responsibility for client welfare. This function ensures that the ethics and standards of the profession are upheld (Carroll, 2007; Copeland 2005; NZAC, 2002). By attending to the professional development, counsellor support, and administrative oversight functions of supervision, counsellors develop professional competence, professional identity, and personal integrity (McMahon & Patton, 2004). The learning process is further enhanced by formulating supervision goals in a clear and meaningful manner. Attending to goals will assist in mediating the effects of professional and/or geographic isolation—stress, burnout, and performance fatigue— as well as monitoring practitioners’ professional well-being and competency (Crowe, 2006; McMahon & Patton, 2000). Goals will also vary according to counsellors’ experience, knowledge, and competency (Feltham & Dryden, 1994) and may include professional support, professional networking, validation, rejuvenation and reenergising, developing skills and techniques, client-specific guidance, fulfilling training or professional requirements, debriefing, and personal development. In Aotearoa New Zealand, we know little about the supervision that school guidance counsellors access, the functions they regard as important, and the goals they focus on. The current study sought to obtain information about guidance counsellors and the schools in which they work, with particular attention given to their participation in professional supervision. Research method Participants

The research population included all of the school guidance counsellors from the 472 Aotearoa New Zealand secondary and area schools. Two hundred and thirteen potential participants responded to an online survey; however, two indicated that they did not consent to participate, a further four were eliminated as they indicated they were not in a counselling role, and six respondents exited the survey prior to completion. Therefore, while a total of 201 school counsellors completed the survey, 207 provided useable data. In order to participate in the online survey, respondents were required to be in a counselling role in a New Zealand school and to give their consent. As there was not

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an accurate database or figures available to provide reliable information about the number of school guidance counsellors employed in Aotearoa New Zealand schools, it was not possible to determine the ratio of school guidance counsellors who responded to the survey compared with those who did not. Population responses and reliability of returns cannot therefore be commented upon with accuracy. Access to participants was obtained via the Ministry of Education website, Te Kete Ipurangi. Three of the school categories were selected: Composite Year 1–15, Secondary Year 7–15, and Secondary Year 9–15. All 472 school email addresses were exported to the SurveyMonkey.com address book. School guidance counsellors were not emailed directly, as there is no national database of their addresses; in addition, such an action would breach the national anti-spamming laws, whereby all recipients must agree to receive communications from the sender. Twenty-three schools opted out, and email messages to three schools bounced or were undeliverable. Two hundred and sixty-two schools did not respond. Instrument and design

The research instrument, a survey questionnaire, was created and accessed through SurveyMonkey (http://www.surveymonkey.com). This research tool was developed originally in 1999 by Finley, Sorem, and Swartley (K. Wilson, personal communication, October 13, 2008), and enables people to create their own surveys. Responses are submitted online, and may be viewed live on the website and exported to Excel spreadsheets to enable table and graph development. According to Wright (2005), SurveyMonkey.com is among the top 20 online survey services available, with a range of features including online support and modest costings, and it contains filters to manipulate data for analysis. In order to answer the research questions, a questionnaire was constructed, entitled “Survey of Professional Supervision of Guidance/School Counsellors.” The survey had 23 questions designed to collect quantitative data, along with a small amount of qualitative data in the form of additional comments. The rationale behind the construction of the survey was to add to the body of knowledge both in terms of demographic information and detail regarding supervision in a format that allowed easy access and response. Types of questions used included multiple choice with single or multiple answers, matrix of choice questions, Likert-type questions and rating scales, and comment text boxes. Where a list of choices was provided, a randomising feature of SurveyMonkey was utilised.

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SurveyMonkey.com has a number of features that allow the user to ensure that ethical standards are maintained. When data are entered into the survey and sent, they are collected by a web-link collector. This ensures that respondentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; IP addresses and identifying information are not saved; thus, they have complete anonymity. Participants may exit the survey at any time and decline to answer all questions except the consent question and the eligibility question. Participants can be provided with a link to access online summaries of the data collected at the completion of the collection period. All data are to be stored for five years. The completion of question 1 and the return of the survey implied consent. Questions were constructed so as to elicit minimal emotional response, allowing the respondents to enter the survey, spend up to five minutes answering questions, and complete with minimal disruption. The rationale for the timeframe was that emails are generally cleared promptly and responded to at the time of initial reading. SurveyMonkey.com recommended that send-outs should occur early in the week, as it increases the likelihood of response. Data analysis

The SurveyMonkey.com program automatically computes data, providing frequencies and percentages for each component. As the surveys are submitted, results are tabulated immediately. The program allows for direct database connectivity and has inbuilt data quality checking, enhancing reliability. Results were compared with other studies to determine similarities and differences. Results

The survey focused on two types of information about school guidance counsellorsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; first, demographic information about them and the schools they worked in, and second, information regarding their supervision. The total number of counsellors responding to each question varied and is shown as N in parentheses. Percentages are based on the total number of counsellors who responded to each question, and have been rounded to the nearest whole number. Full tables of all results are available from the authors. Overall, 207 respondents provided useable data, although six participants did not complete the entire survey. The actual population size is not known, but this may represent 207/500, or approximately 41%.

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Demographic information about school guidance counsellors

School guidance counsellors (N = 207) were most frequently women (66%). The range of ages of school guidance counsellors (N = 206) was between 20 and 69 years, with the median age being 50–59 (50%). Counsellors over 40 years of age and less than 70 years of age accounted for 90% of respondents, indicating an uneven spread of counsellors across the age groups. Years of employment ranged from less than one year (7%) to over 20 years (11%), while one counsellor indicated that he or she had been in employment for less than one week. The majority of school guidance counsellors had been employed between one and nine years (48%), with the median range being five to nine years (27%). Qualifications and professional memberships

The majority of the counsellors indicated that they had a counselling qualification (87%) or were currently in training (7%), yielding a total of 94% of school guidance counsellors as either qualified or working towards a qualification. A small portion of respondents indicated that they did not have a counselling qualification (6%). The largest group of school counsellors who had achieved a qualification had a Master of Counselling degree (44%). Those with a qualification at a graduate or postgraduate level accounted for 79%, of which 2% were at PhD level. A number of respondents (N = 13) had “other” qualifications, in education (e.g., Master of Education degree, which were in fact likely to be specialisations in Counselling), social work (e.g., Post Graduate Diploma in Social Work), or psychology (e.g., Master of Educational Psychology). A range of other qualifications obtained included Graduate Diploma in Psychotherapy, Alcohol and Drug Studies Diploma, and Certified Addiction Counsellor. Of those working towards completing a qualification (N = 29), most were aiming to finish their Master of Counselling degree (N = 8) or Post Graduate Diploma in Counselling (N = 8). In addition to specific counselling qualifications, 80% of school guidance counsellors (N = 206) were registered teachers. Most school guidance counsellors were affiliated with a professional body—NZAC (69%), and/or PPTA (62%). Counsellors were also members of a range of other associations, including the Aotearoa New Zealand Association of Social Workers (ANZASW), the New Zealand Psychological Association (NZPA), the New Zealand Educational Institute (NZEI), and the Drug and Alcohol Practitioners’ Association Aotearoa New Zealand (DAPAANZ). A small number of counsellors (11%) did not belong to a professional body; therefore, 89% of school guidance counsellors who responded belonged to a professional body or association.

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The numbers of school guidance counsellors employed per school varied. The vast majority of schools had one school guidance counsellor employed full-time (N = 105) or part-time (N = 53). Although statistically insignificant, it is interesting to note that four counsellors indicated they were in schools that employed four or more counsellors. A variety of other arrangements included chaplain, job share, voluntary counsellor, trainee, kaiäwhina or kaitaunaki, and contracted counsellors or therapists. Demographic information about schools

School guidance counsellors (N = 204) came from a spread of small schools with rolls of up to 499 students (28%), medium-sized schools with 500–999 students (34%), and large schools with 1000–1499 students (23%), with only 15% from very large schools (more than 1500 students). The majority of schools (N = 202) were secondary schools years 9–15 (61%), with secondary schools years 7–15 recording 28% and composite schools years 1–15 accounting for 10% of respondents. More counsellors were employed in co-ed schools (75%) than single-sex schools (25%). Of all the counsellors (N = 201), 92% were in state schools, with 8% in private schools. The decile rating (N = 199) of schools varied, with the two largest groups being decile 9 and 10 (26%) and decile 5 and 6 (25%). Deciles 3 and 4, and 7 and 8, accounted for 20% and 19% respectively, while decile 1 and 2 schools only accounted for 11% of counsellors who responded to the survey. Proportionally, each decile rating accounts for 10% of schools. Supervision

According to the survey, school guidance counsellors (N = 203) who receive supervision (94%) vastly outnumber those who do not (6%). Among the small number of counsellors (N = 12) who stated they did not receive supervision, the reasons were varied: do not wish to (17%), unable to locate a suitable supervisor or supervision model (33%), geographic remoteness (17%), and unable to fund supervision (8%). Counsellors who did receive supervision (N = 185) on average accessed it every two to three weeks (74%). A further 22% of counsellors accessed supervision monthly; therefore, 95% of supervised school guidance counsellors reported attending supervision every two, three or four weeks. A drop-down comment box allowed for additional information to be added about the frequency of supervision. Comments included reference to additional phone supervision or additional supervision if required, access to cultural supervision, peer supervision, and combinations of supervision. One counsellor illustrated the way access to supervision could be affected

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by location: “two hours/month depending on availability of supervisor. I also have to travel 1 hour 20 min each way to access supervision.” Most respondents (N = 189) felt the frequency of supervision was adequate (95%). From a contrasting perspective, one respondent commented, “Not sure what supervision means.” The delivery method of supervision (N = 189) varied, with the most common being face-to-face, one-to-one supervision (94%). Many methods of supervision were utilised, including peer supervision (23%), telephone supervision (12%), group supervision (11%) and, to a lesser degree, email supervision (3%), internet supervision (1%), and video-conferencing supervision (1%). Counsellors (N = 186) rated the educational component (enhanced competency) as the most important function of supervision (47%). This was closely followed by respondents who indicated the administrative function of supervision (ensuring ethical practice) was the most important (46%), while the restorative function of supervision, where counsellors express and deal with their own emotions, was rated as most important by 17% of counsellors. Respondents (N = 188) expressed varied opinions when it came to the primary goals of supervision. They were asked to indicate the level of agreement they had as to what were the primary goals of supervision. The goals were listed as professional supervision, professional networking, validation, rejuvenation and re-energising, developing skills and techniques, client-specific guidance, fulfilling training or professional requirements, debriefing, and personal development. The spread of results indicated that most counsellors agreed or strongly agreed that all the listed goals were primary goals of supervision. The goals that attracted the strongest levels of agreement (strongly agree) were professional support (74%), client-specific guidance (60%), debriefing (54%), developing skills and techniques (54%), and rejuvenation (50%). There was agreement that personal development (45%), validation (45%), fulfilling training or professional requirements (44%), and professional networking (39%) counted as primary goals. The levels of neutrality, disagreement, and strong disagreement were not statistically significant, although it is worth noting that 7% disagreed with the inclusion of both professional networking and fulfilling training or professional requirements in the primary goals of supervision. Discussion

