The Case for Energy Psychology

Snake Oil or Designer Tool for Neural Change?

David Feinstein, Ph.D.

Newly appointed to the Department of Psychiatry at Johns Hopkins in 1970, I wasn’t sure what to expect when the department chair called me into his office to discuss a special assignment. “I keep hearing about these ‘new’ therapies coming from the West Coast,” he told me. “Are they just more California fluff or developments worth knowing about? Go find out.” As a young therapist-researcher who was already pursuing personal improvement with the passion of someone convinced he needs a lot of it, I approached the assignment with the zeal of a young knight in search of the Holy Grail.
At the time, traditional psychoanalysis and behaviorism had been rapidly losing their “market share.” More than 200 new brands of therapy were popping up on the workshop circuit, promoted in the alluring new language of “peak experiences,” “personal growth,” and “self-actualization.” During the next seven months, I investigated 46 of these new therapies, studying their uneven literatures, conducting extensive telephone or in-person interviews with their primary proponents, and directly experiencing more than a dozen in weekend workshops or other formats. I focused on some of the brightest stars in the pop psychology firmament of the day–Transactional Analysis, Bioenergetics, Gestalt, breathwork, sensitivity training, Rolfing, Reevaluation Counseling, LSD-assisted psychotherapy, and even a memorable nude encounter group. Many of the approaches have now faded or disappeared, some leaving a lasting mark on clinical practice, others just embarrassing memories.
The more closely I examined these therapies, the more apparent it became that doing something that feels like it’s bringing about lasting therapeutic change is much easier than actually producing such change. I didn’t conduct formal outcome research, but I did do dozens of follow-up interviews with my fellow participants after the immediate excitement of the workshops had subsided. Their reports were sobering. Just as years of psychoanalytic insights don’t necessarily lead to greater happiness or success, I found that dramatic interventions and intense experiences didn’t necessarily lead to lasting change. Participant enthusiasm during a workshop didn’t guarantee clinical benefits following the workshop. A fervent “primal scream”
might feel like a powerful emotional breakthrough, and it might indeed provide a deep release,
but evidence that it produced enduring psychological change was hard to find. Despite my hope
for wonder cures, I had to admit that utopian clinical models, unshakeable therapist conviction,
and even emotionally thrilling experiences didn’t necessarily yield better ways of processing
emotions or experience.
I did, nonetheless, witness therapeutic moments that seemed absolutely brilliant and saw
positive changes that people were still describing months later. While I wasn’t able to connect
such results to a particular method, theory, or type of client, I came to some conclusions about
what increased the odds for fortuitous therapeutic outcomes. The roots of enduring therapeutic
change seemed grounded in strong emotional, interpersonal, or somatic engagement, shifts in
self-understanding and behavior that extended beyond the clinical context, and a readiness in the
client to approach life differently. Although none of these observations was remarkable in itself,
together they gave me a much clearer appreciation of the complexity of change and the difficulty
of the therapist’s task. This awareness stood me in good stead for much of the next 40 years.
Beginning about a decade ago, however, something came along to challenge some of
these bedrock beliefs. Energy Psychology, a method based on tapping on selected acupuncture
points to address psychological problems, called into question some of the more cautious
conclusions I’d drawn from the Hopkins study. In fact, having built a career around a depthoriented
clinical approach, for a long time I introduced classes I taught about Energy Psychology
by saying something apologetic like: “I can’t fully express how surprised I am to find myself
standing here telling you that the key to successful treatment, even with extremely tough cases,
can be a mechanical, superficial, ridiculously speedy physical technique that doesn’t require a
sustained therapeutic relationship, the acquisition of deep insight, or even a serious commitment
to personal transformation. Yet, strange as it looks to be tapping on your skin while humming
‘Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,’ it works!”
So, you may well be asking, what could possibly have possessed a wizened, seen-it-all
therapist like me to embrace an approach that much of the world of orthodox psychology
considers the latest incarnation of snake oil? Well, what follows is the answer.
A Personal Paradigm Shift
In the interest of full disclosure, let me say that my involvement in Energy Psychology is
largely attributable to a woman I met 33 years ago and eventually married, Donna Eden. Now a
well-known natural healer and the author of Energy Medicine (the standard text in hundreds of
energy healing classes, available in 15 languages), Donna has continually beckoned me off the
beaten path. From the time I first met her, she claimed to be able to see energies that are invisible
to most people just as vividly as my dog could hear frequencies that are inaudible to humans.
