Monthly Archives: August 2021

A survivor’s lens on counseling and intimate partner violence

By Leontyne Evans August 12, 2021

Speaking as a survivor of domestic violence, I have found that society is not often kind or understanding about matters related to this particular form of abuse. Frequently, society seems to perceive it as something someone has chosen for their life instead of something someone was forced into. Grace and empathy are generally given when we talk about other forms of abuse, but mention domestic violence, and that same grace isn’t always extended. 

For years I wondered why — why is one type of abuse viewed differently in comparison with another? Just like any other victim, I never planned to be a victim, so why was I looked at differently? Why is it that victims of domestic violence have their pain invalidated by questions such as “Why didn’t you just leave?” 

That question alone — Why didn’t I just leave? — is what led me to the counseling profession. Given that I was a strong, independent woman who came from a good family, it was a question that plagued me. To transition from victim to survivor, I needed answers — answers that I just didn’t have. 

No easy answers

When I was an uneducated victim of domestic violence, the question of why didn’t I just leave felt complex. But after majoring in behavioral science/psychology and completing specialized courses in domestic violence intervention, trauma-informed care and, eventually, clinical counseling, I found that answering the question still wasn’t simple. In fact, as an educated grad student removed from her past situation, it became inherently clear to me that no amount of education would provide a clear-cut answer. 

I was in my last semester of graduate school and preparing to enter into the practicum portion of the degree when I enrolled in a class on family violence. Each week, we would watch videos and discuss our views and how we would help the client. In week four of the class,
that difficult question came up again. I was reading through the discussion post when I saw it: “Why don’t people just leave? If you want it to end, just leave.”

Being this far into my degree program, I was surprised to see other soon-to-be counselors asking this question and making that comment. I assumed other professionals had taken classes outside of this one to better understand a problem so prevalent in our society. If that wasn’t the case, were counselors really prepared to serve this population? 

In my own experience seeking counseling, I was asked, “Why do you think you chose not to leave?” I immediately felt like the counselor didn’t understand my position, and I decided to never see her again. I was hurt and angry, but I realized I still needed help. Luckily, I found another counselor and continued to educate myself on the cycle of abuse. 

Unfortunately, that is not the story for the majority of survivors with whom I have worked. If they feel misunderstood or invalidated, they don’t go back to counseling. In other words, asking the wrong question as counselors doesn’t just keep us from building a trusting relationship with these clients; it may actually deter them from ever seeking help again. 

It’s not that asking “Why do you think you chose not to leave?” is a horrible question. In relationships that do not involve abuse, it’s a perfectly acceptable question. When domestic violence is present, however, it crosses the line into victim blaming. Society constantly asks those who were victimized why they stayed instead of asking those who perpetrated abuse why they abused or why they created environments where leaving was not an option. According to Cynthia Hill, director of the 2014 documentary Private Violence (in an interview published in The Guardian), between 50% and 75% of homicides related to domestic violence happen at the point of separation or after the victim has left their abuser. We must be sensitive to the real danger involved in trying to escape intimate partner violence.

Natalia Lebedinskaia/Shutterstock.com

Tips for building relationships with survivors

I understand that as counseling professionals, we can ask questions only of the individual we are working with, and we always want to make sure the client is focusing on their behavior and not that of a partner or anyone else. Accountability is important and key in the healing process. However, it is not the best idea for this to be the primary focus when working with this specific population. 

When working with individuals who are currently experiencing intimate partner violence or have recently left an emotionally, mentally or physically abusive situation, counselors can use the following six tips to build relationships with these clients. 

1) Start by understanding that if leaving were an option, domestic violence would not be a thing. Remember, up to 75% of deaths related to domestic violence occur while the victim is attempting to leave or afterward. Because domestic violence is rooted in power and control, perpetrators of abuse often lash out at the idea of losing the person they feel they control. 

