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A common refrain in psychiatry is that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Text Revision, (DSM-5-TR), published in 2022, is the best we can do.
Since the DSM-III was released in 1980, the American Psychiatric Association, which publishes the manual, has espoused the position that we should list symptoms, in a manner that is reminiscent of a checklist. For example, having a depressed mood on most days for a 2-week period, or a loss of interest in pleasurable things, as well as 4 additional symptoms – among them changes in appetite, changes in sleep, changes in psychomotor activity, fatigue, worthlessness, poor concentration, or thoughts of death – can lead to a diagnosis of a major depressive episode as part of a major depressive disorder.
Criticisms of this approach can be apparent. Patients subjected to such checklists, including being repeatedly asked to complete the Patient Health Questionnaire 9 (PHQ-9), which closely follows those criteria, can feel lost and even alienated by their providers. After all, one can ask all those questions and make a diagnosis of depression without even knowing about the patient’s stressors, their history, or their social context.
The DSM permits the diagnosis of psychiatric disorders without an understanding of the narrative of the patient. In its defense, the DSM is not a textbook of psychiatry, it is a guide on how to diagnose individuals. The DSM does not demand that psychiatrists only ask about the symptoms on the checklists; it is the providers who can choose to dismiss asking about the important facets of one’s life.
Yet every time we attend a lecture that starts by enumerating the DSM symptoms of the disorder being discussed, we are left with the dissatisfying impression that a specialist of this disorder should have a more nuanced and interesting description of their disorder of study. This feeling of discontent is compounded when we see a movie that encompasses so much of what is missing in today’s psychiatric parlance, and even more so if that movie is ostensibly made for children. Movies, by design, are particularly adept at encapsulating the narrative of someone’s life in a way that psychiatry can learn from.
Other than the embarrassment of not knowing a patient outside the checklist, the importance of narrative cannot be understated. Dr. Erik Erikson rightfully suggested that the point of life is “the acceptance of one’s one and only life cycle”1 or rather to know it was okay to have been oneself without additions or substitutions. Therefore, one must know what it has meant to be themselves to reconcile this question and achieve Ego Integrity rather than disgust and despair. Narrative is the way in which we understand who we are and what it has meant to be ourselves. An understanding of our personal narrative presents a unique opportunity in expressing what is missing in the DSM. Below, we provide two of our favorite examples in Disney films, among many.
‘Ratatouille’ (2007)
One of the missing features of the DSM is its inability to explain to patients the intrapsychic processes that guide us. One of these processes is how our values can lead us to a deep sense of guilt, shame, and the resulting feelings of alienation. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling shackled by beliefs that they should accomplish more and be more than they are.
The animated film “Ratatouille” does an excellent job at addressing this feeling. The film follows Remy, the protagonist rat, and his adventures as he explores his passion for cooking. Remy teams up with the inept but good-natured human Alfredo Linguini and guides him through cooking while hiding under his chef’s hat. The primary antagonist, Anton Ego, is a particularly harsh food critic. His presence and appearance are somber. He exudes disdain. His trim physique and scarf suggest a man that will break and react to anything, and his skull-shaped typewriter in his coffin-shaped office informs the viewer that he is out to kill with his cruel words. Anton Ego serves as our projected super-ego. He is not an external judge but the judgment deep inside ourselves, goading us to be better with such severity that we are ultimately left feeling condemned.
Remy is the younger of two siblings. He is less physically adept but more intellectual than his older brother, who does not understand why Remy isn’t content eating scraps from the garbage like the rest of their rat clan. Remy is the creative part within us that wants to challenge the status quo and try something new. Remy also represents our shame and guilt for leaving our home. On one hand, we want to dare greatly, in this case at being an extraordinary chef, but on the other we are shy and cook in secret, hiding within the hat of another person. Remy struggles with the deep feeling that we do not deserve our success, that our family will leave us for being who we are, and that we are better off isolating and segregating from our challenges.