From her viewpoint, blocked or stagnant energies were signs of disease or precursors of illness.
The people seeking her services ranged from those who were generally healthy and wanted help
with pain or physical limitations to individuals with life-threatening conditions, such as cancer or
heart disease.
While the husband in me was proud to have a partner with so much charisma, caring, and
passion for her work, the scientist in me attributed much of her success to those same qualities
I’d frequently observed in my Hopkins study: a professional healer’s ability to convey personal
caring, combined with a fervent belief in the transformative power of a particular approach,
could generate strong enthusiasm among followers that was in itself healing. It was another
example of a phenomenon long known in medicine and psychotherapy: caring, expectation, and
other “nonspecific” factors that have nothing to do with the actual intervention being used can
bring about therapeutic gain.
For her part, Donna was confident in her methods and didn’t even try to back them with
research support. When hard-pressed, she might cite an occasional quote by an authority, such as
Nobel Laureate in Medicine Albert Szent-Györgyi’s observation that, “In every culture and in
every medical tradition before ours, healing was accomplished by moving energy.”
“What energy,” I’d ask. “Electrical energy? Not in any studies I’ve seen! Kinetic,
thermal, magnetic, chemical, nuclear?” Donna responded by talking about the “subtle energies”
of meridians and chakras. I was unconvinced. You can imagine the dinner-table discussions.
I held on to my skepticism even as Donna’s popularity grew and I was regularly
confronted with the empirical fact that her work accounted for a significant chunk of the family
income. It was only as Donna’s students, who didn’t exude anything approaching her confidence
or charisma, began demonstrating impressive results that I started taking a closer look at the
actual practices of Energy Medicine, such as using one’s hands to trace energy pathways or
exerting pressure on trigger points to correct problems in the body’s “energy flows and
balances.” Although I continued to be mystified, I consistently saw clients improve, even those
with such serious medical conditions as multiple sclerosis or diabetes. The results weren’t
instantaneous–this wasn’t Lourdes–but gradual, clear, verifiable cures happened often enough
that I took notice.
When Donna asked me to help her with a book about her approach in the mid-1990s, I
dutifully began a literature search on “energy fields.” I didn’t expect to find much; actually I
expected the book to be more of a memoir. But I was stunned by the amount of scientific
evidence that supported what she’d been saying all those years. For example, I learned of
UCLA’s Human Energy Fields Laboratory, run by Valerie Hunt, a professor in the Department
of Physiological Sciences. Hunt’s lab had found that the areas of the skin associated with the
chakras spoken of by yogis, and described by Donna in terms of colors, emit electrical
oscillations of a far higher frequency than had been detected on the human body ever before.
Hunt also found that some healers could accurately identify when changes in these measured
frequencies occurred just by observing a person’s energies because they could see changes in the
chakra colors. This was directly relevant to Donna’s work.
I read with growing fascination Vibrational Healing, by physician and medical researcher
Richard Gerber, which cited hundreds of scientific studies that lay a coherent theoretical
foundation for thinking about healing practices based on subtle energies. I learned about the
work of Robert Becker, an orthopedic surgeon and Nobel Prize nominee whose studies of the
body’s electromagnetic currents informed his successful efforts to regenerate severed frog limbs
and pioneering work on the use of electric currents to help heal bone fractures.
Impressed by the converging streams of research that backed Donna’s approach, I began
asking more penetrating questions to try to get a better sense—as one who doesn’t see subtle
energies—of her experience. I began to realize that her approach, though seemingly intuitive,
was far more systematic and empirically based than I’d imagined. But it was only after her book
was published that I began to see a connection between her work as an energy healer and my
own as a psychologist.
Many of Donna’s students turned out to be therapists who were interested in Energy
Psychology (EP). After years spent grudgingly accepting that seemingly ephemeral energies
could impact physical conditions, this new wave of therapists was now asking me to believe that
tapping on the body, supposedly to move these questionable energies, produces desired
psychological changes.
