Can`t Fix Them? - Alyssa Giacobbe

psyche
Got Problems?
Can’t Fix Them?
It’s Mom and
Dad’s
Fault!
Figure out how your past has
screwed you up, and you’re well
on your way to sunnier days. Freud
called it family of origin. Fox calls
it The Dr. Keith Ablow Show—and
it’s giving the Newburyport psychiatrist both a growing following
and a chance to redeem himself.
By Alyssa Giacobbe
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P h o t o g r a p h s b y m att h o y l e
Weekdays on Fox, Dr. Keith Ablow educates
guests in the school of shifting blame.
psyche
Long ago, way before I became the model
of wellness I am today, I sought out a
therapist. I was 24, doing well at a fashion
magazine in New York, enjoying a pretty
fun social life, and besides the sorry pay,
I didn’t have a lot to complain about. And
yet. I thumbed through the insurance
book, chose a few names at random. Dr.
B. was the first to call me back.
She was in her mid-sixties, glamorous
and frank. She looked like Blythe Danner. I saw her regularly for the next five
years, sometimes twice a week. For the
first year, we didn’t speak. I had figured I’d
go in there, field a few probing questions,
unknowingly reveal all that rendered me
complex and interesting and screwed up,
and (along with, perhaps, an antidepressant or two) presto: I’d be cured! Instead,
we spent our sessions staring at each
other. She wasn’t lazy, as I first suspected,
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or indifferent; apparently, psychologists
use this technique all the time (my mom—
not a shrink—used it, too, though with her
it was called the silent treatment). It didn’t
work for me—also, I never got the meds—
but what did I know? Dr. B. was the professional, and I was 24.
I’d say, “So…,” and she’d say, “So….”
There’s no time for this sort of slowboat approach in Keith Ablow’s world. As
I sit down to interview him over dinner
near the Manhattan studio where he tapes
his eponymous TV talk show, the 45-yearold Newburyport psychiatrist gets right to
it: Barely two minutes in, ever so casual as
he unfolds his napkin, he says, “So, then.
Tell me about your family.”
Well, I grew up an only child…and,
um, my mom and dad were—hey, wait!
Ablow has made a career—a few
careers—out of delving into people’s lives
and personal histories. For more than a
decade, he has divided his time among
private practice, stints as an expert witness in murder trials, and media appearances. In September, after guesting on
other daytime talk shows (Oprah, Tyra
Banks), he launched The Dr. Keith Ablow
Show, in which he rummages through
his guests’ psyches for the benefit of
a national audience. “Everyone has a
story,” he announces as the credits roll.
“You have the power to rewrite yours and
make it better.” Here he means: Once you
understand how and when your parents
screwed you up—and believe him, they
did—you can fix whatever ails you.
It’s an attractive concept, if not
entirely new. Psychology textbooks call
the idea “family of origin,” and Freud was
a fan. But Freud has fallen out of fashion.
These days, budding analysts receive
more training in what’s called cognitivebehavioral therapy, which focuses less on
where a particular behavior came from
and more on what you’re supposed to
do about it. Accordingly, most psychiatrists today (including Dr. Phil McGraw,
the current king of talk-it-out TV, and
Ablow’s closest competitor) preach the
harder-to-digest “personal responsibility”
credo. Dr. Jody Schindelheim, a professor
at Tufts–New England Medical Center
and a former teacher of Ablow’s, says
while there’s nothing wrong with Ablow’s
methods, no psychiatrist should be a
slave to any one approach. “Each method
of therapy has advantages and disadvantages, depending on the patient,” he
says. “That should be taken into account,
rather than trying to impose your particular ‘favorite’ sort of treatment.”
In any case, when it comes to TV therapy, Ablow’s a pioneer. And he may be on
to something: Everyone’s got issues—and
everyone’s got parents! Ratings are up.
Last year Ablow was named one of
People’s sexiest men, honored with
Howie Mandel and Joey Lawrence
in a section called “The Bald and the
Beautiful.” While “beautiful” might not
be quite right—he’s completely, almost
freakishly, bald—his eyes are kind, and
he does a very good job of paying attention to whomever he’s talking to. Both
on camera and off, he’s snappily dressed
(9-to-5 wear includes custom-tailored
shirts, while Casual Keith, at least during our encounters, sports metallic
lace-up trainers), and a little hyper. At
a recent taping, Ablow is constantly
animated, jogging through the crowd
to field questions, gesturing wildly
whenever a guest says something he
finds particularly revealing, tapping his
cue card on his knee when forced to sit.
He points, a lot. When he thinks of it,
he turns to the right to reveal what he
clearly regards as his “good side.”