The movie concludes that through talent and hard work, our critics will accept us. Furthermore, once accepted for what we do, we can be further accepted for who we are. The movie ends with Remy cooking the eponymous dish ratatouille. He prepares it so remarkably well, the dish transports Anton Ego back to a sublime experience of eating ratatouille as a child, a touching moment which not only underscores food’s evocative link to memory but gives a glimpse at Anton Ego’s own narrative.
Ego is first won over by the dish, and only afterward learns of Remy’s true identity. Remy’s talent is undeniable though, and even the stuffy Ego must accept the film’s theme that “Anyone can cook,” even a rat – the rat that we all sometimes feel we are deep inside, rotten to the core but trying so hard to be accepted by others, and ultimately by ourselves. In the end, we overcome the disgust inherent in the imagery of a rat in a kitchen and instead embrace our hero’s achievement of ego integrity as he combines his identities as a member of a clan of rats, and one of Paris’s finest chefs.
While modern psychiatry can favor looking at people through the lens of biology rather than narrative, “Ratatouille” can serve as a reminder of the powerful unconscious forces that guide our lives. “Ratatouille” is not a successful movie only because of the compelling narrative, but also because the narrative matches the important psychic paradigms that psychiatry once embraced.
‘Inside Out’ (2015)
Another missing feature of the DSM is its inability to explain how symptoms feel and manifest psychologically. One such feeling is that of control – whether one is in control of one’s life, feelings, and action or rather a victim of external forces. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling traumatized by the life they’ve lived and powerless to produce any change. Part of our role is to guide them through this journey from the object of their lives to the subject of their lives.
In the animated feature “Inside Out,” Riley, a preteen girl, goes through the tribulation of growing up and learning about herself. This seemingly happy child, content playing hockey with her best friend, Meg, on the picturesque frozen lakes of Minnesota, reaches her inevitable conflict. Her parents uproot her life, moving the family to San Francisco. By doing so, they disconnect her from her school, her friends, and her hobbies. While all this is happening, we spend time inside Riley’s psyche with the personified characters of Riley’s emotions as they affect her decisions and daily actions amidst the backdrop of her core memories and islands of personality.
During the move, her parents seemingly change and ultimately destroy every facet of Riley’s sense of self, which is animated as the collapse of her personality islands. Her best friend engages Riley in a video call just to inform her that she has a new friend who plays hockey equally well. Her parents do not hear Riley’s concerns and are portrayed as distracted by their adult problems. Riley feels ridiculed in her new school and unable to share her feelings with her parents, who ask her to still be their “happy girl” and indirectly ask her to fake pleasure to alleviate their own anxiety.
The climax of the movie is when Riley decides to run away from San Francisco and her parents, to return to her perceived true home, Minnesota. The climax is resolved when Riley realizes that her parents’ love, representing the connection we have to others, transcends her need for control. To some degree, we are all powerless in the face of the tremendous forces of life and share the difficult task of accepting the cards we were dealt, thus making the story of Riley so compelling.
Additionally, the climax is further resolved by another argument that psychiatry (and the DSM) should consider embracing. Emotions are not all symptoms and living without negative emotion is not the goal of life. Riley grows from preteen to teenager, and from object to subject of her life, by realizing that her symptoms/feelings are not just nuisances to avoid and hide, but the key to meaning. Our anger drives us to try hard. Our fear protects us from harm. Our sadness attracts the warmth and care of others. Our disgust protects us physically from noxious material (symbolized as a dreaded broccoli floret for preteen Riley) and socially by encouraging us to share societal norms. Similarly, patients and people in general would benefit by being taught that, while symptoms may permit the better assessment of psychiatric conditions using the DSM, life is much more than that.
It is unfair to blame the DSM for things it was not designed to do. The DSM doesn’t advertise itself as a guidebook of all behaviors, at all times. However, for a variety of reasons, it has become the main way psychiatry describes people. While we commend the APA for its effort and do not know that we could make it any better, we are frequently happily reminded that in about 90 minutes, filmmakers are able to display an empathic understanding of personal narratives that biologic psychiatry can miss.
Dr. Pulido is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in women’s mental health, medical education, and outpatient psychiatry. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Erikson, EH. Childhood and society (New York: WW Norton, 1950).