To better arm myself for the inevitable discussions with these renegade clinicians, I
decided to attend a demonstration of one of the forms of EP called EFT (Emotional Freedom
Techniques). A woman suffering from longstanding, severe claustrophobia had been preselected
to be the subject. She was shown where and how to tap on a series of points on her skin while
remembering frightening incidents involving enclosed spaces. To my amazement, she almost
immediately reported that the scenes she was imagining were causing her less distress. Within 20
minutes, her claustrophobia seemed to have disappeared. This self-reported improvement was
stunning enough. But when asked to step into a closet, close the door, and remain there as long
as she felt comfortable, she stayed so long that finally she was beckoned to come out. She
emerged jubilant and triumphant, astonished that she’d stayed calm in a situation that would
have put her into uncontrollable panic half an hour earlier. Videos of live demonstrations
featuring such single-session phobia cures are readily available; for example, check out
Although still suspecting that the claustrophobia demonstration was just a lucky shot, I
was intrigued enough to enroll in a four-weekend EP training program for mental health
professionals. The results I witnessed during the training, and that I began obtaining in my
practice sessions between classes, continued to amaze me. The technique proved consistently
effective when used with clients suffering from simple phobias. I soon found, however, that a
whole range of problematic emotions—including irrational fear, anger, jealousy, and guilt—
could also be rapidly quelled by tapping. I then began to experiment with more complex
dynamics, such as unresolved feelings toward a parent or the residue of traumatic experiences. I
quickly realized that for the procedure to be fully effective, it was critical to identify and focus
on the most salient aspects of the problem being addressed. To do this, I often had to draw on
other clinical methods, particularly cognitive interventions and uncovering techniques. However,
it was clear to me that acupoint tapping was turbocharging my therapeutic effectiveness with a
wide range of issues. After years of resistance, I found myself applying EP with my clients–even
before completing the training.
Opposing Verdicts
Despite the improved clinical outcomes I was enjoying, I was intellectually flummoxed.
A wide range of EP treatment models existed, each claiming extraordinary results, while offering
little evidence and only enigmatic, often implausible, theoretical explanations. Prompted by raw
curiosity and encouraged by my previous experiences sorting through the “new therapies” at
Hopkins and dissecting Donna’s work as a healer, I decided to try to make sense of the strange
mix emerging within EP. I gathered a team of 27 of the field’s pioneers and leaders–advocates
of a divergent range of EP approaches–and posed a challenge: to reach consensus on a coherent
set of principles and methods for the effective practice of EP.
My inbox became a lightening rod for the controversies within the field. Differences
existed on dozens of theoretical and procedural issues, but a common denominator allowed
consensual guidelines to emerge. All the approaches shared two elements: calling to mind a
psychological difficulty or a desired psychological state while performing a simple physical
intervention that purportedly affected the body’s energies or energy fields. For me, the most
striking finding was that as long as these two conditions were met—however they were met—the
outcomes reported were surprisingly strong and rapid, particularly with a range of anxiety-based
The project ultimately resulted in a 2004 training program published as a book and CD
program titled Energy Psychology Interactive, which quickly became the standard text for
professional EP training. In reviewing this program, the American Psychological Association’s
online book review journal referred to Energy Psychology as “a new discipline that has been
receiving attention due to its speed and effectiveness with difficult cases. [This] ambitious work
integrates ancient Eastern practices with Western psychology, [expanding] the traditional
biopsychosocial model of psychology to include the dimension of energy.” I expected that wide
acceptance by mental health professionals wouldn’t be far behind. I was dead wrong.
The problem was that by the time the book appeared, EP—which had been around in
various forms since the early 1980s—had already established a reputation for vague, esotericsounding
language, spectacular promises of quick cures, and an apparent disdain for accepted
standards of scientific proof. Also damaging to the field’s reputation was the fact that some early
practitioners were zealously proprietary about their techniques, charged exorbitant fees to teach
them, and, in some cases, sued their own graduates for providing training in their method outside
of a trademarked framework.
Despite the field’s attempts to self-correct, including forming a professional organization
to advance research, practice standards, and humanitarian projects, EP remained an outcast
within the world of psychotherapy. As recently as last December, the American Psychological
Association (APA) denied, for the third time, the Association for Comprehensive Energy
Psychology’s application to become a CE sponsor, in effect affirming a decade-old policy
banning APA sponsors from granting CEs to psychologists for studying EP. Arguing that
“sufficient controversy exists to render uncertain the credibility of [EP’s] claims and theory,” the
ruling disregarded existing research as well as the APA’s own published criteria on acceptable
CE content (the basis for this assertion is presented at
Standards.pdf), but it did affirm the old maxim that you never get a second chance to make a
first impression.