The survey yielded interesting demographic information about school guidance counsellors in Aotearoa New Zealand and about the schools in which they are employed. Care must be taken when extrapolating these findings, however, as the

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estimated response rate, characteristics of those who chose to respond, and the means of delivery of the survey may have affected the results. Utilising an online survey service introduces a range of factors that may impact on the respondents. Most notable is the requirement to email school administrators with a request in the subject line to forward the email to the school guidance counsellor; a direct mail-out would perhaps have enhanced the possibility that the survey was indeed placed in front of the person intended. As with any survey, there is also a possibility that some may have been completed by a non-school guidance counsellor. Some firewall constraints prevented the delivery of the survey in some schools: a total of eight surveys were undeliverable. These technological issues, such as firewall constraints, are difficult to avoid. However, inclusion of an email contact allowed participants with technological difficulties to be assisted. Non-respondents may have decided not to participate because they did not receive supervision. It may therefore be fair to say that the data may be skewed, as those who were receiving supervision may have been more inclined to participate. These factors need to be taken into account when interpreting the results. Respondents to this survey were predominantly women who were over 40 years of age, representing a change from a decade ago when the gender split was 50/50 and those aged over 45 years accounted for 50% (Manthei, 1998). Over half of the respondents had more than ten yearsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; experience in the profession and the majority had a postgraduate qualification in addition to being registered teachers. However, numbers of counsellors who are also registered teachers would appear to have declined from 95.6% a decade ago (Manthei, 1998) to 80% in 2008. Overall, the data suggest that Aotearoa New Zealand has a well-qualified, experienced group of professional school guidance counsellors. Most respondents to the current survey were employed in state co-educational schools. These findings are in alignment with the recent PPTA survey of guidance counsellors (Alison, 2004). It would appear that many school guidance counsellors in Aotearoa New Zealand recognise the value of belonging to an organisation that represents their professional interests. High proportions are members of a professional body such as NZAC (69%) and PPTA (62%), representing little change from Mantheiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (1998) survey. However, given that just over 30% of the respondents were not members of NZAC and potentially 53% of the school guidance counsellor population did not respond to the survey, there is reason to believe that the proportion of membership is not as generous

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as the data would suggest. This is of concern, as no other body offers school guidance counsellors access to such relevant professional development and resources, and it also means they are not practising under NZACâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Code of Ethics. School guidance counsellors participating in the Aotearoa New Zealand national survey reportedly access supervision at a significantly high rate. Although the survey did not specifically look at the reasons why school guidance counsellors access supervision, it is clear from the high levels of uptake that supervision is greatly valued. This is evidenced by the 94% of respondents who accessed regular supervision; this result is in alignment with the survey conducted by Manthei (1998), wherein 92% of respondents accessed supervision. While it is generally a compulsory feature of training, that is not the reason why so many are accessing supervision, as the majority of respondents (87%) were already qualified counsellors. This is not surprising, however, given the way in which supervision is viewed as an essential aspect of safe practice in the local context. Unlike the United States, where supervision is mandatory only in training contexts, counsellors in New Zealand who are members of NZAC are required to engage in professional supervision throughout their careers. Two of the functions of supervision were considered to be of greatest significance: the educative function, which is concerned with competency, and the ongoing development of therapeutic skills, knowledge, and understanding (Copeland, 2005). The administrative function was also highly regarded. This function serves as the quality control of counsellor work, concerned with all aspects of accountability, ethics, and professional standards (Carroll, 2007). Interestingly, the containment or restorative function of supervision was seen as less important. When considering the primary goals of supervision, many agreed that the professional support offered by supervision was an important feature. The provision of client-specific guidance and the development of skills and techniques were regarded as important goals, as was the opportunity to debrief and rejuvenate. Supervision assisted in remediating the effects of professional isolation, reduction of stress, and prevention of burnout. The more traditional approach of face-to-face, one-to-one supervision was clearly preferred by school counsellors who responded to the survey, with only a small percentage taking advantage of electronic technology for supervision. Recommendations and conclusion

As a group of professionals who have some unique needs in terms of the nature of their employment and its professional demands, it is worthwhile to consider areas for

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future research. One possible topic could be gauging the resilience of school guidance counsellors in relation to their sense of professional isolation and professional identity within the education sector. It may also be timely to explore the level of agreement around issues regarding the need to be more fully recognised as a professional group, both within the Ministry of Education and by NZAC. In addition, a significant proportion of school guidance counsellors seem to be within a decade of retirement age. Consequently, it would also be timely to consider retention and recruitment initiatives for the future. Aotearoa New Zealand’s school guidance counsellors are well-qualified and experienced. They are accessing supervision in a professionally responsible manner, providing them with an essential source of support. Quality, ethical practice, and competency are considered important functions of supervision. With professional association membership, school guidance counsellors can also benefit from advocacy, ongoing professional development, and professional credibility (Bauman, 2008). Crowe (2006) discussed the lack of national guidelines and standards for school counsellors and the need for a body such as the Ministry of Education to provide support, advice, or guidance once again, as the Department of Education did prior to the advent of Tomorrow’s Schools. Perhaps we should also be looking to NZAC and to the possibility of compulsory membership for counsellors working in schools, in order to provide a mandate for the Association to advance the cause of school guidance counsellors, as part of its ongoing work as primary advocates for counsellors and professional standard-setters. With NZAC (2007) currently considering registration under the Health Practitioners Competence Assurance Act (Ministry of Health, 2008), school guidance counsellors may achieve the sought-after guidelines, professional standards, supervision provisions, and professional identity, and as a consequence, remediate many of the current concerns. Meanwhile, those who do not belong to NZAC, or to any professional body, and those who do not access supervision at all, are a concern. There is an ethical imperative to bring these counsellors “under the wing” of professional supervision, and of the Association, to ensure the safety and competence of their practice.

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Wendy M. Payne and Steve K. W. Lang

References

Adolescent Health Research Group. (2008). Youth ’07: The health and wellbeing of secondary school students in New Zealand. Initial findings. Auckland: The University of Auckland. Agee, M. (2008, June). The heart and soul of counselling supervision. Contribution to panel discussion: Mentoring or supervision: Who decides and what’s the difference? Faculty of Education, University of Auckland. Agee, M., & Dickinson, P. (2008). It’s not an “either/or”: Pastoral care and academic achievement in secondary schools, In C. M. Rubie-Davies & C. Rawlinson (Eds.), Challenging thinking about teaching and learning (pp. 357–370). Hauppauge, NY: Nova Science. Alison, J. (2004). PPTA survey of guidance counsellors, 2004. Unpublished manuscript. Bauman, S. (2008). To join or not to join: School counselors as a case study in professional membership. Journal of Counseling and Development, 86, 164–177. Carroll, M. (2007). Counselling supervision: Theory, skills and practice. London: Sage. Copeland, S. (2005). Counselling supervision in organisations: Professional and ethical dilemmas explored. London: Routledge. Crowe, A. (2006). Guidance and counselling in New Zealand secondary schools: Exploring the issues. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 26(3), 16–25. Feltham, C., & Dryden, W. (1994). Developing counsellor supervision. London: Sage. Hawkins, P., & Shohet, R. (2006). Supervision in the helping professions. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Health and Disability Commission. (2006). School counsellor, Ms C. A girls’ school. A report by the Health and Disability Commissioner. Retrieved November 8, 2009, from http://www. hdc.org.nz/files/hdc/opinions/03hdc16962schoolcounsellor.pdf Hermansson, G., & Webb, S. (1993). Guidance and counselling in New Zealand: Weathering a decade of transformation. The International Journal for the Advancement of Counselling, 16(3), 213–227. Kaiser, T. (1997). Supervisory relationships: Exploring the human element. Pacific Grove, CA: Brooks Cole. Kazantzis, N., Calvert, S., Orlinsky, D., Rooke, S., Ronan, K., & Merrick, P. (2009). Activities influencing the professional development of New Zealand counsellors across their careers. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 29(1), 73–97. Leane, G. (2000). Self governing schools and legal implications: Theory and practice. In The law: Sword or shield? Proceedings of the Australian and New Zealand Education Law Association (ANZELA) Conference, 12–14 July, Adelaide, South Australia. Manthei, R. (1997). School counselling: Client issues, training and support. NZAC Newsletter, 18(1), 31–34. Manthei, R. (1998). Survey of school counsellors: Part 2. NZAC Newsletter, 19(1), 33–36. Manthei, R. (1999). A profile of school counsellors and their work. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 20, 24–46.

