Nobody should EVER experience sexual violence, but my experiences helped me to find my power and my passion. I’ve experienced sexual violence at multiple points in my life. Since I was a teenager there were themes of male entitlement to my body and ignoring my boundaries and voice, that wove their way in and out of my life. It took me a long time to find the courage and words to ask for help, but once I did it changed my life.
I found a way to live again, shedding some of the weight of survival mode. It allowed me to find counselling not just for healing, but to pursue it as a career as well. Furthering my healing journey, I sought out a male therapist but found that my boundaries were being crossed again, and I felt years of healing coming loose at the seams. But reconnecting with good therapy helped me reclaim my power. In becoming a therapist myself, I wanted to bring that healing to others and channel my experiences into something positive. I knew that my experiences would always be a part of my story, but instead of letting them control and shape me, I wanted to set the boundaries and make them into my strength.
Sexual violence shaped a lot of my teenage years, but it took a long time for me to recognise that what was happening was wrong. It changed my whole mindset in relationships, feeling that I owed sex as a service, my feelings and body didn’t matter. I lived with the symptoms of PTSD right up until the end of my degree which is when I reached breaking point. I felt that I was becoming a danger to myself so it was either get help or I felt I might cease to exist. And therapy saved my life. My first therapist validated my feelings, allowed me to speak in as much or little detail as I wanted, and shared interventions that shifted my flashbacks and helped me to process what happened. I went from being depressed and using drugs and alcohol to escape and feel something positive, to being able to finish my uni work and graduate. I used to jump if someone walked into the room. I lived on edge before I got help that first time. It was exhausting. Therapy helped me to regulate my nervous system and regain control of my body and my mind. When reflecting on the therapeutic process I suddenly realised that when recalling memories of what had happened to me, I could do so without crying, without feeling like I was instantly back in that place. The self-doubting, self-blaming voice that shouted maliciously whenever I had thought about what I'd been through was quietened too. I could accept that it was as big a deal as it felt, and that it wasn’t my fault, which was so freeing.
A few years later I was already studying counselling and thought that to be ‘the best therapist’ I could be, I would need to face more of the trauma and the impact it had in my life. I realised that I was quite cautious – even avoidant – of men. I’d seen a few therapists by this point (all women) and felt that I knew what to look for and ask. In my initial call with this new *male* therapist, I outlined the caution I felt and the cause, and how I wanted a trauma-informed man to offer the safe space I wanted, to be able to work through the relational stuff as well as the trauma. I could see the possibility for healing despite the challenge. I felt reassured by the call too after requesting to see him online despite being local. At the end of the first session, he said that he thought it would be good for me to have sessions in person. I shared that I was nervous and uncomfortable but wanting to do the work and driven by my internal desire to be perfect, as well as wanting my therapist to like me, I agreed.
A few sessions later I spoke openly about just a few of the events of rape that I experienced in my teenage years. He responded by saying ‘you feel like you’ve been raped’ – in my opinion, a pointless clarification. But this small adjustment in language took me from feeling believed and validated, knowing I had been raped, to once again questioning and blaming myself. He even asked whether I said ‘no’ in a way that my abuser would have heard. After the session my inner voice was loud. Questioning: Did I not communicate clearly enough? Did I give the impression that I was ‘up for it’ when I wasn't? Did I tell myself it was worse than it was? Have I made a big deal out of nothing? All of these thoughts I'd previously worked on to stop my self-invalidation.
After one session we walked to our cars together and he reached over to gently touch my shoulder in a ‘see ya later’ kind of way. I froze at being touched. I am uncomfortable being around men because my boundaries have been crossed so many times, and there it felt like another man was inviting himself to touch my body. I remember ruminating over it the whole way home. Fear like ‘is this the first of more?’ and ‘was this a test to see what I’d accept?’. I questioned myself as to whether I had invited physical touch – which I was sure I did not.
Eventually, after speaking to my supervisor about my experience, I found the courage to make an excuse and end therapy with him. I wrote a letter about how uncomfortable and damaging it had been for me to make sense of it and process it, and eventually I actually sent it to him. It took me a few years to go back to therapy after that experience. I worked on my inner thoughts in the privacy of my own mind and reminded myself of previous work.
It might sound weird, but I enjoy working with trauma as a counsellor. I get to hold space for other survivors in the healing ways that it was held for me. I know how valuable the right space is firsthand. I know what it’s like to experience that self-blaming and shaming mindset. If you haven’t felt it, it can be easy to miss the nuances of language and behaviour, and the impact that they can have.
I enjoy being the first counsellor that someone has seen – I get to set the standard for what therapy is supposed to be like. I try to create space for clients to feel empowered in their therapeutic journeys, and to be able to make a change when it doesn’t work for them. I work collaboratively with my clients, inviting them to give feedback if they have it, ensuring they know that they come first. Afterall, I'm offering a service. If you’re not satisfied with how it’s going, let's try and change that. If it’s not going to work, don’t waste any more of your time. Your time and progress are important! And there are plenty of other therapists who could be a better match for your needs. I think we can feel too afraid to walk away when the match isn’t right.
One of the impacts that trauma has is to keep us in a state of fight or flight – the acute stress response – which makes us aware of possible threats. Trust your instincts. If something doesn’t feel right with your therapist – especially if you’re seeing them privately – don’t force yourself to stay for the potential healing. If you’re seeing a counsellor in a service, let your therapist or the service manager know that you don’t feel that you are a match. If you don’t feel able to say something directly in person, consider writing a letter or an email, so you can take your time in choosing your words.
A positive therapeutic experience is validating, is a space where you feel heard and understood, and you feel growing trust for your therapist (obviously it’s totally normal not to immediately trust a stranger!). A few things to keep a lookout for on top of what your gut instinct and your nervous system are saying ‘no’ to, are boundary violations, ineffective communication (like poor listening skills, or using jargon you don’t understand), judgments or being pushy.
Therapy is a collaboration. Therapists are human and therefore imperfect. It’s totally OK to give us feedback about your experience. You are just as allowed to ask questions and set boundaries as your therapist.
Survivors deserve compassionate, competent therapy that facilitates healing. Sadly, I know that my experience is not a one off, and that many survivors have had similar or even worse experiences of therapy. But rest assured that there are good counsellors out there – there are as many types of counsellors as there are types of clients.
As survivors, we already possess this incredible strength that has helped us get to this point. We have this power and sensitivity. Therapy is just the vehicle through which we can harness that strength and reclaim our lives.
If you’re a therapist reading this, I implore you to seek out CPD that is at least trauma-informed, or better yet, written by those with lived experience, before working with this client group. Be open to continue your journey of self-reflection when clients bravely share their experiences or give us feedback.
And if you’re a survivor reading this, just know that healing is possible. I know it, I’ve lived it. Finding the right therapist is the start of that journey. You are SO strong (though you shouldn’t have to be) and full of unstoppable power. And I believe you.