Evidence Accumulates
Despite continuing professional skepticism, empirical evidence for EP’s effectiveness
had been accumulating. After its rocky beginnings, the field cut its teeth by deploying treatment
teams to more than a dozen countries to provide mental health services following natural and
human disasters. Outcome data systematically collected in at least five of these countries, and
corroborated by local healthcare authorities who had no stake in EP were encouraging. The first
research using established measures to investigate treatment outcomes with disaster survivors
was conducted in 2006 by a team led by psychologist Caroline Sakai (see sidebar), working with
an orphanage in Rwanda. Of the 400 orphans living or schooled at the facility, 188 had lost their
families during the ethnic cleansing 12 years earlier. Many had witnessed their parents being
slaughtered, and they were still having severe symptoms of PTSD, including flashbacks,
nightmares, bedwetting, withdrawal, or aggression. The study focused on the 50 teenagers
identified by the caregivers as having the greatest difficulties. All 50 were rated on a
standardized symptom inventory for caregivers and scored above the PTSD cutoff. They then
received a single acupoint tapping session lasting 20 to 60 minutes, combined with
approximately 6 minutes spent learning two simple relaxation techniques. Not only did the
scores of 47 of the 50 adolescents fall below the PTSD range following this brief intervention,
these improvements in serious conditions that had persisted for more than a decade held at a oneyear
Another recent study, a randomized, controlled trial (the scientific “gold standard” for
establishing the effectiveness of a treatment) with traumatized male adolescents in Peru also used
a single acupoint tapping session. The findings, currently under peer review, showed that 16
boys who’d been abused all scored above the PTSD cutoff on a standardized self-report
inventory before treatment. Of this group, 8 were given a single EP session, after which none
scored in the PTSD range, and they were still below the cutoff a month later. Scores for the 8 in
the waitlist control group were unchanged at the one-month follow-up.
In the first randomized controlled trial of the use of EP with combat veterans, presented
last April at the Society of Behavioral Medicine Conference in Seattle, 49 vets showed dramatic
improvement after six treatment sessions–42 of them no longer scored above the PTSD cutoff.
Conducted under auspices of the Vets Stress Project (see, participants
were recruited from throughout the U.S. and treated by volunteer practitioners. The gains
persisted at the six-month follow-up. There was only one drop-out. In contrast, less than one in
ten of the 49,425 veterans of the Iraq and Afghan wars with newly diagnosed PTSD who sought
care from facilities run by the Department of Veterans Affairs actually completed the
conventional treatments as recommended.
After the Seattle report, I contacted the study’s principal investigator and asked whether I
could interview some of the therapists involved. One of them, Ingrid Dinter, described to me her
work with Keith, an infantry soldier who’d served in the Mekong Delta during the Vietnam War.
He’d reported that in his initial therapy session in April 2008 that he’d seen “many casualties on
both sides.” More than three decades later, he was still tormented with nightmares and repeated
flashbacks. “Sometimes I think I see Viet Cong soldiers behind bushes and trees,” he added. His
severe insomnia, complicated by the nightmares, made him fatigued and unable to function
during the day. He’d been diagnosed with PTSD and reported that his group and individual
therapy through the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) hadn’t helped with his symptoms.
Keith had six hour-long sessions with Dinter, during which she had him tap on acupoints
while he focused on traumatic war memories and other psychological stressors. In their first
session, he reported that since the war’s conclusion, he’d rarely gotten more than one to two
hours of sleep at a stretch and averaged about two nightmares each night. By the end of the six
sessions, he was getting seven to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and was having no
nightmares. He said that other symptoms, such as intrusive memories, startle reactions, and
overwhelming obsessive guilt had abated as well. A six-month follow-up interview and further
testing showed that the improvements held. A 10-minute clip containing brief excerpts of
interviews with four combat veterans before and after EP treatment, along with snippets from the
treatments they received, can be found at
Can Tapping Change the Brain?
Even if studies continue to confirm that EP works and works quickly, the fundamental
question remains: How does it work? How could tapping on the skin be an ingredient in
producing rapid cures for severe psychological disorders? How, in fact, can any intervention
reliably overcome PTSD within a few sessions? The emerging understanding of neuroplasticity–
particularly the ways that thought and experience can decisively change the brain–suggests that
significant therapeutic shifts can happen far more rapidly than we once believed. It’s now at least
plausible that therapeutic interventions can be developed that quickly alter the neural pathways
maintaining emotional and behavioral patterns that were once protective (like trauma-based
hyperarousal) but have become dysfunctional.