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McMahon, M., & Patton, W. (2000). Conversations on clinical supervision: Benefits perceived by school counsellors. British Journal of Guidance and Counselling, 28(3), 339–351. McMahon, M., & Patton, W. (Eds.). (2004). Supervision in the helping professions: A practical approach. Sydney: Prentice Hall. Miller, J., Manthei, R., & Gilmore, A. (1993). School counsellors and guidance networks: Roles revisited. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 28(2), 105–124. Ministry of Education. (1988). Tomorrow’s schools: The reform of educational administration in New Zealand. Wellington: Author. Ministry of Education. (2005). Making a bigger difference for all students: Schooling strategy 2005–2010. Wellington: Author. Ministry of Education. (2009). Performance management systems: PMS 5 November 1997. Retrieved November 17, 2009, from http://www.minedu.govt.nz/NZEducation/Education Policies/Schools/SchoolOperations/EmploymentConditionsAndEvaluation/Performance ManagementSystems/PMS_5_November_1997.aspx Ministry of Education. (n.d.). Te kete ipurangi. Retrieved February 15, 2008, from http://www. tki.org.nz/e/schools/ Ministry of Health. (2008). Health Practitioners Competence Assurance Act, 2003. Retrieved November 10, 2008, from http://www.moh.govt.nz/hpca New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2002). New Zealand Association of Counsellors operating manual. Hamilton: Author. New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2006). Clinical supervision of counsellors for the purposes of membership of NZAC. Hamilton: Author. New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2007). Open letter about counsellor registration. Retrieved November 2, 2008, from http://www.nzcca.org.nz/nzcca/images/Dft4openletter.pdf Picot, B. (1988). Administering for excellence: Report of the Taskforce to Review Educational Administration. Wellington: Ministry of Education. Proctor, B. (1988). Supervision: Competence, confidence, accountability. British Journal of Guidance and Counselling, 22(3), 309–318. Somody, C., Henderson, H., Cook, K., & Zambrano, E. (2008). A working system of school counselor supervision. Professional School Counseling, 12(1), 22–32. Wright, K. B. (2005). Researching internet-based populations: Advantages and disadvantages of online survey research, online questionnaire authoring software packages, and web survey services. Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 10(3). Retrieved August 12, 2008, from http://jcmc.indiana.edu/vol10/issue3/wright.html

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Interpreting “Partnership” as a Core Value Some Implications of the Treaty of Waitangi for the NZAC Code of Ethics Alastair Crocket

Abstract The New Zealand Association of Counsellors (NZAC) Code of Ethics sits within the context of the Treaty-centred politics of contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand. In the Introduction to the Code there are specific references to the Treaty, and the Core Values include “partnership.” This article explores and particularises specific meanings of partnership associated with the Treaty of Waitangi, drawing on the Royal Commission on Social Policy (1988). From this exploration it goes on to suggest that there are multiple sites where counsellors might respond to the Treaty partnership responsibilities that the Code invokes. In particular, the argument is made that responsibility to engage in partnership activities stretches beyond direct client practice into workplace, professional affiliation, and national political life.

Counselling practice occurs within a rich and complex social context. As counsellors, we are located both within the counselling community and more broadly within the political and social context of Aotearoa New Zealand. Our practice is shaped by membership of the New Zealand Association of Counsellors (NZAC) as well as by our specific practice contexts. The contribution of this article is to further consider calls to the particular shaping of counsellor practice invoked by references in the NZAC Code of Ethics (NZAC, 2002) to the Treaty of Waitangi and the Treaty principle of partnership. The position that any counsellor takes in relation to the Treaty of Waitangi and to understanding and acting upon the construct of partnership is informed by his or her unique cultural identity. This article is written from the perspective of a Päkehä

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counsellor seeking to explore further the implications of placing the Treaty at the centre of professional practice. All counsellors, whether we identify as tangata whenua (people of the land, or Mäori) or as tauiwi (all post-Treaty settlers), are shaped by discourses of colonisation. Indeed, the history of Aotearoa New Zealand since 1840 has been produced by these discourses, whose ongoing effects include differentiated position calls both to tangata whenua and to tauiwi, each as broad entities, and to their constituent groups. Päkehä, the largest grouping within the tauiwi entity, have been positioned advantageously by the colonising discourses, which have worked to hide from us our privileged position in relation to Mäori. Each iwi was affected differently as Päkehä settlers took up land legally or illegally. Other settler groups to whom the identity Päkehä is not available often experience themselves as positioned differently from Päkehä within Aotearoa’s cultural politics. Just as a particular interpretation of partnership is used in this article, so also are the terms used to refer to the overarching Treaty partnership groupings, Crown and iwi, given particular meanings. Crown refers both to the settler party that proposed the Treaty of Waitangi and to the government that was established as a result of the Treaty’s signing. Iwi—or tribes—are the largest sovereign entities recognised by Mäori. Iwi are constituted of hapü that, in turn, are groupings of whänau with close whakapapa, or genealogical links. Each hapü has its own autonomy, which was described in the Mäori version of the Treaty as tino rangatiratanga—the rights of chieftainship. These distinctions have emerged as the focus on the Treaty has strengthened over the last four decades (Durie, 2005). Relationships and actions framed in connection with Treaty concepts generally involve action within and between collective entities. Partly this is because that is the way the Treaty was framed, and partly it is because Mäori traditionally have identified primarily as part of whänau, hapü, or iwi (Durie, 2005). In my experience of working with Mäori groups, their expectation has been that those they relate to also derive their identity from membership in one or more groups. In this article, I refer to Crown and Iwi as the Treaty partners, since this more helpfully describes the entities involved than does the commonly used pairing of Mäori and Päkehä. I suggest this latter pairing is unhelpful because many other groupings are marginalised by this convenient binary. This is not to deny that Päkehä interests, past and present, have dominated Crown action.

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The genealogy of Treaty partnership

Partnership became established as one of three principles of the Treaty of Waitangi in the published findings of the Royal Commission on Social Policy (1988), in which partnership was defined as having particular meanings in relation to the Treaty of Waitangi. The Commission gave fundamental importance to the relationship between the Crown and iwi, arguing that Treaty partnership was primarily to be defined and expressed between the Crown and each iwi, as collective entities. In other words, the indigenous partner was defined as a collection of individual tribes, rather than as a homogeneous collective whole. In addition, the Commission suggested that local government was a further site for Treaty partnership, stating it could be that the “obvious partners in any negotiation are the relevant local body and the local tribal representatives” (1988, pp. 52–53). The particular interpretation of partnership brought forward by the Commission locates partnership between national or local government and iwi or hapü. However, with some reservations, the Commission also affirmed the suggestion from many groups with whom they consulted that: [T]he partners were in fact all Maori people and all other New Zealanders, and that the spirit of partnership must operate at an individual level if it is to have any real meaning. (p. 53) If Treaty partnership is about the relationship of the Crown and iwi/hapü in national and local contexts, then the “spirit of partnership” refers to the actions that individuals can undertake in their daily lives to honour the national partnership. While affirming this position, the Royal Commission’s report made clear that personal commitment alone could not replace the relationship between the Crown and iwi Mäori (p. 54). However, it stated that: [T]he Commission…is strongly of the opinion that fairness, equality and justice will be best expressed when partnership is vigorously pursued at all levels with recognition of differing values and perspectives and an acknowledgement of the other partner’s prerogatives. (p. 56) For the Commission, the best honouring of partnership came, first of all, from national and local government partnership activities with iwi and hapü that are supported by actions in the spirit of partnership by organisations and individuals. This stance informs the argument that I outline later, that counsellors must locate part of their response to the partnership value in the NZAC Code within political action.

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The Commission’s position arose from their recognition that the Treaty of Waitangi was an agreement between collective entities, not individuals. Hobson signed for the British Crown and Mäori rangatira signed for their hapü or whänau, each of which was a sovereign entity. The Treaty partnership principle is primarily directed at ongoing partnership relationships between the successor forms of those entities and the constituent parts of those successors. While individual action is important to maintaining the “spirit of partnership,” it cannot adequately replace the responsibilities of the primary Treaty collectives. My argument here is that the invocation of the Treaty and partnership in the NZAC Code calls counsellors to take a moral position in support of partnership activities in all areas of life in Aotearoa New Zealand, and not just to locate partnership within their practice with their clients. I will return to this point later when I consider various implications across a range of practice contexts. I suggest that, as counsellors, we need to decide whether we should respond in the “spirit of partnership” or whether we could frame our response as the more familiar “partnership,” given that the latter does not match the particular emphasis of the definitive interpretation by the Royal Commission. Just prior to the work of the Royal Commission, the Treaty of Waitangi was first seen as creating a relationship “akin to a partnership” in what is generally referred to as the “Lands” case (New Zealand Maori Council v Attorney-General, 1987). In his judgement, Mr Justice Cooke, the President of the Court of Appeal, found that the principles of the Treaty of Waitangi “require the Päkehä and Mäori Treaty partners to act towards each other reasonably and with the utmost good faith” (New Zealand Maori Council v Attorney-General, 1987, p. 669). Here, Justice Cooke followed the common usage of that time in using “Päkehä” to refer to the Crown, and in using “Mäori” he was referring to a collective who represented iwi, the New Zealand Mäori Council. His comments need to be read as relating to Iwi and the Crown These readings of the Treaty as involving a partnership, which was first offered by these significant documents, have motivated successive governments in working to settle historic Mäori grievances, but they have also generated criticism. Many will recall the controversy initiated as a result of the position taken by the then-Leader of the National Party Opposition, Dr Don Brash, in 2004. In what became known as “the Orewa speech,” he said: But the Treaty is not some magical, mystical, document. Lurking behind its words is not a blueprint for building a modern, prosperous, New Zealand. The Treaty did

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not create a partnership: fundamentally, it was the launching pad for the creation of one sovereign nation. (Brash, 2004) Dr Brash’s comments highlighted the point that it is not settled that the Treaty or its principles will always be honoured by the Crown in the form of the government of the day. Indeed, the Labour Government in power at the time of the Orewa speech subsequently denied iwi the opportunity to test their claims to own the foreshore and seabed by passing the Foreshore and Seabed Act in 2004. The Treaty, its principles, and especially the notion of partnership, have remained part of a vigorous public debate. At this point I turn to consider some of the meanings that partnership has in contexts that are not shaped by the Treaty of Waitangi, in order to further clarify Treaty partnership and distinguish it from other uses. Generic and legal meanings of partnership

Dictionary definitions of partnership offer some support for the particularised understanding of Treaty partnership, though as much by difference as by similarity of meaning. Partnership has particular meanings in both generic and legal senses. The primary definition in the Oxford English Dictionary is: “The fact or condition of being a partner; association or participation; companionship.” This definition offers three subtly different meanings. Being in association with another is perhaps different from sharing participation. Association suggests relationship, whereas participation suggests a shared project or venture. Companionship offers a different reading of partnership from the first two; it has a primarily social focus and perhaps begins to suggest the idea of a relationship similar to marriage. Association and participation may take us some way towards the meaning of the Treaty principle of partnership, whereas companionship does not; however, association and participation do not evoke the Royal Commission’s sense that to engage in partnership is a responsibility. The Oxford English Dictionary’s second definition has legal and business connotations: “An association of two or more people as partners for the running of a business, with shared expenses, profit, and loss; the members of such an association collectively; a joint business.” This meaning of partnership is most obvious in legal and accounting practices where partners share the “expenses, profit, and loss” of their work, as well as sharing the liability that may arise from the negligent or fraudulent activity of another partner or an employee. This legal/business definition clearly implies responsibility in a way that “association” or “participation” do not. However, this responsibility binds participants to act as if one person, and so differs from Treaty