A common refrain in psychiatry is that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Text Revision, (DSM-5-TR), published in 2022, is the best we can do.
Since the DSM-III was released in 1980, the American Psychiatric Association, which publishes the manual, has espoused the position that we should list symptoms, in a manner that is reminiscent of a checklist. For example, having a depressed mood on most days for a 2-week period, or a loss of interest in pleasurable things, as well as 4 additional symptoms – among them changes in appetite, changes in sleep, changes in psychomotor activity, fatigue, worthlessness, poor concentration, or thoughts of death – can lead to a diagnosis of a major depressive episode as part of a major depressive disorder.
Criticisms of this approach can be apparent. Patients subjected to such checklists, including being repeatedly asked to complete the Patient Health Questionnaire 9 (PHQ-9), which closely follows those criteria, can feel lost and even alienated by their providers. After all, one can ask all those questions and make a diagnosis of depression without even knowing about the patient’s stressors, their history, or their social context.
The DSM permits the diagnosis of psychiatric disorders without an understanding of the narrative of the patient. In its defense, the DSM is not a textbook of psychiatry, it is a guide on how to diagnose individuals. The DSM does not demand that psychiatrists only ask about the symptoms on the checklists; it is the providers who can choose to dismiss asking about the important facets of one’s life.
Yet every time we attend a lecture that starts by enumerating the DSM symptoms of the disorder being discussed, we are left with the dissatisfying impression that a specialist of this disorder should have a more nuanced and interesting description of their disorder of study. This feeling of discontent is compounded when we see a movie that encompasses so much of what is missing in today’s psychiatric parlance, and even more so if that movie is ostensibly made for children. Movies, by design, are particularly adept at encapsulating the narrative of someone’s life in a way that psychiatry can learn from.
Other than the embarrassment of not knowing a patient outside the checklist, the importance of narrative cannot be understated. Dr. Erik Erikson rightfully suggested that the point of life is “the acceptance of one’s one and only life cycle”1 or rather to know it was okay to have been oneself without additions or substitutions. Therefore, one must know what it has meant to be themselves to reconcile this question and achieve Ego Integrity rather than disgust and despair. Narrative is the way in which we understand who we are and what it has meant to be ourselves. An understanding of our personal narrative presents a unique opportunity in expressing what is missing in the DSM. Below, we provide two of our favorite examples in Disney films, among many.
‘Ratatouille’ (2007)
One of the missing features of the DSM is its inability to explain to patients the intrapsychic processes that guide us. One of these processes is how our values can lead us to a deep sense of guilt, shame, and the resulting feelings of alienation. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling shackled by beliefs that they should accomplish more and be more than they are.
The animated film “Ratatouille” does an excellent job at addressing this feeling. The film follows Remy, the protagonist rat, and his adventures as he explores his passion for cooking. Remy teams up with the inept but good-natured human Alfredo Linguini and guides him through cooking while hiding under his chef’s hat. The primary antagonist, Anton Ego, is a particularly harsh food critic. His presence and appearance are somber. He exudes disdain. His trim physique and scarf suggest a man that will break and react to anything, and his skull-shaped typewriter in his coffin-shaped office informs the viewer that he is out to kill with his cruel words. Anton Ego serves as our projected super-ego. He is not an external judge but the judgment deep inside ourselves, goading us to be better with such severity that we are ultimately left feeling condemned.
Remy is the younger of two siblings. He is less physically adept but more intellectual than his older brother, who does not understand why Remy isn’t content eating scraps from the garbage like the rest of their rat clan. Remy is the creative part within us that wants to challenge the status quo and try something new. Remy also represents our shame and guilt for leaving our home. On one hand, we want to dare greatly, in this case at being an extraordinary chef, but on the other we are shy and cook in secret, hiding within the hat of another person. Remy struggles with the deep feeling that we do not deserve our success, that our family will leave us for being who we are, and that we are better off isolating and segregating from our challenges.
