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