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partnership in that it does not suggest that partners can have autonomy, or tino rangatiratanga. It is more helpful to consider partnership as one of the three linked Treaty principles proposed by the Royal Commission along with “protection” and “participation.” “Protection” represents the Crown’s responsibility to protect Mäori tino rangatiratanga. “Participation” represents the Crown’s responsibility to ensure that Mäori are able to join in this society without disadvantage. Together, these three principles encapsulate the multiple meanings of the Treaty, which both created the sovereign nation Aotearoa New Zealand and identified particular rights and responsibilities for each partner. Partnership and the NZAC Code

I turn now to the NZAC Code and consider how the particular meaning of partnership developed by the Royal Commission sits within the Code and informs it. I argue that the inclusion of partnership in the NZAC Code, drawn as it is from the Treaty principle of partnership, calls counsellors to frame our practice in response to the Treaty—both our direct practice with clients, and the broader contexts of our practice. Specifically, I argue that we should take care that we do not describe aspects of our practice as partnership without making conscious links to the Treaty of Waitangi and its articles, and the different rights that the Treaty guaranteed to Mäori and subsequent settlers. Partnership appears in two particularly significant parts of the Code of Ethics: in the Introduction and, subsequently, as one of the Core Values of the code. I address these two occurrences separately because there are significant differences in the intention behind each placement. The placement of “partnership” in the Introduction to the Code of Ethics is part of a direct invocation of the Treaty of Waitangi. The third paragraph of the Code reads: This Code needs to be read in conjunction with the Treaty of Waitangi and New Zealand law. Counsellors shall seek to be informed about the meaning and implications of the Treaty of Waitangi for their work. They shall understand the principles of protection, participation and partnership with Mäori. (NZAC, 2002, p. 25) The references to Treaty principles and to the Treaty itself in the Introduction to the Code clearly commit NZAC members to action in relation to the Treaty. Apart from a brief explanation of the significance of “partnership” at the time of the adoption of

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this version of the code (Winslade, 2002), no other study has addressed Treaty partnership in the broad counselling practice contexts proposed in this article. The second use of the word partnership in the NZAC Code is as the second of six Core Values: it comes after “respect for human dignity” and before “autonomy.” This placement is perhaps significant since the structure of the Code is hierarchical, with each section successively shaping the following sections (Winslade, 2001, 2002). In the presentation explaining the revised Code at the 2002 NZAC national conference, it was made clear that the core value of partnership not only referred to “Treaty partnership” but was also intended to indicate that “counselling relationships should not be exercises in colonisation” (Winslade, 2002, p. 20). Because the Code is hierarchical, it is intended that the Treaty references in the Introduction (quoted above) should influence the meaning of partnership as a Core Value: looking to the Treaty principle of partnership and seeking to evoke practice possibilities that are non-colonising. One way for a counsellor to ensure that counselling relationships are not exercises in colonisation is to have a clear understanding of the effects of colonising discourse and to position herself in a way that supports post-colonial possibilities. Such possibilities emerge when the Core Value “partnership” in the Code is enacted through embracing a spirit of partnership. I suggest that practitioners will find it helpful to draw on both the “spirit of partnership” and “Treaty partnership” in responding to the calls in the Code of Ethics for counsellors to make the Treaty active within their practice. A commitment to Treaty partnership is possible when we take an active part in the democratic process in order to influence political action. As citizens or permanent residents who are members of NZAC, we have an ethical commitment to use the democratic processes available to us to ensure that the Crown acts honourably in its dealings with its Treaty partner. I now move to consider the various contexts in which counsellors’ Treaty partnerships can be worked out. Working out a Treaty partnership commitment as a counsellor

I have argued that, as counsellors, we might imagine the implications of the spirit of partnership across the full range of our practice contexts: national life, professional affiliation, workplaces, and our work with clients. I will consider each in turn. The national context

I would argue that counsellors cannot, in good conscience, adopt Treaty partnership as a core value to inform practice without seeing their work in connection with the

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Treaty relationship between the Crown and Iwi Mäori. Thus, a commitment to Treaty partnership is a commitment to political action within the national political context, because the Royal Commission (1988) identified the primary context for partnership as the relationship between the Crown and Iwi. A commitment to Treaty-honouring practice involves an ongoing commitment to achieving social justice for Mäori in terms of the Treaty’s guarantees. As counsellors, we should therefore consider our commitment to Treaty partnership when making representations to government about practice issues, and also when considering our vote. Whether identifying as tangata whenua or as tauiwi, all citizens or residents constitute part of the Crown. We have the right to vote and to elect the government, which is the successor to the British Crown that proposed and signed the Treaty. Political moves since the beginning of the new century, including Dr Brash’s Orewa speech, the more recent decision to set an end date for the receipt of historic Treaty claims, and the foreshore and seabed debates, make the possibility of a diminished Treaty recognition by the government of the day more foreseeable than at any time in the past four decades. I would argue that as counsellors, our commitment to Treaty-based partnership should be seen as intrinsically linked to our participation in this society. I would argue that even if the government of the day should seek to unilaterally redefine or diminish the Treaty relationship, our ethical commitments as counsellors should remain unchanged in the national context. No matter how these issues develop in the political sphere, counsellors would still have partnership responsibilities because of the commitments arising from the Code of Ethics. The professional association context

As counsellors who have membership or provisional status with NZAC, our commitment to partnership can also be made active through participation in our professional association. NZAC is not a subset of the Crown and thus it cannot be shown to have Crown Treaty partnership responsibilities, as these responsibilities rest with the government. However, the association should act in what the Royal Commission called the “spirit of partnership” (1988, p. 53). We may see our association working in a variety of ways to honour this spirit of partnership. Most significantly, NZAC has acted in the spirit of partnership in implementing a model of Mäori representation on the National Executive, through the creation of the role of Te Ahi Kä to represent Mäori members and their interests. An earlier

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example of working in the spirit of partnership was Tuti Aranui’s election as a Life Member of NZAC, which recognised her advocacy for Mäori within NZAC and her work to support tauiwi in appreciating Mäori values. Several branches have sought to act in the spirit of partnership in the explicit moves they have made to organise and present bicultural conferences. Requirements of counsellors seeking to become members of the NZAC have increasingly been shaped in bicultural terms. Local branches have also sought to work in the spirit of partnership by incorporating Mäori tikanga in meetings, offering workshops and using te reo Mäori in newsletters. The workplace context

Professional associations are focused on the definition and fostering of professional practice, while agencies are primarily concerned with the delivery of services. Most agencies that employ counsellors operate under local governance and management, with a small number of agencies operating nationwide. Agencies generally rely on some form of government funding that brings contractual Treaty partnership obligations along with it. As a result of these contractual requirements, agencies have been required to become demonstrably more responsive to Mäori in ways similar to the calls made on government agencies in the 1990s to become bicultural (Durie, 1995). These changes are, however, not just contractually driven. Many agencies would seek to fulfil the spirit of partnership even if their major funder did not require it. Over the last decade, I have been aware of agencies that have changed the way they practise and who they employ as they respond to moral and contractual obligations to honour the Treaty. This response is expressed in a variety of ways. One metaphor used by some agencies is that of a bicultural journey—a journey that seeks to reduce the dominance of Päkehä values and practices and particularly to make space for Mäori values and practices. The Lower Hutt Family Centre, also known internationally as the Just Therapy team (Waldegrave, Tamasese, Tuhaka, & Campbell, 2003) has a reputation for its commitment to working within three teams: Mäori, Pasifika, and Päkehä, each of which has developed culturally appropriate ways of working with its own communities. As another example, Parentline (Longman, McLean, & Hazelden, 2004, p. 20) is a community agency that has worked as a bicultural partnership between “Tau Iwi” (non-Mäori staff) and “Te Röpu Äwhina mö Ngä Whänau” (Mäori staff) caucuses. There have been regular cultural consultations between caucuses and staff working in multidisciplinary teams across caucuses.

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Counsellors who work in agencies are called to act within the spirit of partnership within their workplaces. This call can be responded to in the day-to-day contributions we make to the life of an agency. There will be opportunities to consider the policies and practices of the agency in the light of Treaty partnership commitments. Our practice in this context may include advocacy for the employment of Mäori staff, participation in consultation with local iwi or hapü, or personal commitments to acquiring more Mäori language or cultural knowledge and practice. We may join in an evaluation to determine if the services delivered are equitably distributed across the community. I have suggested that many Mäori anticipate that their encounters are with individuals who identify as part of a collective entity. I believe that this presumption brings some challenges for counsellors working in private practice, particularly those in individual private practice. The actions suggested above may not be open to private practitioners as ways of working in the spirit of partnership. The final context of practice I describe involves our work with clients. The client practice context

Client practice occurs in both agency and private practice settings. I have placed discussion of this context after the three preceding contexts to emphasise that our client work rests within social, professional, and workplace contexts, all of which call for practice in a spirit of partnership. How we practise with clients is linked with our actions in those contexts. Our direct work with clients is best seen as informed by the spirit of partnership. As I outlined earlier in this discussion, a partnership in the business sense involves a sharing of responsibility and risk, while a Treaty partnership involves a commitment to the working out of the Treaty of Waitangi’s guarantees and protections between the Crown and iwi. Neither of these possibilities is an appropriate reflection of client practice. A client-counsellor relationship will involve the spirit of partnership between counsellor and client and will be supported by actions—our own and those of others— in the collective entities that we belong to: NZAC, the agency, the nation. Professionals offer fiduciary relationships to clients; these involve high levels of accountability to clients and invite client trust. We are never in partnership with our individual clients because the client-counsellor relationship is one in which particular responsibilities rest with the counsellor in a manner similar to a physician’s, a lawyer’s, or an accountant’s responsibilities towards their clients. Acting in the spirit of partnership

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with our clients needs to be seen as involving the Treaty principles of protection and participation as well—we need to enhance our clients’ ability to participate in society. Our relationships with clients are supported by the Treaty partnership practices we take up in the other contexts of our professional life. We will offer our clients the respect and consideration implied by Treaty partnership; we will act in the spirit of partnership, but we will not be the client’s partner on an individual basis. This distinction is important. If we start to call our client relationships “Treaty partnerships,” we may be in danger of believing we can discharge all our Treaty commitments through client relationships, and have no obligation to address the structural imbalances which still affect Mäori today by making contributions to political life in broader contexts. We may also be ignoring the particular fiduciary responsibilities that we have for our clients, responsibilities which the rest of the Code of Ethics makes clear. It has not been my intention in this article to define or prescribe all the practices with clients that are consistent with acting in the spirit of partnership. A broad range of articles intended to resource counsellors’ work with Mäori clients in particular has already been published. Several have appeared in this journal (for example, Drury, 2007; Durie, 2007; Tutua-Nathan, 1989; Wadsworth, 1990). Others have been published elsewhere (see Culbertson, 1997; Jonson, Su’a, & Crichton-Hill, 2004). Some illustrate practices that counsellors can use with clients. Most draw on cultural knowledge that might assist a non-Mäori counsellor to both understand and work with Mäori clients. I have argued that such practices need to be complemented by practitioner involvement in the other contexts of practice. Conclusion

The inclusion of strong references to the Treaty of Waitangi in the NZAC Code of Ethics affirms the social justice intentions of the Code. In this discussion, I have identified the range of contexts in which counsellors can be expected to be actively honouring the Treaty. Taking up a commitment to be a counsellor whose work is informed by the spirit of partnership, with a rich understanding of both the genealogy of this Treaty principle and its relationship to practice, is one path towards responding to the NZAC Code’s call that we “understand the meaning and implications of the Treaty of Waitangi.”