In private practice, which he reduced
to a “trickle” for the show (he now shuttles
between New York City and Plum Island,
where he shares a house on the beach with
his wife and kids), the doctor would often
meet patients over lunch, or “on their private jets.” He told them to call if they had
a nightmare, even if it was 3 a.m. “Orga-
curry, Joe Fornabaio/Warner Bros; McPhee, Alex Oliveira/Warner Bros.
“I’ll take full responsibility if my children
land in therapy. I’ll
write a letter that
says, ‘You have to
understand. They had
a narcissistic father.’”
nized psychiatry would have opinions on
whether bending boundaries like that is
appropriate,” he says. “But I didn’t want
the trappings of psychotherapy to stymie
people from letting down their guard—
and telling me more of their truths.”
It’s unorthodox, to say the least.
“Mixing doctor-patient roles is fraught
with danger,” says Dr. David Rosmarin,
a McLean Hospital psychiatrist and
former board member of the American
Academy of Psychiatry and the Law,
which publishes a handbook outlining
ethical guidelines. “Patients and therapists frequently develop warm feelings
for each other, but friendship involves
more of a symmetrical relationship, and
that is not putting the patient first.”
Ablow’s media pursuits have proved
controversial as well. Two years ago,
Ablow caused a stir with his book Inside
the Mind of Scott Peterson, in which he
diagnosed the convicted murderer as
a sociopath without having met him,
prompting Rosmarin to file a complaint
still pending with the Massachusetts Psychiatric Society, on the grounds it’s unethical for a psychiatrist to offer a professional
opinion unless he has conducted an
exam. And in October, Ablow scored the
first interview with John Mark Karr, the
man who confessed to killing six-year-old
beauty queen JonBenét Ramsey. Ablow
and his staff were accused of securing the
interview under false pretenses, getting
Karr drunk on beer beforehand, and using
a hidden camera to tape off-the-record
conversations in which Karr described
six-year-olds as “uninhibited.” Ablow has
since appeared on Today and Larry King
Live to defend the decision to air the footage. “We could’ve sat on the tape, sure,” he
says. “But what if he went out and hurt a
kid? How would we sleep at night?”
On Dr. Keith, Ablow’s topics veer
toward that kind of sensationalism—
slutty 12-year-olds, “women who hoard”—
and he spends most of the allotted 44
minutes trying to determine what the
hell happened all those years ago to make
people behave like this. C-list celebrity
guests, as they do, ramp up the bizarre
factor: Katherine McPhee, famously
ousted from American Idol; Christopher
Knight, famously Peter Brady; and, the
day I visit the set, Rain Pryor, famously
fathered by an out-of-control comedian
who once set himself on fire. Pryor has
just published a memoir, and is here to
talk about its meatier bits: how her dad
would bring home prostitutes and beat
them in front of her, how he’d blow lines
of coke while the rest of the family ate
dinner, how his destructive behavior only
made her “love him more.” (Ablow tells
me later, “This is what happens when a
little girl wants desperately to believe
that her father loves her,” but now he simply says he understands, and passes Pryor
the Kleenex box.)
continued on page 110
Ablow’s guests include semicelebs like Adrienne Curry and Christopher Knight, left, and Katherine McPhee.
A Little
Friendly
Advice
Dr. Keith Ablow
dispenses life
lessons to local
celebrities—
whether they
want them or not.
Mitt Romney, former governor. On
his presidential ambitions: “Here is a man
wholly consumed with righting a past
wrong. His father, his role model, was
nearly president, but for one single damaging statement. But it’s another man’s life
story he is trying to defend—not his own.”
Paul Pierce, Celtics forward. On controlling his temper: “To have your mom at
your games makes it a much more stressful event. He is burdened by extraordinary talent, but he should remember that
the story of a team is longer than the
story of one.”
Marie Whitney, future Mrs. Theo
Epstein. On marrying a workaholic: “She
must be sure he sees the potential for her
to compete with what has been his major
passion. And also understand this behavior
indicates a kind of addiction.”
Steve Belkin, real estate developer.
On proposing a 75-story skyscraper: “You
can criticize a man for his ego, but cities
ride along with individual dreams. I encourage him to press on. Being able to see the
future is a gift, even if there are detractors.”
Ellen Pompeo, Grey’s Anatomy star.
On the anorexia rumors: “If she is struggling
with an eating disorder, there would be
no greater gift to her fans than to admit it.
People have a great capacity to learn from
those they admire.”
Ed Davis, Boston police chief. On dealing with a new boss: “Don’t expect Menino
to be anything but a meddler. That man
has never wanted to be anything but the
mayor of Boston. You take the job and
Menino; that’s the arrangement.”