In the movie What’s Love Got to Do With It, based on the life of singer Tina Turner, her husband, Ike, says at one point, “Tina, if you die on me, I swear I’ll kill you.” To most people, that sounds crazy, but in Ike’s mind, he wanted to maintain control over Tina, even in her death. For those who are not movie people, the Duluth model of domestic violence intervention also explains this concept. Leaving is dangerous and maybe even impossible for most victims. So, stop asking clients why they didn’t or don’t leave. If they could, they would.  

2) Always be on time and end on time. This might seem trivial to most, but if you are working with clients you suspect are actively experiencing intimate partner violence, being on time and ending on time is a must. You never know what the client had to tell their abuser so that they could meet with you. You don’t know if this is the time when the abuser is out of the house and the only time the client can meet. If the counselor is late, the session still needs to end on time. The client should always know they will be home when they are supposed to be home. Messing with the schedule could potentially mess with someone’s life. 

3) Talk about every other relationship rather than focusing on the abuse. Individuals involved in intimate partner violence are fully aware of the nature of their relationship. Trust me, they do not need a reminder of how dangerous or unhealthy the relationship is, even if they are not ready to leave. The cycle of grooming, gaslighting and manipulation can lead to victims feeling that they have to prove everyone wrong and show the world that their partner can still be the person they fell in love with. Most of the time, victims truly believe if they work very hard to adjust their behavior, their partner will treat them like they used to before the abuse started. Speaking directly about this relationship can cause the client to become defensive. It hurts the chances of building a trusting client-counselor relationship.

I have found that discussing other relationships in the client’s life can be helpful in shining a light on the behaviors of their current partner without making the client feel judged or attacked. You might say something along the lines of: “Oh, it sounds like you didn’t like your father when he drank because he became violent. How do you feel about XYZ’s behavior when they drink?” This allows the client to make the comparison on their own.

4) Realize that “Christ” and “counselor” are two different titles. Counselors are not saviors, nor should we try to be. In all situations and with all clients, the objective should be to meet them where they are. As with addiction, a client experiencing intimate partner violence may not understand the severity of the problem and may not want to leave. Perhaps instead of leaving the relationship, the client wants to learn to cope with certain behaviors. If that is what the client wants, it is also what the counselor should want. 

Go home resting in the fact that you are doing your job. Even though the client may be in an unhealthy situation, they are working with you, trusting you and listening to you. They hear you. When the time is right, they will make the best decision for their life. Your job is not to save anyone; it is to give clients the tools to save themselves. 

5) Accept that you are not the expert. Counselors work hard to become licensed professionals. That hard work is so appreciated. However, we are not the experts in this situation. No matter how many studies we have read, statistics we have memorized or theories we can apply, survivors are the experts when it comes to their experiences and their stories. 

Every survivor’s journey is different. There isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach when it comes to counseling survivors of intimate partner violence. Even if you’ve seen 10 clients in one day and they all have experienced intimate partner violence, ask questions of the next client rather than assuming that you know how the story will end. Because I promise you that you don’t.

6) Check your biases. We all have biases, but not everyone is aware of what theirs are and how they affect the lives of the individuals they work with. If you have certain views about intimate partner violence, if you believe it is a “choice” to stay, if you believe someone is able to “just leave,” please stay away from this population. It takes a lot for survivors to ask for help and to expose themselves enough to discuss the abuse. If this situation is handled incorrectly, they may never seek help again. Let’s be a part of the solution as professional counselors, not the reason that a survivor returns to the problem. 

As a survivor myself, these tips helped me build a long-lasting relationship with my counselor. Now, as I sit on the other side of the table, these tips have worked for me in counseling and coaching individuals who have experienced intimate partner violence. I hope you find these tips useful and join me on a journey to end the cycle of unhealthy relationships.

A Survivor’s story

During an internship, I worked with a young woman who had experienced physical abuse throughout her entire life. Every man from her father to the father of her children had abused her. At this point in her life, abuse was the expectation. The interesting part is that she wasn’t seeking help because of the abuse; she wanted help learning how to be better for her future husband. What I heard was: “What can I do to be who he wants me to be so he doesn’t hurt me?” I couldn’t immediately confirm my suspicions, so I continued to listen, ask questions and build trust.  