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References

Brash, D. (2004). Nationhood. Retrieved June 19, 2004, from http://www.onenzfoundation. co.nz/DonBrashSpeech.htm Culbertson, P. (Ed.). (1997). Counselling issues and South Pacific communities. Auckland: Accent Publications. Drury, N. (2007). A powhiri poutama approach to therapy. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 27(1), 9–20. Durie, M. (1995). Mäori and the state: Professionalism and the ethical implications for a bicultural public service. Te Komako/Social Work Review, 7(1), 2–5. Durie, M. (2005). Tino rangatiratanga. In M. Belgrave, M. Kawharu, & D. Williams (Eds.), Waitangi revisited: Perspectives on the Treaty of Waitangi (2nd ed., pp. 3–19). Auckland: Oxford University Press. Durie, M. (2007). Counselling Maori: Marae encounters as a basis for understanding and building relationships. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 27(1), 1–8. Jonson, H., Su’a, T., & Crichton-Hill, Y. (2004). Biculturalism and counselling across cultures. In R. Manthei (Ed.), Counselling: The skills of finding solutions to problems (2nd ed., pp. 18–35). North Shore: Longman. Longman, M., McLean, G., & Hazelden, V. (2004). There is but one eye of the needle through which the…threads must pass (Potatau te Wherowhero): An evolving model of supervision in a community agency. Paper presented at the Supervision Conference 2004: Weaving together the strands of supervision, Auckland College of Education, Auckland. New Zealand Association of Counsellors. (2002). Code of ethics. New Zealand Association of Counsellors operating manual. Hamilton: Author. New Zealand Maori Council v Attorney-General, 1 NZLR 641 (Court of Appeal 1987). The Royal Commission on Social Policy. (1988). The April report. Wellington: Government Printer. Tutua-Nathan, P. (1989). Maori counselling within an historical, political, socio-economic and cultural framework. New Zealand Counselling and Guidance Association Journal, 11(1), 44–50. Wadsworth, T. (1990). Editorial. New Zealand Association of Counsellors Journal, 12(1), 1–2. Waldegrave, C., Tamasese, K., Tuhaka, F., & Campbell, W. (2003). Just therapy, a journey: A collection of papers from the Just Therapy team, New Zealand. Adelaide: Dulwich Centre Publications. Winslade, J. (2001). A new shape for the Code of Ethics. New Zealand Association of Counsellors Newsletter, 21(2), 21–23. Winslade, J. (2002). Presenting the new Code of Ethics. New Zealand Association of Counsellors Newsletter, 23(1), 15–23.

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

The Therapeutic Process of Interactive Drawing Therapy Russell Withers

Abstract As clients move step-by-step through their psychological processes of addressing and adapting to significant conflicts or opportunities, their words, the images they use, and their behaviours can be seen to change in quite distinct and characteristic ways. These processes have a predictability that forms the basis for the Interactive Drawing Therapy (IDT) therapeutic schema. On the basis of therapist observations of client processes, seven primary stages of change have been mapped, each reflecting a shift in a client’s condition and capabilities, each bringing a different set of therapeutic tasks for client and counsellor to attend to, and each requiring a different type of therapeutic alliance and way of working. This schema provides a new framework for recognising clients’ conditions and for shaping stage-appropriate interventions. In addition, because it identifies stage-specific client attributes, it also has value as a research framework for investigating clients’ experiences, processes, and mechanisms of therapeutic change.

Introduction

Psychological progress usually proceeds in stages, and is generally not random or sudden, but the result of selected therapeutic activities that have a good fit and cumulative consequences for clients. This view supports the claim by Prochaska, DiClemente, and Norcross (1992) that “efficient self-change depends on doing the right things (processes) at the right time (stages)” (p. 1110). Identification of these activities constitutes an important and challenging task for counsellors. This article describes seven stages of change that can be observed when using Interactive Drawing Therapy (IDT), indicates the value of working stage-specifically, and outlines some of the stage-specific features that contribute to therapeutic effectiveness. It supplements

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my earlier article (Withers, 2006) which described the IDT method of working with therapeutic imagery, and presents the wider context and purpose in which IDT interventions are made. By describing observable client responses when working on paper (referred to as â&#x20AC;&#x153;pagesâ&#x20AC;?), this article aims to provide an explanation of theoryin-practice (Argyris & Schon, 1974), thereby paving the way for a future comparison of IDT theory and practice with those of other modalities. In IDT practice, clients are encouraged to write, diagram, and draw as they talk and experience their emotions and, because this is all put onto paper, their pages become an archival record of their therapeutic progress. As layers of related (but now graphic) material accumulate on the same page, a perceptual shift occurs in the client, provoking new insight and an enhanced psychological response. As successive pages are developed, a process of preferred direction, psychological momentum, therapeutic gain, and observable steps and stages becomes evident. Method

Over a period of two to three years in the mid 1990s, several hundred client drawings and detailed case notes provided my original research data which revealed a pattern of changes that occur over time for clients. The schema has been mapped and refined over the last fifteen years, and evidentially validated by clinical feedback from approximately 150 IDT practitioners who have attended the IDT Advanced Course and checked for similar phenomena with their own clients. Although initially observed in the change processes of individuals who were clients in a general counselling practice in New Zealand, the pattern of changes may also apply to the processes that families and groups can work through, and appears to hold true when working cross-culturally (Zhang, Chan, & Campbell, 2009). Mapping the structure of the IDT therapeutic schema did not occur suddenly and a comprehensive picture did not emerge at once but, like a complex jigsaw puzzle, it emerged a few tentative pieces at a time, with each cumulative component adding increased structure and detail to the big picture. The naming of each stage was intended to approximate the clientâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s attitude or response to the issues that were emerging at that stage. While the schema presented in this paper is based on a large amount of clientgenerated data and has been informally validated by IDT practitioners, more formal research is required to verify the credibility of the underlying observations, and the validity of its uses.

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Therapeutic process

The term “process” is used sometimes to refer to the workings and manifestation of unconscious material (Malan, 1979), and sometimes to refer to matters of procedure and interpersonal dynamics (Tuckman & Jensen, 1977). Process is to be differentiated from “content.” Whereas content typically refers to what the client’s issues are about, “process” is generally used to refer to how that content emerges and is addressed. Content cues and process cues inform each other, are mutually interactive, and both provide opportunities for therapeutic intervention. From a metaphorical perspective, a “therapeutic” process can be envisioned as a container that reflects and shapes the psychological efforts and procedures of clients as they learn progressively how to achieve their therapeutic goals. In addition, a therapeutic process also denotes the schema by which counsellors act with conscious intent, as well as efficiency of time and effort, to support and guide clients as they do their work. Therapeutic processes are to be distinguished from developmental processes, such as the normative stage-of-life paradigms proposed by Piaget (1936) with regard to cognitive development; by Erikson (1959) with regard to psychosocial development; or Kohlberg (1981) with regard to moral development. Although therapy may extend over many years, its timebound nature inherent in the intention to reach a conclusion also differentiates a therapeutic process from lifelong processes of maturation, such as Jung’s process of individuation (Edinger, 1992), and Hillman’s (1992) process of soul-making. The IDT therapeutic process

The IDT method is essentially a process-oriented practice, with the counsellor engaging in three primary roles: supporting the client’s welfare; managing the current session; and attending to the overall psychological process that the client is experiencing, leaving the client with the primary role of engaging with the content. Because clients’ content keeps changing according to the level (Withers, 2006) and stage of the therapeutic process, they can benefit from counsellors using a process-oriented framework that is not content-dependent. In IDT practice, a client’s words, images, and behaviours (WIB) often acquire a congruent or corresponding expression, considered to reflect an alignment of the client’s perception and experience. (Note that the term “behaviours” as used by IDT includes actions, feelings, and bodily sensations.) The WIB changes in clients’ outward presentations are believed to mirror a set of corresponding changes in their inner condition and sense of self. These clusters of matching WIB cues can be seen to change

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Figure 1: The IDT therapeutic process

over time in quite distinct and patterned ways that acquire a predictable sequence and character, and the IDT therapeutic schema is based on these observable changes (see Figure 1 and Table 1). Seven primary stages have been mapped, each appearing to have a different and important function. An overview of the seven stages

The first three stages (Arriving, Transition One, and Meeting) are oriented toward the past. The process starts with the client experiencing an increasing lack of environmental fit, which Arriving-stage clients defiantly resist and protest against. In contrast, the Transition One stage finds clients overwhelmed by their experience of events, unable to cope, and withdrawn. At the Meeting stage, clients acquire sufficient ego-strength, perceptual discrimination, and motivation to seek help in addressing their presenting issues. The middle stage (Being) brings the attainment of self-constancy and offers a present-time plateau of detachment from earlier conflicts. The last three stages (Transforming, Transition Two, and Departing) are oriented to the future, with the Transforming stage expressing clients’ new inner resourcefulness and sense of potential. The Transition Two stage brings an existential reconsideration of values and objectives, and the Departing stage reveals clients’ pragmatic commitment to acquiring new skills and fulfilling new projects. The seven stages

The following descriptions illustrate clients’ experiences and examples of counsellor responses at each stage of the IDT therapeutic process (although the presentation of clients varies according to their issues, condition, and readiness—as will the counsellor’s interventions). These are indicative descriptions and not intended to be prescriptive.

