Martinus Claasen

I am often asked, “why did you become a psychologist?” The story has a rather innocent beginning. At first, it was a natural curiosity that drew me to psychology. When high-school friends came to me for advice on typical adolescent confusions, a positive reinforcement loop was born, and that initial curiosity evolved into what felt like an affinity for understanding why we are the way we are. Maybe, I thought, I am chosen for this. Next step. I enrolled into a Bachelor’s Degree. I was on cruise control, through years one to four, getting distinctions with relative ease. Then I applied for the Master’s program and got accepted on my first try. What more proof did I need that this was my destiny? It was as if psychology had chosen me, and not me it. Fast forward two and a half years later, and there I was. 24 years old and a qualified psychologist. My parents were proud, my friends impressed. If the road up until now was anything to go by, the rest, with degree in hand, should be even easier. Just put my name on a door and watch the clients stream in. I could not have been more wrong. Besides the marketing aspect of starting a private practice, which I had no idea where to even begin, there was that other tiny little fact: now I had to actually do the work. Yes, sit across from strangers and exhibit all the professionalism, the poise, the skill, that my degree announced to the world I was supposed to possess. And I had no idea what I was doing. Structures of theory broke apart in my mind. My clients’ stories were nowhere near as tidy and trimmed as those of the case studies I examined in class. The result, I could not box their stories inside the theories. And the landscape of possible routes towards which to steer conversations was so vast that I felt lost. You see, I had expected to be great at this, with little effort. Something had to change. The first was a fundamental change in belief. I had to accept my limitations, and realise that the only way to move that boundary forward was a conscientious devotion to the craft of therapy. To say yes to and take on daunting cases. Try techniques I was uncomfortable with. And learn, always, always be learning. And the second, most important discovery was this: that psychology had not chosen me after all, and instead, it was time that I choose it. That was back in 2008. Since then, I have worked with clients who presented with a wide range of psychological challenges, becoming more specialised in treating, to use a clinical lens, depression, anxiety, and addiction.   But I prefer to think about the challenges we face as being shaped by the rapid cultural transformation in which we are all immersed. Traditional beliefs being challenged by new ones, along the lines of politics, religion, sex, marriage, education, gender roles – these formerly stalwart institutions and social technologies, and the values which underpin them, to which we look for help to make sense and meaning of our lives, only to find them corroded and our society in a constant state of flux.    It might be a stretch to say it, but I do however believe that, in the western world at least, that it’s the first time in history that we are confronted at the individual level with the task of curating our own, personalised belief system. To assimilate what works for us, and to discard what doesn’t. A mighty task. And I’m honoured to walk the path with every client I work with.