In about our fifth session, she opened up and revealed that she had been in the hospital the night before, put there at the hands of her fiancé. After I asked if she was OK and in the mental space to continue the session, she said, “This is probably the safest place for me to be today.”

As we continued talking, I asked if she still felt like marrying this man was the best option. To my surprise, she said, “Yes, he isn’t nearly as bad as what I’ve dealt with before, and I knew better. I shouldn’t have made him that upset.” I could continue with the story, but just this portion of it serves to paint a vivid picture of the mind of someone who is a victim of intimate partner violence. 

This is an extreme example of a person who had a long history of being abused, but many victims find themselves in the same predicament — asking themselves how they can change to “be better,” what they can do to be abused less, instead of asking what the abuser needs to change to stop abusing. Because survivors blame themselves enough, they do not need anyone else to do it for them. They don’t need someone to reinforce what they already believe. Imagine if I would have asked this client, “Why don’t you leave?” In that moment, I would have become the problem instead of the solution. She didn’t want to leave; she didn’t feel as if she needed to. 

My internship ended shortly after this session. I offered for this client to continue having sessions with the therapist on staff, but she was not interested. She never went back. I later found out that she did in fact get married to her abuser, and they lived happily ever after — until he killed her a little over a year later. 

This story sticks with me because it reminds me to be intentional about my time with clients and how I end things. It’s so much more than ending an agreement with a client; it’s the end of a relationship. I wish I had known then what I know now. I would have been more intentional about including a long-term therapist in our sessions. I wouldn’t have ended things the way I did. My only hope is that someone else can learn from me and we can all be better when it comes to dealing with clients who have been or are currently experiencing intimate partner violence. 

 

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Leontyne Evans works as the survivor engagement specialist for Survivors Rising, where she helps to empower and uplift survivors by providing education and resources that encourage survivor voice and self-sufficiency. She is a published author of two books, Princeton Pike Road and Relationships, Friendships and Situationships: 90 Days of Inspiration to Keep Your Ships From Sinking, both of which support her mission of ending the cycle of unhealthy relationships. Contact her at leontynesurvivorsrising@gmail.com.

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.

A firsthand experience of grieving pet loss

By Corban Smith August 10, 2021

Dallas came into my life at eight weeks old when I was only 19. The small brown bundle of rolls and wrinkles that clumsily paraded around my house with oversized paws never had any chance of developing into what most would consider a classically “good dog.” As he grew into his oversized appendages as a 115-pound lap dog, I was also developing through the tumultuous stage of emerging adulthood. As my social, occupational and personal identities solidified, Dallas remained a constant denominator across each dimension of my self-identity. I was a “dog owner,” and most who knew me were unable to picture me without my enormous and drooly companion at my side.  

As life progressed, Dallas effortlessly provided the unconditional positive regard that so many counselors strive to exude to clients. He was present during graduations, new jobs, loss of family members and personally devastating health diagnoses. Whether I was joyous or tormented, Dallas was there to share in my experience and offer the validation I needed through his droopy brown eyes.  

Eventually our family was complete when I met my now fiancée, a veterinary student at the time in the university where I was receiving my master’s in counseling. She promptly told me that Dallas was overweight and kindly pointed out other ways I could best serve Dallas. As we reached relationship milestones and eventually added another companion animal, Willett, Dallas seemed to become even more joyful and content.

Dallas (Photo courtesy of Corban Smith)

Dallas gets diagnosed

In the 11 years leading up to August 2019, Dallas had survived dozens of mischievous acts that threatened his well-being. So much so that although I knew his life eventually would come to an end, I couldn’t envision a world where anything could cause his demise. One morning that began as any other, I took Dallas outside to produce his abnormally large morning “business” deposits. I heard him emit a strange noise and looked down to see him convulsing on the grass. As he continued to seize, I held him as I never had before. Covered in morning dew, grass and dirt, I had never felt so helpless. I screamed for my partner, and once Dallas emerged from his postictal phase, we took him to his veterinarian.  