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Pre-therapeutic process Typically, clients are repetitively operating within a familiar (though not necessarily rewarding) environmental milieu that provides sufficient consistency of place, purpose, and sense of self for them not to challenge the status quo, and therefore not to seek help. Stage 1. Arriving stage

The therapeutic process starts with disruptive issues arriving for “the client” that are being resisted or denied. This stage is characterised by the protagonist’s intolerantly complaining about events, disowning any culpability, and blaming and abusing others. In the extreme, clients can become violent or paranoid, and aggressively seek to control their environment—a biologically normal (but developmentally regressive) fight response to threat. Clients at this stage have usually been referred to counselling and are there under duress, with high levels of projection and storytelling, and without an agreed contract. They are usually very vociferous about what they don’t want and don’t like, and IDT counsellors can usually get these statements written down, thereby helping their clients to feel heard. With the page acting as a mirror, the counsellor can start a process of goal-setting, exploring boundaries, and provoking curiosity to continue—a preliminary agreement. Stage 2. Transition One stage (T1) As clients’ previous resistance to change becomes ineffective, exhausting, and counterproductive, so they commonly give up the struggle and shut down at this stage. Clients’ loss of trust in their external world is internalised and they can abandon themselves

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(often punitively), becoming hopeless and helpless, despairing and depressed, selfcondemning, at risk and, in the extreme, suicidal. In contrast to the overactive displaybehaviour of the previous stage, clients at T1 tend to be passively compliant, overly quiet, and almost invisible. Because of their ego collapse, T1 clients who have withdrawn have lost much of their “adult” functioning, so the counsellor needs to step forward, contain risk, build relationship, actively nurture and carry hope, as well as working to connect to more resourceful parts of the client’s psyche. One of the counsellor’s tasks is also to prepare the client for safely reactivating strong feelings and rediscovering motivation. Addressing the more basic levels of Maslow’s (1943) “hierarchy of needs,” the T1 client needs to establish a reliable routine of sleeping, eating, engaging in activity, and social support, while regaining self-worth and hope for the future. Stage 3. Meeting stage In contrast to the earlier two stages of avoidance, clients now seek help to admit and address their issues. As successive layers of naming and feeling are released and recorded on the page, clients typically move from surface-level issues (about their environment) to deeper-level issues (about their sense of self). By the end of this stage, a particular quantum of unfinished business has been addressed, enabling clients to substantially dis-identify from their history of overly influential experiences or other people, and to reclaim a core part of themselves. With each step downwards (to a more internal focus and deeper level of content), anxiety rises as a client moves

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from known and familiar issues to lesser-known and often more challenging issues. The counsellor’s role at this stage is to work level-specifically (Withers, 2006), add safety with each level change, support the client’s psychological encounters with significant others, encourage confession and catharsis, appreciate the client’s fortitude, and build the client’s trust in the process. Stage 4. Being stage Having assertively stepped out of conflict and into their own presence, clients in this middle stage feel a deep sense of strength, autonomy, empowerment, wholeness, and inherent self-worth. This is an affirming and validating stage for clients that counters their long history of being negated and hurt, and it is important to spend time here naming their new strengths, qualities, and capacities, and consolidating their inner changes. Because they no longer experience confusion or being divided, it is easy for clients (or counsellors) to terminate counselling at this stage (now that the original presenting

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issues seem resolved, or at least tolerable), or skip to the next stage, without realising that the work of this middle stage is the foundation for the whole second half of the therapeutic process. Stage 5. Transforming stage

With a newly felt sense of a fresh start, clients turn optimistically towards a yet-to-bediscovered future of possibilities. An innate sense of freedom, trust, and capacity calls them to exploration and adventure, as they reach out into a symbolic landscape of opportunity and promise. It is common for clients in the middle of this stage to address spiritual matters explicitly and discover synchronicity. However, the last quarter of this stage provokes increasing angst and doubt as they discover a very real sense of unreadiness to face the external realities embodied in the question, “What shall I do with my power and potential?” The second half of the therapeutic process requires counsellors to act with a very different purpose and manner from those they adopted in the first half, because clients now have a strong sense of self, feel an innate resourcefulness, and have connected with a “greater than self ” sense of transcendence. At this stage the pace is faster, the client has more libidinal energy, and the therapist needs to keep an eye on client naivety and impulsiveness. With each level change upwards and outwards, the counsellor adds resources, keeps the symbolic journey (that is unfolding on the page) moving onwards, and works to get clients’ positive projections about their new “story” reframed into generic principles of self-guidance.

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Stage 6. Transition Two stage (T2)

Despite the gains of the two previous stages, T2 clients now feel a distinct lack of fit with their external world: they have changed but the world seems the same. The return of doubt and uncertainty causes them to once again withdraw from the world (often for a long time) and they can feel that they are back at T1. In contrast to T1, which was about overwhelming loss, T2 is about overwhelming potential. T2 is a time of searching for values, and the reconciliation of paradox and ambiguity, for clients are now searching for a new paradigm on which to build a new future, and their question of the previous stage now takes a subtle and important shift to become, “What is worth doing with my power and potential?” It is essential that the counsellor distinguishes T2 from T1, and maintains a stage-appropriate, holding-the-faith relationship with the client. Stage 7. Departing stage After the long psychological hibernation of the previous stage, this last stage is characterised by clients suddenly stepping out of T2 with a determined externalworld focus, wanting to “get real” and to fulfil an inner imperative to “actualise” themselves. There are no psychological conflicts here, just a quiet sense of practical need and capability as they develop pragmatic skills, organise themselves, claim their future, and find peers, purpose, and projects. This last stage is still part of the therapeutic process, but because the client is now finished with internal and regressive work, the therapeutic alliance is now “adult to adult,” and can be mistakenly read as being beyond therapeutic attention. Although the counsellor’s role now moves from being

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therapist to being more of a coach or mentor, one of the main tasks of this stage is to help clients maintain a very real and important connection with their resourceful unconscious, despite their increasing busyness in the external world. Post-therapeutic process With an empowered sense of having found themselves and their place in the world, clients systematically set about their new lives (typically with a sense of vocation, service, energy, delight, and success). Comment

At each stage, a different aspect of the client’s psyche or personality structure can be seen to emerge—sometimes seeming like a different client. Because each stage brings a different therapeutic focus, the counsellor needs to adjust the clinical objectives, therapeutic relationship, and way of working at each stage. Being able to read and understand each client’s condition accurately and shape stage-specific interventions that have a good fit for the client is a skill that increases the counsellor’s effectiveness and the client’s satisfaction. Each stage seems to integrate and build on the achievements of previous stages and reflects an attitudinal shift for the client toward increasing authenticity, security, and capability, and decreasing projection, risk, and compensation. In a sense, each stage can be seen to serve as a prerequisite for advancing to the next, but this is not an automatic or lineal graduation, for clients can spontaneously return to earlier stages

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and deeper levels of work, or suddenly produce a new priority to be addressed, while some stages may appear to be passed over altogether. Clients’ movement across these seven stages of change is not constant but ebbs and flows, for their tenure or time spent in any particular stage can vary widely, sometimes reflective of the work at hand, and at other times seemingly outside the intent of client or counsellor. At times, their position is quite precise, while at other times their position might widen and straddle the end and beginning of adjacent stages, giving out more of a mixed message about what they are experiencing. Each stage consists of early, middle, and late sub-stages, so that the transition between stages tends to be more seamless and not as fractured as the determination of “stages” might suggest. A therapeutic process represents a discrete period of dedicated psychological endeavour, existing between times of less overt or conscious therapeutic engagement where the client has a more pragmatic orientation to the realities of life. Although change is a constant dynamic in people’s lives, and therapeutic experiences can occur in unplanned and unexpected ways, as a purposeful course of action within a contractual relationship, a therapeutic process can therefore be considered to have a beginning and an end. For most clients, a therapeutic process does not continue indefinitely (although many clients will not go through what a therapist might consider to be a whole or complete process of change, and clients with a severe predisposition may find themselves stuck at certain places in the process). Although clients often use movement metaphors such as “journey” or “growth” to give a subjective measure of their sense of progress (for example, “I’m starting to open up and trust again”), counsellors require more objective and practical criteria. Models of therapeutic process aim to provide such a framework, relating generic processes of change to specific client situations and capacities. Reading the client’s stage

Table 1 summarises some of the recurring clusters of words, images, and behaviours (WIB) that clients exhibit when using IDT, providing cues for reading the stage these reflect, as well as cues that guide the shaping of appropriate stage-specific interventions. As a general principle, IDT counsellors look for congruence across all three WIB categories to identify a stage. Note that IDT makes a strong distinction between “reading” and “interpreting.” For example, counsellors read the client when they identify their position along the therapeutic process continuum, but interpret the client’s

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condition when they analyse the client’s pages. “Reading” the client’s position is a process observation, whereas “interpreting” the client’s drawings is content-oriented. Table 1: Word, image and behavioural characteristics of each IDT stage (see stage-specific client drawings shown in the text) Words

Images

Behaviours

Refuse to draw, or obedient and then push page away. Dark isolated objects, no context, fragmented.

Resentful, alienating, critical, suspicious, opinionated, manipulative, dominating, intolerant.

Minimal presence, small isolated figure, entrapment, covered over, alone, at-risk situations, unstructured.

Hopeless, helpless, despairing, depressed, numb, minimal feeling, overwhelmed, withdrawn.

Side of page, side-on encounters, unequal relationships, different parts in conflict.

Seek and accept help, accept vulnerability, emotionally cathartic, brave and determined.

Centred, face on, full page, portrait orientation, symmetrical and flanked, large, coloured, grounded.

Independent, autonomous, empowered, stand tall, calm, pleased, satisfied, tolerant, unshakeable.

Natural landscape, moving object, changing form, brightly coloured, full page, allied elements.

Open and adventurous, enthusiastic energy, playful, sense of new opportunities, trusting, optimistic.

Encapsulated and shaded interior, no exterior, abstract primary shape, central on page.

Social withdrawal, live simply, existential angst or patient trust and waiting.

Abstract and analytical diagrams, charts, maps, lists, boundaries, and forces, time-lines and tasks.

Purposeful, wanting to apply themselves, project-based skills focus, seek peership.