A series of studies conducted over the past decade as part of the Neuroimaging
Acupuncture Effects on Human Brain Activity project at Harvard Medical School provides clues
to why acupoint tapping may be such an approach. According to project leader Kathleen Hui,
“functional MRI and PET studies on acupuncture at commonly used acupuncture points have
demonstrated significant modulatory effects on the limbic system.”
How does that apply to EP? It’s always been obvious that psychological exposure is an
ingredient in EP. Traumatic memories or other cues that trigger unwanted emotional responses
are mentally activated during the acupoint tapping. Since exposure is the single therapeutic
component present in virtually all studies of effective PTSD treatments, the success of EP has
often been attributed simply to its use of that approach. But this doesn’t address the fact that
clinicians utilizing the technique, and now numerous studies, have found that by adding acupoint
tapping, the exposure can be much briefer, requires fewer repetitions, and leads to positive
outcomes with a greater proportion of clients. The new understanding provided by the Harvard
neuroimaging studies is that stimulating specific acupoints generates signals that instantly reduce
arousal in the amygdala.
So rather than relying on repeated or prolonged exposure to extinguish the threat
response, EP introduces acupoint tapping during a brief exposure, which immediately counters
the threat response. The process appears to work like this:
1. The client is asked to bring to mind an anxiety-provoking memory, thought, or related
cue, activating an alarm response in the amygdala;
2. The simultaneous stimulation of acupoints sends deactivating signals to the amygdala,
initiating an opposing process, reminiscent of Joseph Wolpe’s “reciprocal inhibition”;
3. The signals sent by the acupoint stimulation turn off the alarm response, even though the
trigger is still present;
4. With a few repetitions, the trigger no longer evokes fear, and this innocuous experience,
which becomes the defining memory about the trigger, is stored in the hippocampus.
The apparent operating principle, although not yet demonstrated by laboratory research,
is that when a traumatic memory or other trigger is paired with an intervention that turns off the
alarm response, such as the stimulation of selected acupoints, the neural pathways that were
keeping the alarm response in place are altered. In When the Past Is Always Present: Emotional
Traumatization, Causes, and Cures, trauma researcher Ronald Ruden speculates on how
interventions such as acupoint tapping during traumatic recall result in the elimination of
conditioned fear pathways in the amygdala. Activating the memory makes the glutamate
receptors that maintain long-standing signal transmissions between neurons vulnerable to
disruption (this is well-established), and in a clinical one-two punch, the acupoint tapping sends
new signals that “depotentiate” the vulnerable receptors. In this way, the conditioned fear is
permanently eliminated.
When the maladaptive fears that are at the core of PTSD have been eradicated in this
manner, associated symptoms also diminish. A marked decrease of flashbacks, nightmares,
intrusive thoughts, concentration problems, numbing, and even self-defeating thoughts and
behaviors has been reported by clinicians and is now being corroborated by systematic research.
So while EP utilizes psychological exposure, the acupoint tapping allows for a kinder
intervention, requiring far fewer and much shorter exposures to traumatic material.
State of the Art
In Emotional Freedom Techniques, Thought Field Therapy, and numerous other
variations of EP, the core procedure is simple and straightforward: mentally activate a problem
or a desired positive mental state while stimulating a set of acupoints. Targeted problems can
range from simple phobias to severe trauma-based reactions to highly nuanced emotional
responses, such as distrust of any man whose height is reminiscent of one’s tall father. Desired
positive states that can be cultivated might include increased confidence when speaking to an
audience, better eye-hand coordination on the tennis court, or an enhanced ability to express
difficult feelings to one’s spouse. EP can be self-administered or integrated into virtually any
existing clinical framework. With its quick learning curve and ease of application, it’s become
somewhat of a pop psych phenomenon, with more than 1.2 million people already having
downloaded The EFT Manual, a guide for home application, and 30,000 to 40,000 more
downloading it each month by the end of 2009.
Because EP is easy to apply and often works quickly with well-contained stimulusresponse
conditions, such as a simple phobia with no complicating history or secondary gains,
the practitioner doesn’t necessarily need a great deal of clinical sophistication. But how many
well-contained conditions are actually encountered in a clinical practice? And therein lies not
only the need for highly skilled clinicians to use the relatively simple techniques offered by EP,
but an explanation for the many variations in how it’s used.
