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"Because I thought it might help someone else," she says.
Hodgin gets up for the next step, the little ritual they end each session with. He says it's time to "put the tribe back."He stands in front of Rachel, who's still on the couch, and presses his thumb on a spot on her forehead between her eyes. She exhales and her body goes limp with relaxation. Hodgin says he's eased the tension from her dendrites, which are pain receptors in the brain. (Neurologically speaking, this means that Hodgin's thumb has exerted enough force to permeate Rachel's skull and interfere with the synapses carrying messages between neurons in her brain.)
Rachel rises, and Hodgin hugs her.
As Rachel and her husband make their way to the elevator, Hodgin stays behind to pack up a few things from his office. When asked about the skeptics, about those who believe DID is a phenomenon created by therapists during "treatment," Hodgin brushes it aside. Rachel already had undiagnosed DID when she came to him, he says. It's not a condition he hunts for; it's a condition he recognizes and can treat.
As he says a few days later, "They keep coming and showing up at my office, and they're saying, 'Nobody can help me. Nobody understands.'"
But, thanks to the work carried out at places like the Trauma Institute and the Ross Institute, there are more and more mental health professionals out there who do understand. They understand that DID can be caused by neglect, by severe beatings, by growing up in a "weird" family. They understand that the patient sets her own reality. They don't have to believe what the patient is saying; the important thing is to deal with the unresolved emotions. They know the alters can be integrated and the patient can be healed.
They know that a diagnosis of DID can be true, even if the patient's story is not.