1 ARRIVING Angry, abusive, blaming, complaining, rationalising, deny responsibility, lies, swearing, shouting.

2 TRANSITION ONE “I don’t know,” “Yes but,” minimal talk, unfinished sentences, disconnected thought.

3 MEETING Name issues, address the past, express feelings, confront “bad others,” declare unmet needs.

4 BEING “Whole,” “Strong,” “Here and now” talk, self-affirming, celebratory, no conflicts or issues.

5 TRANSFORMING “Free,” “New,” “Journey,” “Potential,” describing an unfolding and unplanned story, words of discovery.

6 TRANSITION TWO “Paradox,” “I don’t know,” impatient and frustrated or quiet acceptance, self-reflective silences.

7 DEPARTING “Get real,” pragmatic concerns, external-world focus, goals and plans.

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Working strategically and with therapeutic intent

Working stage-specifically is the aim of IDT counsellors, for it adds an overarching, long-term perspective to the more tactical IDT interventions that occur within each session. If counsellors can achieve stage-based accuracy in their responses, then clients are believed to work more efficiently and with greater motivation, sustainability, and results. Although Prochaska and Norcross (2001) operate within a behavioural schema, IDT experience validates their generic observations that “the cumulative evidence indicates that tailoring the therapy-relationship and treatment intervention to the stage of change can enhance outcome, specifically in the percentage of patients completing therapy and in the ultimate success of treatment” (p. 443). Because all IDT stages are seen to consist of fundamental work for a client, no single stage is considered to be more important than another. The IDT goal is therefore not to get clients to the end of the process, but to help clients do the work of the stage they are currently in (because their condition and capacity are seen to progress naturally once the work of that stage has been attended to). When clients get stuck at a particular stage, it is hypothesised that there is still more work from a previous stage to attend to, so in those circumstances the IDT principle is to “go back a stage in order to move on a stage.” The overall IDT schema represents clients’ shift from overidentification with an old order (that no longer serves or is no longer available) to their discovery of a new order of perception and opportunity, resulting in an improved relationship with their external world and a more cohesive and stable sense of self. While the IDT therapeutic process constructs an overall sequence of client changes, many clients will traverse only a reduced range of stages. For example: • In a general counselling practice, most self-referring clients have been carrying their issues for some time and commonly introduce themselves while in the first half of the Meeting stage. • Clients sent under coercion (from the courts, teachers, parents, or disgruntled spouses) are understandably defensive and uncommitted to begin with, and are generally located in, and reluctant to move from, their position in the Arriving stage. • Specialist agencies or practitioners will find their clients typically aggregated at particular stages. For example, chronically depressed or suicidal clients generally hold to the Transition One stage. Borderline clients often sit simultaneously across the first three stages, reflecting their characteristic ambivalence of “I don’t need help” (Arriving stage), “No-one can help me” (Transition One stage), and “Help me!” (Meeting stage). Spiritual directors working with clients in the second half of life will

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possibly find that much of their service corresponds to mid-Transforming and T2 stages. • In contrast, children can often make two to three big jumps across the overall process within one session. Working with stage-specific process variables

IDT practice has revealed a range of therapeutic phenomena that exhibit stage-specific attributes. It is surmised that the particularity of these occurrences may well be influenced by the presence of an “IDT page” between client and counsellor (in contrast to the more singular and direct client-counsellor relationship of the talking therapies). The IDT schema serves to forewarn and guide counsellors’ responses to such occurrences. Projection and transference In addition to the inevitable projections of ego, and IDT’s conscious use of projection as a drawing tool (Withers, 2006), the seven stages of change vary in their ease and difficulty for the client, often provoking strong projections and transferences in their own right. For example, the uncertainties for the client at the Arriving, T1, late Transforming, and early T2 stages can arouse significant impatience, doubt, anxiety, and criticism in the client about the value of therapy or the ability of the therapist. In contrast, the first half of the Transforming stage often brings strong positive projection and transference from the client, who may now arrive for sessions bearing invitations and gifts. Affect and catharsis In an IDT session, the client’s feelings are put onto the page and energised (or contained) through the use of different colours, characterisation, shading, and encrypted writing. Working with pages often seems to transmute or reframe clients’ feelings, so their emotions can at times become less physically affective, and they become more open to disclosing vulnerability, unmet needs, deeply held values, historic wounding, or an encounter with archetypal content. Conversely, mark-making (such as slow repetitive shading or vigorous strikes of line) can, where appropriate, be used to intensify cathartic discharge. Each stage brings a characteristically different response in terms of feelings. For example, the Arriving and Meeting stages often bring a loud discharge of strong emotion. The T1 stage typically reveals the client as being shut down and often dangerously split off from any expression of feeling. The Being and early Transforming

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Russell Withers

stages typically have the client experiencing libidinal delight and excitement. Late Transforming and T2 stages are often places of high existential angst, while the Departing-stage client generally shows emotional stability and resilience. An IDT counsellor generally does not pursue cathartic discharge as a generic goal, but responds to the client’s feelings in a stage-specific manner as and when they are revealed by the client’s psyche. Contracts Because each client’s content and therapeutic tasks vary at each level and stage, no single, pre-arranged contract is considered adequate, so the IDT counsellor regularly checks and reframes the contract at each stage. IDT can be used to clarify issues and shape a contract, as well as then working within that contract. Immediately following the “not-knowing” that accompanies the T1 and T2 stages, clients can be seen to pause naturally and reflect more explicitly on the objectives of their therapeutic endeavour, marking two places of significant and natural contract review—Contract 1 (C1) and Contract 2 (C2) (see Figure 1). C1 negotiates the client’s entry into the journey within, and C2 negotiates the client’s re-entry back into the external world. Both are best treated with some formality and detail, whereas at other stages or levels (for example, when working with metaphor at the early-Transforming stage), a quick, informal check can be sufficient, such as “Is what we’re doing here helpful and useful?” (Note that this is not a good question when clients are in either of the two Transition stages, because they will typically answer, “I don’t know,” and may interpret the question as indicating that their counsellor is not sure about things, just at a stage when strong and reliable containment is needed. Hence the importance of stage-specific contracting.) Because many clients are inclined to terminate counselling at the Being stage, now that they are feeling a lot better about themselves, this is also an important place for a contract review. During the first two stages (Arriving and T1), clients are generally immersed in strong and archaic defences, have not yet explicitly asked for (or accepted) help, nor are they interested in the bigger contextual picture. However, from the mid-Meeting stage onwards, they are typically interested in being shown a simple line diagram of the IDT process (Figure 1 or Figure 2), and appreciate seeing that their condition and pathway are normal and achievable. This also reassures them that the counsellor has a good understanding of their current condition, what they have been through, and what lies ahead.

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Farewells Near the end of each of the major level changes of the Meeting and Transforming stages, clients will often unconsciously enact two places of significant separation— Farewell 1 (F1) and Farewell 2 (F2) (see Figure 1). F1 reflects the clients’ detaching from the impact that significant others have had over them, and F2 reflects their detaching from identification with their own no-longer-appropriate “old self.” IDT’s pagebased use of symbol and ritual fits well with this work. Stage-specific risks Each stage in the IDT therapeutic process brings a different and foreseeable set of psychosocial risks for the client. For example, the client at the Being stage has substantially reclaimed a sense of empowerment and independence, and is no longer willing to return to restricting or dysfunctional relationships. However, this newly found autonomy can sometimes lead clients at this stage to mistakenly believe that they are no longer accountable in relationships. In addition, their re-awakened narcissism can combine with their renewed capacity to envision a better future, sometimes leading to inflationary beliefs about their own importance and role in society. Each stage also brings a concomitant set of risks for the counsellor. For example, a risk for T2-stage clients is that they may not want to return to the mundane outer world, and can loiter in this stage for months (even years), appearing to procrastinate and avoid opportunities for stepping more fully into their own lives, often provoking a strong countertransference of impatience, frustration, and doubt in the counsellor. Figure 2: The IDT seven-stage therapeutic process metaphor

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Discussion

Although the therapeutic schema described in this article was initially discovered through observation of client drawings, the process itself comes from within the client’s psyche and exists without drawings. It is considered therefore that, although named here as the IDT therapeutic schema, it may be a universal process that can be used by counsellors and social workers of other modalities, as well as being a useful tool in supervision and counsellor education. The schema has a dual nature, in part describing the spontaneous and selfgoverning movement of the client’s psyche, and on the other hand offering a model to enable counsellors to work more strategically with clients at each stage. Although the schema reflects a psychodynamic perspective, it also locates external-world issues, thereby providing a comprehensive framework for reading the inner and outer aspects of the client’s journey. In addition to conscious factors that motivate a client to do the “work” of each stage, a more inherent and spontaneous impulse can often be recognised (seemingly independent from the chosen goals of client or counsellor) that presents the client with unanticipated material that can have profound facilitative and transformative consequences, frequently shunting the client unexpectedly into a different level or stage of work. The source of this impetus might fit with what Jung named as the Self, or what Sedgwick (2001, p. 26) refers to as “the energising and organising centre of the personality,” the function of which Corbett (1989, p. 11) describes as “[guiding] the development of the personality autonomously toward its natural unfolding, in a manner which is not directed by conscious intent.” This phenomenon of spontaneous therapeutic activity can be seen to occur quite often when using pages in an IDT way, and may explain the timing of the client’s move from one stage to another. Conclusion

Although it has been proposed here that working in a stage-specific manner increases professional effectiveness, Perepletchikova and Kasdin (2005) invite practitioners and researchers not only to describe clusters of stage-specific changes, but also to evaluate the clinical significance of those changes. In their eyes, mechanisms of change are a neglected area of research and there is a need to create meanings and measurements that can increase methodological quality and evidence-based practices. The IDT stagebased schema outlined here provides both a theoretical and a practical tool that can be used to help advance such research. IDT’s previously presented schema of “levels”

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of change (Withers, 2006) and this paper’s schema of “stages” of change combine to provide a detailed and innovative framework for tracking clients’ therapeutic progress, aiming thereby to increase professional effectiveness, enhance client satisfaction, and further clinical research.