The movie concludes that through talent and hard work, our critics will accept us. Furthermore, once accepted for what we do, we can be further accepted for who we are. The movie ends with Remy cooking the eponymous dish ratatouille. He prepares it so remarkably well, the dish transports Anton Ego back to a sublime experience of eating ratatouille as a child, a touching moment which not only underscores food’s evocative link to memory but gives a glimpse at Anton Ego’s own narrative.
Ego is first won over by the dish, and only afterward learns of Remy’s true identity. Remy’s talent is undeniable though, and even the stuffy Ego must accept the film’s theme that “Anyone can cook,” even a rat – the rat that we all sometimes feel we are deep inside, rotten to the core but trying so hard to be accepted by others, and ultimately by ourselves. In the end, we overcome the disgust inherent in the imagery of a rat in a kitchen and instead embrace our hero’s achievement of ego integrity as he combines his identities as a member of a clan of rats, and one of Paris’s finest chefs.
While modern psychiatry can favor looking at people through the lens of biology rather than narrative, “Ratatouille” can serve as a reminder of the powerful unconscious forces that guide our lives. “Ratatouille” is not a successful movie only because of the compelling narrative, but also because the narrative matches the important psychic paradigms that psychiatry once embraced.
‘Inside Out’ (2015)
Another missing feature of the DSM is its inability to explain how symptoms feel and manifest psychologically. One such feeling is that of control – whether one is in control of one’s life, feelings, and action or rather a victim of external forces. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling traumatized by the life they’ve lived and powerless to produce any change. Part of our role is to guide them through this journey from the object of their lives to the subject of their lives.
In the animated feature “Inside Out,” Riley, a preteen girl, goes through the tribulation of growing up and learning about herself. This seemingly happy child, content playing hockey with her best friend, Meg, on the picturesque frozen lakes of Minnesota, reaches her inevitable conflict. Her parents uproot her life, moving the family to San Francisco. By doing so, they disconnect her from her school, her friends, and her hobbies. While all this is happening, we spend time inside Riley’s psyche with the personified characters of Riley’s emotions as they affect her decisions and daily actions amidst the backdrop of her core memories and islands of personality.
During the move, her parents seemingly change and ultimately destroy every facet of Riley’s sense of self, which is animated as the collapse of her personality islands. Her best friend engages Riley in a video call just to inform her that she has a new friend who plays hockey equally well. Her parents do not hear Riley’s concerns and are portrayed as distracted by their adult problems. Riley feels ridiculed in her new school and unable to share her feelings with her parents, who ask her to still be their “happy girl” and indirectly ask her to fake pleasure to alleviate their own anxiety.
The climax of the movie is when Riley decides to run away from San Francisco and her parents, to return to her perceived true home, Minnesota. The climax is resolved when Riley realizes that her parents’ love, representing the connection we have to others, transcends her need for control. To some degree, we are all powerless in the face of the tremendous forces of life and share the difficult task of accepting the cards we were dealt, thus making the story of Riley so compelling.
Additionally, the climax is further resolved by another argument that psychiatry (and the DSM) should consider embracing. Emotions are not all symptoms and living without negative emotion is not the goal of life. Riley grows from preteen to teenager, and from object to subject of her life, by realizing that her symptoms/feelings are not just nuisances to avoid and hide, but the key to meaning. Our anger drives us to try hard. Our fear protects us from harm. Our sadness attracts the warmth and care of others. Our disgust protects us physically from noxious material (symbolized as a dreaded broccoli floret for preteen Riley) and socially by encouraging us to share societal norms. Similarly, patients and people in general would benefit by being taught that, while symptoms may permit the better assessment of psychiatric conditions using the DSM, life is much more than that.
It is unfair to blame the DSM for things it was not designed to do. The DSM doesn’t advertise itself as a guidebook of all behaviors, at all times. However, for a variety of reasons, it has become the main way psychiatry describes people. While we commend the APA for its effort and do not know that we could make it any better, we are frequently happily reminded that in about 90 minutes, filmmakers are able to display an empathic understanding of personal narratives that biologic psychiatry can miss.
Dr. Pulido is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in women’s mental health, medical education, and outpatient psychiatry. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Erikson, EH. Childhood and society (New York: WW Norton, 1950).