The news was grim. Given my financial status, the veterinarian advised against costly diagnostic techniques, reasoning that I likely would be unable to afford the likewise costly treatments for whatever was discovered. He concluded that Dallas likely had a sinister brain tumor lurking in his furry brown head and said we should focus on making his remaining time with us as comfortable as possible. As the first pains of grief and guilt set in, I began experiencing shame that I could not afford to give Dallas the care that might prolong our time together just a little longer.

Armed with anti-seizure medication and the terrifying knowledge that Dallas would, in fact, no longer be with me one day, I began one of the most stressful years of my life. A pattern soon developed in Dallas’ symptom management. He would have an extended period of time with no symptoms, then a breakthrough seizure would emerge in the middle of the night like an evil intruder. My partner, now Dallas’ primary veterinarian, would reassess his medication, and the cycle would continue. Slowly, the periods of well-being shortened, and the breakthrough seizures increased in intensity. 

This slow end-of-life process was excruciatingly unpredictable and painful as I began to experience a feeling of learned helplessness. Each evening, I crawled into bed terrified that at some point in the night, I would hear the initial gag that signaled an episode. During the day, I walked around the house dreading the discovery of puddles from postictal incontinence. I lamented this emotional roller coaster immensely. Periods of health were bright spots in my life, while breakthrough seizures were increasingly darker reminders of reality. I knew eventually, I would have to say the words: “This is it.” 

The event

The gagging and thrashing noise signaling a seizure came, as it always did, in the middle of the night, just when I imagined that things were OK. This one felt different though. Not only did it last longer and cause more confusion afterward, but the unsettling truth that Dallas was at his maximum dosage for medication signified that this was, in fact, “it.” We waited apprehensively with a semblance of hope to see if another seizure came. Previous recurrent seizures had presented eight hours after the first; this next round came in just four.

Making the decision that this particular day would be Dallas’ final day was shamefully easy. A combination of emotional exhaustion, stress surrounding the impending doom, and the reality of treatment limitations all likely contributed. My partner was forced to go and work at the practice where we would remind Dallas that he was a “good boy” for the last time, while I got the privilege of spending Dallas’ last day with him. I was disassociated from what was coming later that day and treated it as simply any other day for Dallas. In between additional seizures that day, Dallas got to play his favorite game, “What Won’t Dallas Eat?” We lay on the couch and watched The Fifth Element (the movie in which Dallas’ namesake, Korben Dallas, is the protagonist) while his sister, Willett, licked his ears, attempting to rid his head of any hint of ill will. Eventually, the time came to load up, and I experienced the first sense of loss that snapped me back to reality. Leaving Willett behind, I told her, “We’ll be back,” then quickly amended that statement to “I’ll be back,” tears forming in my eyes.  

I had experienced euthanasia of a pet only once before, when I was a little boy. I was transported back to my younger self on that day, attempting to organize thoughts of death and meaning of life in an intellectual way instead of experiencing the present pain. What had made this unavoidable outcome cognitively distant was Dallas’ presentation when he was not seizing. Even in the euthanasia room, Dallas presented in his usual demeanor. He happily ate Cheez Whiz sprayed on the floor for him, selflessly sharing the remnants on the clothes and faces of my partner’s co-workers as they came in one by one to say goodbye. Eventually, we were left alone with him.

My partner and I sat there, attempting to say our final goodbyes while Dallas tried to reassure us that everything would be OK. My partner was forced to take on the role of veterinarian in telling me what to expect. She kindly outlined the euthanasia process, as I am sure she had previously with countless other mourning owners, but her voice was shaky, and tears were forming in her eyes. Another veterinarian timidly knocked on the door and asked if we were ready. I shakily answered “yes” but truly was not. She knelt next to Dallas and began administering the chemical as I tried to remember every detail of my beloved companion lying on the floor. In true Dallas fashion — being the dog that could handle anything and survive — it took an extra dose of the lethal concoction for him to pass into the next world. Once my fiancée’s co-worker told us Dallas was gone, I embraced him wholly, one last time, and then truly broke down in a way that only a deep loss can provoke. 