For instance, if your client has a gambling problem (or any other complex condition), you
have numerous areas where acupoint stimulation might be usefully applied. Some therapists put
more emphasis than others on the psychodynamic roots of a problem. You could identify
formative experiences regarding money and other forms of gratification that still hold a
psychological charge and have the person tap on acupoints while recalling them, one at a time,
until problematic emotional responses to the memories no longer occur. Or you could begin by
focusing on the gambling behavior. You could use tapping to reduce the grip of environmental
cues that trigger the urge to gamble. If you discover that stress is a trigger for the impulse to
gamble, as it often is, the target for the tapping might be the emotions caused by stress that are
habitually subdued through gambling. By bringing to mind frequent stressors and reducing the
charge on the emotions caused by each, an emotional inoculation occurs through which the
stressors lose their power to induce compulsive gambling. You could also teach the client to use
acupoint tapping at home to reduce cravings when they occur.
All this can be done within whatever clinical framework you already use. You might still
use cognitive-behavioral therapy to challenge your client’s unhealthy beliefs and rationalizations
regarding gambling, recommend a support group, such as Gamblers Anonymous, encourage the
cultivation of enjoyable activities to replace gambling, and make therapeutic contracts that
require your client to restrict direct personal access to funds and to tempting situations. EP
doesn’t replace a comprehensive clinical approach to complex conditions, but it provides a tool
for quickly shifting the way critical dimensions of the problem seem to be coded in the brain.
EP is being used in the British and French militaries to treat soldiers for PTSD, and
Britain’s National Health Service, which has been using EFT as a treatment modality for years,
is now offering it to the public as part of its Mental Health Improvement Training, In the United
States, however, partially as a consequence of the APA’s unbending position on EP, many
therapists still have to introduce the therapy surreptitiously or risk censure. Still, EP methods are
slowly finding their way into mainstream psychotherapy practice as well as institutions such as
hospitals, VA centers, and HMOs, with major studies underway at Kaiser Permanente, the Sutter
Health network, and the Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
EP’s strongest enthusiasts speak of it as if it were the psychotherapeutic equivalent of
penicillin, a clinical breakthrough that will revolutionize therapy, while its critics view it as a
pseudoscience whose new ingredients are no more potent than sugar water. Because it’s so easy
to learn the basic technique–the hard part being using it well with challenging cases–I’ll
sometimes ask a spirited skeptic, “Why not try it and evaluate it yourself? What’s to lose?” In
fact, that’s how those bringing EP to disaster areas have often gained the cooperation of local
health care leaders.
While empirical studies to fully demonstrate the speed and power of EP are still needed,
it’s hard not to be deeply moved seeing emotionally devastated people come back into happier,
more effective lives after a few EP sessions. For instance, the video described earlier shows an
Army combat veteran who’d suffered with panic attacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, anger, and
depression for more than 30 years. His symptoms were getting worse, to the point that he was
regularly and convincingly threatening to shoot his family. In his intake session at a five-day EP
program where two to three hour-long sessions per day would be offered, he said, “The
dichotomy is so great between what I was when I went in and what I became when I got out that
it’s a very messy situation inside my head!” In his exit session on day five, he triumphantly
announced, “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to actually feel like you’re a real
person again, and not be afraid, and not have to cover up all of your junk every single day of
your life.” His wife also participated in the five-day program. On day three she said, “He’s had
all the symptoms! We’ve been in psych wards for years. And in three days, we’re talking! We
haven’t talked in five years; really talked!” Post-treatment testing confirmed his observable
improvements, which persisted on follow-up assessments.
As we deepen our explorations of the complex mysteries of the human nervous system,
rapid, noninvasive ways of repairing damage and dysfunction seem not so far away. Energy
Psychology holds promise for blazing a trail toward that goal. As bizarre as it may have once
sounded, the evidence has moved far beyond the early anecdotes, suggesting that tapping on the
skin can reliably facilitate decisive emotional change with a range of conditions. However
uncomfortable such findings may make old-time clinicians like me, they may force all of us to
rethink our models of psychotherapy.
David Feinstein, PhD, a clinical psychologist, is the author or coauthor of seven books and
more than 80 professional articles. His books have won eight national awards, including the U.S.
Book News Best Psychology/Mental Health Book of 2007. A paper he recently published in
Psychotherapy, one of the APA’s flagship clinical journals, contains references to the EP studies
cited in this article can be downloaded from