Barbara Kinoy ... Wizard, Mentor, Friend
As a therapist I was a novice, still learning and green around the gills, as they say, when Diane Mickley introduced me to Barbara Kinoy in 1982.
Barbara and I began our relationship as supervisor, and very naive, idealistic supervisee. As I experienced her presence, I quickly came to realize how incredibly fortunate I was to have this extraordinary woman teach me her craft. It never mattered who you were when you talked with Barbara; she always had you feeling as though you were the only person on her radar at that moment. When Barbara asked, “How are you?,” it was never rhetorical; it was always, “How are you?” I remember feeling that I would never be able to achieve that level of “intimacy with boundaries,” that Barbara so effortlessly created when interacting with patients. As I worked beside her conducting groups, I marveled at her subtle nuances, that, in a heartbeat, could turn the tide in a room. I watched her command the attention of all with her unique style, which so clearly illustrated that, it’s not what you say, but how you say it, that can make or break that precious connection we all so desperately seek as clinicians. Barbara was so smart, had such insight, and her ability to empathize was instinctive. The rest of us can only hope to achieve something remotely close to that most special quality. And, in addition to that special quality, Barbara transferred her own grace and dignity to those she treated, thereby lessening their burden as she seemingly shared it with them.
Barbara has taught me so much about so many things. She encouraged me to take risks. I remember when I decided to bring Max, my one-year-old Cocker Spaniel, into my practice. I told Barbara my plan. I believe the Freudian side of her was secretly appalled, or at the very least, astounded. But then, as Max became my partner in helping engage some of my most resistant patients, as well as soothing those more fragile, Barbara became his greatest fan. Because of Barbara’s encouragement to trust my instincts, Max tirelessly helped me do my work for fifteen years of his life. Now there is Tessa, and Spencer my newest puppy, following in his footsteps.
Barbara taught me about this confusing connundrum: on the one hand, “You are the most important person in their lives;” while on the other hand, “Relax, you don’t have that much power.” This translated into “Don’t take yourself quite so seriously.” Oh, we could laugh at ourselves at times. It was exquisite how we could laugh. And then we’d cry. The joy and the pathos of our work.
As a clinician, Barbara seemed to always have that sixth sense that we all seek, yet remains often so illusive to most of us. Once, early on, Diane Mickley and I were discussing a complicated and delicate issue regarding a volatile patient. As we pondered how to handle this particular dilemma, Diane said to me, “Why don’t you ask the wizard; she’ll know what to do.” She was of course referring to Barbara, our in-house wizard. How appropriate, I thought. And from that moment on, Barbara became my wizard, and I visited Oz countless times with numerous puzzles. Now my wizard is gone, and I am so sad, but Barbara lives in my heart, and, as I have learned to do, I will look inward when I must dig deep, and ask, “What would my wizard do?”... and then I will know.
So much to say, so little time to say it. Barbara, my wizard, my mentor, my dearest friend... From all of those fortunate souls whose lives you have touched... We miss you and we love you... May you Rest in Peace.
Nancy King, LCSW