A common refrain in psychiatry is that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Text Revision, (DSM-5-TR), published in 2022, is the best we can do.
Since the DSM-III was released in 1980, the American Psychiatric Association, which publishes the manual, has espoused the position that we should list symptoms, in a manner that is reminiscent of a checklist. For example, having a depressed mood on most days for a 2-week period, or a loss of interest in pleasurable things, as well as 4 additional symptoms – among them changes in appetite, changes in sleep, changes in psychomotor activity, fatigue, worthlessness, poor concentration, or thoughts of death – can lead to a diagnosis of a major depressive episode as part of a major depressive disorder.
Criticisms of this approach can be apparent. Patients subjected to such checklists, including being repeatedly asked to complete the Patient Health Questionnaire 9 (PHQ-9), which closely follows those criteria, can feel lost and even alienated by their providers. After all, one can ask all those questions and make a diagnosis of depression without even knowing about the patient’s stressors, their history, or their social context.
The DSM permits the diagnosis of psychiatric disorders without an understanding of the narrative of the patient. In its defense, the DSM is not a textbook of psychiatry, it is a guide on how to diagnose individuals. The DSM does not demand that psychiatrists only ask about the symptoms on the checklists; it is the providers who can choose to dismiss asking about the important facets of one’s life.
Yet every time we attend a lecture that starts by enumerating the DSM symptoms of the disorder being discussed, we are left with the dissatisfying impression that a specialist of this disorder should have a more nuanced and interesting description of their disorder of study. This feeling of discontent is compounded when we see a movie that encompasses so much of what is missing in today’s psychiatric parlance, and even more so if that movie is ostensibly made for children. Movies, by design, are particularly adept at encapsulating the narrative of someone’s life in a way that psychiatry can learn from.
Other than the embarrassment of not knowing a patient outside the checklist, the importance of narrative cannot be understated. Dr. Erik Erikson rightfully suggested that the point of life is “the acceptance of one’s one and only life cycle”1 or rather to know it was okay to have been oneself without additions or substitutions. Therefore, one must know what it has meant to be themselves to reconcile this question and achieve Ego Integrity rather than disgust and despair. Narrative is the way in which we understand who we are and what it has meant to be ourselves. An understanding of our personal narrative presents a unique opportunity in expressing what is missing in the DSM. Below, we provide two of our favorite examples in Disney films, among many.
‘Ratatouille’ (2007)
One of the missing features of the DSM is its inability to explain to patients the intrapsychic processes that guide us. One of these processes is how our values can lead us to a deep sense of guilt, shame, and the resulting feelings of alienation. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling shackled by beliefs that they should accomplish more and be more than they are.
The animated film “Ratatouille” does an excellent job at addressing this feeling. The film follows Remy, the protagonist rat, and his adventures as he explores his passion for cooking. Remy teams up with the inept but good-natured human Alfredo Linguini and guides him through cooking while hiding under his chef’s hat. The primary antagonist, Anton Ego, is a particularly harsh food critic. His presence and appearance are somber. He exudes disdain. His trim physique and scarf suggest a man that will break and react to anything, and his skull-shaped typewriter in his coffin-shaped office informs the viewer that he is out to kill with his cruel words. Anton Ego serves as our projected super-ego. He is not an external judge but the judgment deep inside ourselves, goading us to be better with such severity that we are ultimately left feeling condemned.
Remy is the younger of two siblings. He is less physically adept but more intellectual than his older brother, who does not understand why Remy isn’t content eating scraps from the garbage like the rest of their rat clan. Remy is the creative part within us that wants to challenge the status quo and try something new. Remy also represents our shame and guilt for leaving our home. On one hand, we want to dare greatly, in this case at being an extraordinary chef, but on the other we are shy and cook in secret, hiding within the hat of another person. Remy struggles with the deep feeling that we do not deserve our success, that our family will leave us for being who we are, and that we are better off isolating and segregating from our challenges.