Tom Brady, Patriots quarterback. On
handling high expectations: “To be that
strong and smart is a burden. He can call
me anytime. For free.”
Tom Hamilton, Aerosmith bassist. On
battling cancer and missing the reunion
tour: “In every challenge we face there’s
the chance to show bravery. He has the
opportunity to have a whole new fan base
adore him for how he handles his illness.”
Todd Gross, weatherman. On getting
fired and doing radio voiceovers for Two
Sheiks hummus: “Life is like the weather,
and, as he knows, weather changes. Very
sunny days could be ahead. Only when we
believe that just hummus is on our horizon
does it become our reality.”
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keith ablow
continued from page 89
On his first day as an intern at Lawrence
Memorial Hospital in June 1987, Ablow
met a cute X-ray tech from Melrose
named Debbie. Their first date was in the
hospital cafeteria. They married in 1996,
and for the first years lived in “gritty, honest” Chelsea. In 1998, when Debbie was
pregnant with their daughter, the couple
moved to the considerably less gritty
Newburyport. Four years ago, they had
another child, a boy. Because of the rigors
of television production, Ablow doesn’t
see much of his wife and kids these days.
“I considered moving the family to New
York,” he says. “But one, my wife is now a
lawyer at her own firm in Charlestown,
and she wasn’t excited about giving that
up. Two, I felt this should be about me.
I couldn’t picture my daughter having
to leave her friends because I wanted a
different job.” He talks to his kids twice
a day, and sees them when he can. “But I
get it,” he says. “I know it’s not the same.
I’ll take full responsibility if they land in
therapy. I’ll write a letter that says, ‘You
have to understand. They had sort of a
narcissistic father who just had to go to
New York.’”
It’s clear Ablow fully subscribes to the
brand of psychology he hypes. Long ago,
he figured out it was his parents who
screwed him up. “There’s an explanation
for every single thing that people do, and
every way they feel,” he says. “I believe it
like a general believes that he can take
a hill.” In his personal life, that belief
lets Ablow justify his own actions, gives
him a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card for
crimes of self-indulgence. It’s also part
of what makes him an in-demand expert
witness. Since 1996 he’s provided mitigating insights into the minds of such
high-profile local killers as Joseph Druce,
who strangled Worcester priest (and
convicted sex offender) John Geoghan,
and Edward Donahue, the Reading
stay-at-home dad who killed his wife,
Elaine. “I can talk to juries,” Ablow says.
“I can say, ‘I see why this person may
seem like a monster to you—look at what
he’s done—but let’s consider the truths.
At seven, this person’s dad made him
run into a tree again and again until he
lost consciousness. Was he a killer back
then? Or did his father destroy him?
Because that’s what it feels like to me.’”
Growing up in Marblehead, Ablow
was tormented by bullies—followed
home, called names (“wimp” is the
only one he can seem to recall, but he
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thanks me for asking). The bullying is
something he mentions often, and it’s
evident, despite having been through
therapy himself, the man is not over
it. Or else it’s proved a handy vehicle
for earning viewer empathy—I’ve been
picked on, too!—while over at Dr. Phil,
McGraw is increasingly criticized for
being arrogant and a bit mean. Not
surprisingly, Ablow blames his parents, who “disempowered” him. “I was
coddled and overprotected in a way
that prevented me from becoming
substantial,” he says. “My mother was
so intent on keeping me safe that I had
never been tested. That was something
the bullies knew.”
Lately Ablow has been trying to track
down his tormentors, bring them on the
show. He thinks he’s found one living on
the North Shore—he tells me the man’s
name—but he’s not sure it’s him, since
the man won’t return producers’ calls.
I find the bully—let’s call him Jim—
listed in WhitePages.com. He calls me
back almost immediately. “I’ve gotten one
message from someone at Warner Brothers,” he says, “and they never mentioned
going on the show.” He’s not especially
psyched to know Ablow’s been sharing his
name with a reporter. As for the bullying,
Jim says he’s innocent—he hung around
with some rough kids, sure, but no way
was he ever the instigator. Still, he seems
to delight in telling the story of how
Ablow once got egged: “There was egg
dripping down his head. I was standing
with a bunch of friends. Maybe I had an
egg in my hand, maybe I didn’t. I didn’t
throw it. At this point in my life, I would
admit it, chalk it up to adolescence. But I
don’t want to ruin what seems to be the
blueprint he’s now basing his career on.”
Jim adds that he’d be open to appearing
on the show—or at least talking to Ablow.
“Tell Keith to give me a call.”