The Grief Process

Grief truly is a unique and unavoidable part of the human experience. We are all forced into grief through loss at some point in our lives. I had experienced loss before in the form of relationships, failed endeavors and hobbies deemed too dangerous for someone of my growing age. But these things were nothing compared to the way Dallas had deeply embedded himself within my self-identity. The pain of this loss permeated through my core.  

As a counselor, I have been trained on grief, bereavement and the strategies we use to empower our clients. All of that knowledge and experience seemed to dissipate as soon as Dallas was diagnosed. Suddenly, grief and loss were not topics discussed in a classroom; they had become deeply personal.  

Soon after Dallas was diagnosed, I had begun preparing for his loss as best I could through that classroom knowledge. I dusted off my crisis intervention textbook and attempted to remember the works of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and William Worden. I quickly landed on Worden’s tasks of mourning model as I tried to intellectualize my now inevitable loss of Dallas. As a counselor, I try to promote resilience and empowerment in my clients. As I embarked on the dangerous endeavor of becoming my own counselor, I told myself to focus on the tasks I could accomplish to help myself emerge from this process more resilient than I had been going in.  

Tasks of mourning

Worden’s tasks of mourning are not intended to be completed in any particular order and may be revisited throughout the mourning process. As soon as Dallas was diagnosed — and before I sought out knowledge of grief — I had begun to complete the tasks, and I continue to do so after the loss of Dallas. Sometimes I feel content in my accomplishment of tasks, whereas other times I am caught off guard by signs suggesting a lack of progress. My understanding of the grief process so far is that it ebbs and flows in a nonlinear, somewhat unpredictable manner throughout.

Task: Accept the reality of the loss. I began to accept the loss of Dallas conceptually as soon as he was diagnosed with the potential brain tumor. During the year of symptom management, I was able to work through this task on a surface level so that I thought I would be ready for my new reality when Dallas was gone.

Once Dallas had passed, I struggled with this task on a much deeper core level. I naively believed that the previous work on the task prior to Dallas’ departure would help insulate me from not accepting this new lonely reality. Returning home from the veterinary clinic on the day he was euthanized, I was most struck by the sense of numbness. The rest of that week’s activities and responsibilities seemed to pass me by because this new reality I was living in was foreign from the one I had known.  

Technology was both a curse and a blessing as I attempted to gain footing on this task. I found myself clinging to Dallas’ presence through endless scrolling of the camera roll on my iPhone. As I scrolled upward, Dallas became younger and more the companion I idealized. Photos of him jumping as high as houseguests offered a stark comparison with the old man that had required assistance to get on the bed. The Live Photo feature was particularly unsettling. By holding my finger on a photo, Dallas all of a sudden sprang back to life, my phone emitting the daily sounds and visuals that I desperately longed for again in our home.

Social media did, however, provide one of the best mediums for memorializing Dallas as I continued through this task. My favorite photos discovered while scrolling were shared with friends and family in a memorial post. As others expressed sadness and condolences, I was astonished to learn how many other lives Dallas had touched. Friends and contacts long forgotten reemerged to share stories and memories of Dallas. Many of them validated my new reality without Dallas as being both painful and uncomfortable. Their support helped me better accept this different world and motivated me to move closer to it instead of resisting and staying in the one that was comfortable.

Task: Process the pain of grief. I am very fortunate in that any inhibition to process the pain of my grief was self-inflicted rather than being promoted by those around me. I have heard stories of those who lost pets whose grief was disenfranchised by those around them. Expectations to continue working while compartmentalizing grief plague many people after the loss of a companion animal. I was extremely fortunate that no one in my life placed such expectations on me. I was supported and understood as having just lost a family member that was deeply integrated in my self-identity.  