References

Argyris, C., & Schon, D. (1974). Theory in practice: Increasing professional effectiveness. San Francisco: Jossey Bass. Corbett, L. (1989). Kohut and Jung: A comparison of theory and therapy. In D. W. Detrick (Ed.), Self psychology: Comparisons and contrasts. Hillsdale, NJ: The Analytic Press. Retrieved August 3, 2009, from http://www.findingstone.com/professionals/monographs/ kohutandjung.htm Edinger, E. F. (1992). Ego and archetype: Individuation and the religious function of the psyche. Boston: Shambhala. Erikson, E. H. (1959). Identity and the life cycle. New York: International Universities Press. Hillman, J. (1992). Revisioning psychology. New York: Harper Collins. Kohlberg, L. (1981). The philosophy of moral development. New York: Harper & Row. Malan, H. M. (1979). Individual psychotherapy and the science of psychodynamics. London: Butterworth. Maslow, A. (1943). A theory of human motivation. Psychological Review, 50, 370–396. Perepletchikova, F., & Kasdin, A. E. (2005). Treatment integrity and therapeutic change: Issues and research recommendations. Clinical Psychology: Science and Practice, 12(4), 365–383. Piaget, J. (1936). The origins of intelligence in children. New York: International Universities Press. Prochaska, J. O., DiClemente, C. C., & Norcross, J. C. (1992). In search of how people change. The American Psychologist, 47(9), 1102–1114. Prochaska, J. O., & Norcross, J. C. (2001). Stages of change. Psychotherapy, 38(4), 443–448. Sedgwick, D. (2001). Introduction to Jungian psychotherapy. Hove, East Sussex: BrunnerRoutledge. Tuckman, B. W., & Jensen, M. A. C. (1977). Stages of small-group development revisited. Group and Organization Management, 2 (4), 419–427. Withers, R. (2006). Interactive drawing therapy: Working with therapeutic imagery. New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 26(4), 1–14. Zhang, W., Chan, P., & Campbell, C. (2009). Interactive drawing therapy with Asian clients. Presentation to the Cross Cultural Interest Group, Mental Health Services, Auckland District Health Board, Auckland, April 28.

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

Biographical Information

Fran Cahill has a private supervision practice in Auckland, after many years as a school guidance counsellor. Alastair Crocket is a senior academic staff member at Wintec. Email: alastair.crocket@wintec.ac.nz Kathie Crocket is Director of Counsellor Education at the University of Waikato. Email: kcrocket@waikato.ac.nz Paul Flanagan is a senior lecturer in counsellor education at the University of Waikato. Email:paulf@waikato.ac.nz John Franklin has a private practice in Palmerston North and is a supervisor, spiritual director and Christian minister. Steve Lang is a lecturer in counsellor education at Te Kupenga o te Matauranga, Massey University. Email: s.k.lang@massey.ac.nz Robyn McGill is a counsellor at the University of Aucklandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Epsom campus. Dave McMillan is a counsellor at Avondale College in Auckland, and he runs a small private practice specialising in counselling people with Aspergerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Syndrome or intellectual disabilities. Email: mcm@avcol.school.nz; davemcounselling@hotmail.com Diane Mulcahy is a Community Plunket Nurse in Hamilton. Wendy Payne is a counsellor at Inglewood High School in Taranaki. Email: wendypayne@xtra.co.nz Sarah Penwarden is a counsellor at Diocesan School for Girls in Auckland and runs a small private practice. Email: spenwarden@diocesan.school.nz.

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Biographical Information

Ange Stewart is a nurse educator at Wintec, Hamilton. Mary Whalan is a senior counsellor at Petersgate Counselling Centre in Christchurch. Russell Withers is a counsellor in private practice, and the founder of Interactive Drawing Therapy. Email: idt2@pl.net

The editors would also like to thank the following people who refereed submissions for issues 1 and 2 of Volume 29 of this journal: Peter Bray Robyn Dixon Roger Elley-Brown Claire Ferguson Gay Gallagher Anthea Harper Jenny Harrison Brendan Hokowhitu Peter Hubbard Karen Lupe Cabrini Makasiale

Bob Manthei Graeme Miller Irene Paton Roger Phillipson Diane Piesse Mary Pottinger Gavin Stansfield Virginia Wilkinson Jan Wilson Jeremy Younger Sabrina Zoutenbier

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009

New Zealand Journal of Counselling Guidelines for Contributors

The purpose of the Journal is to provide a forum for the sharing of ideas, information, and perspectives on matters of common concern among practitioners and those undertaking research in the field. The editors welcome submission of papers including commentaries, research reports, practice-based articles and brief reports from the Associationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s members and applicants, as well as from others outside the Association with interests relevant to the field of counselling. The overriding criteria for selection are that the material is professionally relevant, the presentation is of high quality, and that the writer has communicated effectively with readers. There are two issues per year. The closing dates for the submission of papers for 2010 are Friday, February 26 for the June issue, and Friday, July 23 for the December issue. 1. Manuscripts should preferably be submitted to the editors as electronic documents in MS Word format, using Times New Roman 12 pt and double spaced throughout, with reasonably wide margins. If submitted in hard copy, they should be typed on one side of A4 paper, and accompanied by a disk copy. (Copies submitted in this way will not normally be returned.) Ensure pages are numbered. 2. The text should not exceed 5,000 words (excluding notes and references) unless special arrangements have been made with the editors. 3. The title and abstract (no longer than 150 words) should appear on the first page of the article, or title page. Keep the title short and descriptive of the article. The abstract should cover the intent, scope, general procedures, and principle findings of the article. On a separate page list the name(s), job title, and preferred email addresses of the author(s). 4. Authors should consult articles in recent issues of the Journal on general matters of style, e.g. conventions regarding headings, tables, and graphs, etc. 5. Do not justify your text, but have it left-aligned (i.e. ragged right-hand margin), including headings. Make sure the heading hierarchy is clear and keep the

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Guidelines for Contributors

number of heading levels to a minimum, preferably no more than three, e.g. Text heading A (14 point for title), Text heading B, and Text heading C. Keep the layout as simple as possible, and do not add additional formatting styles or use Track Changes. Do not have a heading ‘Introduction’—it should be self-evident that the first part of the text is an introduction. Have only one space after a full stop. 6. The location of tables, figures, graphs, drawings or photographs in the text must be clearly indicated, e.g. [TABLE 2 ABOUT HERE], and they should be attached as separate files (jpeg in the case of drawings or photographs), and/or submitted on separate pages at the end of the article. Make sure each table and figure is numbered correctly and has a heading. Position the heading above the figure or table, and place sources and notes immediately below. Do not embed the heading or caption in a figure. If a table or figure is reproduced or adapted from another publication, make sure you have permission to use it. In the text, always refer to a table by its number (rather than, e.g., “the table below”). 7. Mäori orthographic conventions need to be observed by authors, as established by the Mäori Language Commission. Briefly, this means macrons are used consistently to mark long vowels. A copy of the document on Mäori orthographic conventions can be obtained from the editors or from the source at: http://www.tetaurawhiri.govt.nz/english/pub_e/conventions.shtml. Definitions will not be provided for Mäori and Pacific words which are considered to be in common usage, nor will those words be italicised in the text. 8. Footnotes should be avoided. When endnotes may be necessary, number from one upwards and indicate the location of each in the text by a number in superscript. 9. Follow APA editorial style in general, but use New Zealand spelling. 10. Citations within the text should include in parentheses the author’s surname and year of publication, consistent with the item in the references at the end of the article. When a quotation has been used, include the page number(s), e.g. (Jones, 2006, p. 30), with a full stop and a space after the p. Use double quotation marks around the words quoted, and single for any quote within the quotation itself. 11. Quoted material of more than 40 words should be indented from the left-hand margin (set as a block quotation). The source of the quotation should be placed in the final line of the quotation within parentheses, and ranged right (i.e., be on the right-hand margin). No quotation marks should be used. 12. Authors alone are responsible for securing, when necessary, permission to use

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Guidelines for Contributors

quotations or other illustrations from copyrighted materials. Any charges connected to permissions will be paid by the article’s author(s). 13. The reference list at the end of the article should be arranged alphabetically by authors’ surnames. If a source has been accessed electronically, please ensure that any web address provided will be accessible to readers. Doi numbers and named databases such as ProQuest are not appropriate, as much of our readership is unable to use that information. The following examples should be used as a guide, paying particular attention to the sequence of items in the reference and to the capitalisation and punctuation: Hulme, K. (1981). Mauri: An introduction to bicultural poetry in New Zealand. In G. Amirthanayagam & S. C. Harrex (Eds.), Only connect (pp. 290–310). Honolulu: Center for Research in the New Literatures in English. Ifekwunigwe, J. O. (Ed.). (2004). “Mixed race” studies: A reader. London: Routledge. Johnston, M. (2007, April 21). Census planners blasted for “distorted” ethnicity statistics. The New Zealand Herald. Retrieved April 27, 2007, from http://www .nzherald.co.nz/section/1/story.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10435396. Keddell, E. (2006). Pavlova and pineapple pie: Selected identity influences on SamoanPakeha people in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Kötuitui: New Zealand Journal of Social Sciences Online, 1, 45–63. Krueger, R. A., & Casey, M. A. (2000). Focus groups: A practical guide for applied research (3rd ed.). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Kukutai, T. (2005, August). White mothers, brown children: Understanding the intergenerational transmission of minority ethnic identity. Paper presented at the Annual American Population Association Meeting, Philadelphia.

NB: The place of publication for a book is always a city (not a state, province or country). 14. Use abbreviations sparingly; overuse hinders rather than aids clarity. Where an abbreviation or acronym is used, spell out in full at the first reference, with the abbreviation in brackets immediately after, then use the abbreviation. With abbreviations i.e., and e.g., use no italics but full stops and a comma when used within parentheses or in a table or figure; when used in the text, write out in full. At the beginning of a sentence, write out a number or percentage in full rather than using a numeral. 15. Use bold type sparingly, and do not use bold or underlining in the text for emphasis; instead, use italics, but do so sparingly as well. 16. It is advisable to submit a manuscript to one or two colleagues for critical comment and proofreading before submitting it for publication.

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Guidelines for Contributors

17. The editors reserve the right to make minor alterations or deletions to articles without consulting the author(s), as long as such changes do not materially affect the substance of the article. Authors will be contacted if clarification is required. 18. All articles will be reviewed by at least two referees before a decision regarding publication is made. In the review process, the identities of both the author and the referees will remain anonymous. 19. Authors are asked to avoid the use of sexist language, and generalisations about all people from limited data. 20. Submission does not guarantee publication. Furthermore, publication does not imply that the views expressed in any article represent those of the New Zealand Association of Counsellors. 21. The typical process to publication will be: • Submission of paper • Acknowledgement of receipt • Paper sent to referees • Feedback to author following receipt of referees’ responses re acceptance/ changes needed • Resubmission following author modifications (if required) • Copy-edit • Proofs created • Publication Manuscripts for consideration should be emailed to both editors, Margaret Agee and Philip Culbertson, at: m.agee@auckland.ac.nz and p.culbertson@auckland.ac.nz The postal address for the New Zealand Journal of Counselling is: Dr Margaret Agee and Dr Philip Culbertson Editors, New Zealand Journal of Counselling c/o School of Counselling, Human Services & Social Work Faculty of Education The University of Auckland Private Bag 92601 Symonds St Auckland 1150

New Zealand Journal of Counselling 2009