42 means you barely passed.

Now that I have about fifty psychology students to take care of, I may claim myself to have become something like a tutor. How exciting! As a friend put it: It’s exciting to have people’s futures in your hands. Apparently, I do.

Initially, I’ve been excited to be able to share some of my pseudo-professional knowledge and likewise learn from what young and fresh people’s minds have to offer. And then…

…disillusionment set in.

I’ll tell you how this happened. I got a bunch of papers to mark. So far, so good. Until I started reading. Some of my students are bright, potential researchers. Others have turned my inherent positive attitude upside down. Once you read reports lacking the most basic language skills, not to mention a lack of logic, you sit there frustrated and disillusioned, thinking about anything that may cheer you up.

42 means you barely passed.

When I used to study, I needed a 60 to pass. Anyways, apart from the limited academic standards which, as I learned, are common standard in undergraduate education in the UK, getting a 42 appears to be more difficult than you might have guessed.

Fortunately, my kids have me. They will pass. And I plan to teach them how to get their methods right. And their references. And their error bar charts. (Hopefully this story will find an end once they hand in their next reports.)

In need of a shrink?

Let me tell you about my latest visit to the shrink – or rather, to the Sherwood Institute which specializes in breeding shrinks.

It is an atmospheric place with lots of cozy couches, reminiscent of classical psychoanalysis. It houses a fireplace and it is located in an antique British building, which is in no way inferior to Freud’s eventual London residence. The natives of that place appear to blend in with the scenery, adding up to its distinctive and impressively familiar appeal. As a visitor you are welcomed by open faces, attentive and courteous, munificent with hospitality.

The intern library, situated in subterranean cellars, does not even shy away from presenting with specialist literature on spiritualism.

Training is offered in different forms of psychotherapy and counseling, including gestalt, person-centered, cognitive-behavioral and integrative psychotherapy, based on an assemblage of professional practice and academic research.

As is the case with other European countries, turning into a shrink comes at a cost in the UK. Inevitably this cost is not trivial. Apart from pecuniary costs, these costs extend to psychological costs and sacrifices on behalf of the future shrink.

Becoming a psychologist, becoming a therapist, is not merely a decision. It is a way of life. It is an ideology, which does not ask for a decision to adopt it, but for a fluid development to embrace it. How else could a person consent to listening empathically to a stranger pouring out his heart, disclosing his greatest fears and desires, dormant up to then, offering his absolute attention and giving away his professional and most humane aid?

The story does not end at realizing altruistic ideals. Potentially even more substantial is the innate need to understand how the human mind works. For a psychologist it is indispensable to uncover how his own mind works, why he thinks the way he thinks and why he feels what he feels. The psychologists’ altruism is nourished by his egoism. In fact, there may be a little narcissist hiding in a psychologist which becomes transferred to the person who seeks his professional help.

Ergo a shrink needs a shrink. Correspondingly, a therapists’ education in the UK entails seeing a therapist. As obvious as this may seem at first glance, it appears less so when compared to standard practice in Germany.

Apparently, only by better understanding himself can the psychologist progress towards understanding the other.

Psychology appears as a journey which necessitates the willingness to open up. The greatest challenge is self-reflection.