The movie concludes that through talent and hard work, our critics will accept us. Furthermore, once accepted for what we do, we can be further accepted for who we are. The movie ends with Remy cooking the eponymous dish ratatouille. He prepares it so remarkably well, the dish transports Anton Ego back to a sublime experience of eating ratatouille as a child, a touching moment which not only underscores food’s evocative link to memory but gives a glimpse at Anton Ego’s own narrative.
Ego is first won over by the dish, and only afterward learns of Remy’s true identity. Remy’s talent is undeniable though, and even the stuffy Ego must accept the film’s theme that “Anyone can cook,” even a rat – the rat that we all sometimes feel we are deep inside, rotten to the core but trying so hard to be accepted by others, and ultimately by ourselves. In the end, we overcome the disgust inherent in the imagery of a rat in a kitchen and instead embrace our hero’s achievement of ego integrity as he combines his identities as a member of a clan of rats, and one of Paris’s finest chefs.
While modern psychiatry can favor looking at people through the lens of biology rather than narrative, “Ratatouille” can serve as a reminder of the powerful unconscious forces that guide our lives. “Ratatouille” is not a successful movie only because of the compelling narrative, but also because the narrative matches the important psychic paradigms that psychiatry once embraced.
‘Inside Out’ (2015)
Another missing feature of the DSM is its inability to explain how symptoms feel and manifest psychologically. One such feeling is that of control – whether one is in control of one’s life, feelings, and action or rather a victim of external forces. It is extremely common for patients to enter our clinical practice feeling traumatized by the life they’ve lived and powerless to produce any change. Part of our role is to guide them through this journey from the object of their lives to the subject of their lives.
In the animated feature “Inside Out,” Riley, a preteen girl, goes through the tribulation of growing up and learning about herself. This seemingly happy child, content playing hockey with her best friend, Meg, on the picturesque frozen lakes of Minnesota, reaches her inevitable conflict. Her parents uproot her life, moving the family to San Francisco. By doing so, they disconnect her from her school, her friends, and her hobbies. While all this is happening, we spend time inside Riley’s psyche with the personified characters of Riley’s emotions as they affect her decisions and daily actions amidst the backdrop of her core memories and islands of personality.
During the move, her parents seemingly change and ultimately destroy every facet of Riley’s sense of self, which is animated as the collapse of her personality islands. Her best friend engages Riley in a video call just to inform her that she has a new friend who plays hockey equally well. Her parents do not hear Riley’s concerns and are portrayed as distracted by their adult problems. Riley feels ridiculed in her new school and unable to share her feelings with her parents, who ask her to still be their “happy girl” and indirectly ask her to fake pleasure to alleviate their own anxiety.
The climax of the movie is when Riley decides to run away from San Francisco and her parents, to return to her perceived true home, Minnesota. The climax is resolved when Riley realizes that her parents’ love, representing the connection we have to others, transcends her need for control. To some degree, we are all powerless in the face of the tremendous forces of life and share the difficult task of accepting the cards we were dealt, thus making the story of Riley so compelling.
Additionally, the climax is further resolved by another argument that psychiatry (and the DSM) should consider embracing. Emotions are not all symptoms and living without negative emotion is not the goal of life. Riley grows from preteen to teenager, and from object to subject of her life, by realizing that her symptoms/feelings are not just nuisances to avoid and hide, but the key to meaning. Our anger drives us to try hard. Our fear protects us from harm. Our sadness attracts the warmth and care of others. Our disgust protects us physically from noxious material (symbolized as a dreaded broccoli floret for preteen Riley) and socially by encouraging us to share societal norms. Similarly, patients and people in general would benefit by being taught that, while symptoms may permit the better assessment of psychiatric conditions using the DSM, life is much more than that.
It is unfair to blame the DSM for things it was not designed to do. The DSM doesn’t advertise itself as a guidebook of all behaviors, at all times. However, for a variety of reasons, it has become the main way psychiatry describes people. While we commend the APA for its effort and do not know that we could make it any better, we are frequently happily reminded that in about 90 minutes, filmmakers are able to display an empathic understanding of personal narratives that biologic psychiatry can miss.
Dr. Pulido is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in women’s mental health, medical education, and outpatient psychiatry. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Erikson, EH. Childhood and society (New York: WW Norton, 1950).