It wasn’t just the bullies; Ablow had
issues with Marblehead, too. “It’s hard
to trust a town about which a guidebook
exists,” he says. “There’s a forced sense
of sentimentality. I’m not a big fan of
Hallmark cards, although I think the
company’s just fine—I have to say things
like this now—and I don’t believe every
sign on your street needs to be made of
carved wood with gold-leaf paint. Life’s
not a movie set. And if you encourage
people to believe it is, you’re encouraging them to present a façade of their own
existence.” Right now, he adds, society is
at a crisis point. We shun authenticity.
“Just look at the whole distressed-jeans
thing: We want other people to believe
we wore them out. And what’s worse,
we half believe it ourselves,” he says.
“You probably think that’s innocuous,
except it really isn’t. Because it shows
how we’ve gotten used to lying, and how
everybody’s okay with that. We’re okay
with going to a psychiatrist and within
five minutes that psychiatrist is reaching
for his pad to write out a prescription
that will only make it harder for you to be
aware enough to realize what’s causing
your pain. Saying you don’t want to talk
about it gets you detention in the Ablow
School of Psychology.”
In the early ’90s, during a rough
patch as a resident at Tufts–NEMC,
Ablow visited psychiatrist James Mann,
who helped him work through what he
considers his biggest life change so far:
declaring “emotional autonomy” from his
past. “For the first time, I saw that I had
very loving parents who also were frightened of me becoming an individual,” he
says. “I realized that being a complete
person meant detaching.” At around
the same time, Ablow got the first of his
three tattoos, on his right thigh: a pair of
hands prying open a human head, flames
pouring out of the fissure. The image
represents Ablow as healer, as demon
slayer, but basically he got it because it
was a symbol of freedom from Mom and
Dad (and a pretty clear one at that, since
they raised him Jewish, a religion that
doesn’t exactly celebrate tattoos). He had
it done when he lived in Chelsea, by a guy
who made house calls and had just gotten
out of jail for home invasion. (Ablow paid
him an extra 50 bucks to check out his
security system. His dead bolts, he was
told, wouldn’t stand up to a tossed brick.)
Debbie watched as the guy tattooed Keith
in the living room, then ran to a Christy’s
for paper towels to mop up the blood.
When Ablow talks about home, he often
talks about Chelsea, though he hasn’t
lived there for almost 10 years. Unlike
Marblehead, he says, “you would never
design a city like Chelsea. That’s what
makes it honest. I don’t think people
would ever pretend in that place.” With
Ablow, the idea of authenticity crops up
a lot. The problem he faces, though, is
that Americans like distressed denim,
and new T-shirts made to look vintage,
and overmedicating—and they like
these things, to some degree, for the
same reasons they like his show. Dr.
Keith is escapism, a way to explore psychological issues superficially. Some
might say the doctor is a believer; in
trying to reframe how people look at
personal transformation, he’s trying to
change the world. Others might wonder
about his chosen psychiatric medium:
less than an hour of pat psychoanalysis
and TV-friendly sound bites instead
of in-depth sessions and follow-ups,
the often thankless work of individual
therapy.
At times, he seems conflicted, too.
“A lot of people like to feel full,” he says.
“I like it best when I’m emptied out. I’m
not saying I’m like Gandhi or anything—
let’s be honest, I shop for fine shoes.”
(And, he admits, distressed jeans.)
Whether through a desire to help or
a narcissistic streak, Ablow is tireless in
his efforts to make himself heard. Since
1990, he has written 12 books, including
How to Cope with Depression and the
crime novel Psychopath. A TV pilot he
penned in 2002, called Expert Witness,
starred Matthew Modine but was never
picked up. He’s a contributing editor at
Good Housekeeping. And this May,
Little, Brown will publish his new selfhelp book, Living the Truth, which is
drawn, predictably, from his own history. He’s currently renovating an office
near his Plum Island home so he can
work undisturbed all night long.
Next month Ablow will find out
whether his show will be renewed. He
doesn’t like to speculate, but is hopeful. If
he were to go off the air, he says, his work
would continue. Not that he wouldn’t be
sad, or “grieve” the loss. Perpetual motion
is, after all, what makes him feel youthful,
and useful, and “less worried about dying.”
I ask Ablow what another psychiatrist
might say about his 80-hour workweeks
and 300-mile commute. “Nobody could
miss the fact that in working this much
you run the risk of using the work to
avoid engaging with other people, including your family,” he says. “But I’m close to
my kids. I think my marriage is a healthy
one. All marriages after 10 or 11 years are
a challenge, in my mind. I’m good for
the challenge. As for Debbie, my feeling
is that you’d never marry a psychiatrist
if you didn’t want to get into emotional
terrain that’s a little uncomfortable.
Because I have a habit of going there.
At dinner parties I’ll end up talking to
one person, and that one person ends up
crying. Why? Because most of the things
that connect us are painful.” B
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