My work on this task was predominantly inhibited by self-imposed restrictions. I falsely believed that the processing of loss completed since Dallas’ diagnosis would be sufficient for the actual event to be a mild speed bump on my road of productivity. The counselor in me said, “It is OK for you to experience this pain and have difficulty functioning,” but my cultural background stated simply, “Get over it.” 

Toxic masculinity is prevalent in our world, and I am also guilty of propagating it. People who do not know me well would consider me a classic stereotype of masculinity by most metrics. I am genetically broad-shouldered and proudly wear a full beard. My previous hobbies have included skydiving, riding motorcycles and owning German sports cars. I drive an SUV to my Olympic weightlifting club, and my bias toward men who are similar to me says that the loss of a dog should not break such men down to tears or inhibit their ability to participate in life roles. As I viewed myself through this lens, I repressed the pain and the experiencing of it longer than I should have. Eventually, I could no longer be the stable and stoic presence in my home and work; I had to succumb to the pain.  

As I began to reconcile my views on masculinity with what I knew as a counselor, I realized the feeling of pain and the expression of my emotions were among the manliest endeavors I could partake in. I shared my feelings and experience more freely with those around me and continued to be validated and supported as I tried to meet life’s demands while experiencing such pain.

Task: Adjust to a world with the deceased missing. Articles I read in advance of Dallas’ loss described the new home environment as having a “deafening silence.” As I attempted to mentally prepare for Dallas’ departure, I became attuned to the noises he emitted on a day-to-day basis. I tried to steel myself for what an absence of those noises might be like, but the void upon returning home after his passing was still debilitating.

My partner and I did our best to make this task as quick as possible. We removed all the reminders we could think of shortly after Dallas’ passing. Toys that were Dallas-sized and unattractive to Willett were donated to my partner’s practice for other dogs to enjoy. The tumbleweeds of short brown fur were sucked up from the various surfaces where they always clung. Dallas’ medications and food were removed. These physical reminders were easy to erase; classic conditioning ingrained over the span of 12 years was much more difficult to ignore.

Given the enormity of Dallas, there was little he could do that did not resonate throughout our small home. The clicking of his nails as he walked, the thud of furniture as he forcibly followed his intended path, even the heavy panting echoing through the house from his mere existence were all instantly gone. There was no longer a giant brown speed bump in the kitchen to navigate while we were cooking or a face of pure joy at the bottom of the steps when we returned home. Even watching TV at night without the occasional burst of flatulence from the corner of the sectional seemed a foreign experience.  

Countless other experiences have become isolating and lonely affairs since Dallas passed. Thankfully, as time passes, this task becomes easier as the frequency of unexpected reminders diminishes. Eventually, I know the relationship between daily activities and Dallas’ presence will erode and disappear, shifting this void from absence to a new normal.

Task: Find an enduring connection with the deceased while embarking on a new life. Worden’s previous iterations of this task involved the phrases “emotional reallocation” and “emotional reinvestment.” This task is characterized by a sense of moving on while accepting and appreciating the impact of the loss on the griever’s life and self-identity. As I move forward in my life, it is impossible not to consider the impression my relationship with Dallas has left and the residual effects it will have in the future. 

I think of all the lessons I learned from Dallas and how they will present in the future. I wonder how my capacity for caring for those around me would have changed without first caring for Dallas. I wonder how differently I would experience frustration without first building patience through Dallas’ destructive behaviors. Lastly, without experiencing the loss of Dallas, I wonder how much less prepared I would be for loss in the future. I feel that my experience of being a caregiver to Dallas has greatly elevated my ability to show compassion and kindness in other roles. Thanks to Dallas, I am able to be a bit better in my many life roles as a counselor, partner, son and friend. 

Conclusion

As I continue to bounce between and progress within these tasks, I sometimes find myself wondering, “Am I doing this right?” Questions about whether I removed reminders too soon, carried on with life too soon or even made the decision to euthanize too soon have dominated my grieving process. 

This experience has provided me better insight into a process that I had conceptualized only in a classroom previously. Being forced to confront this inevitable human experience has taught me to give clients who are grieving a lot of room and compassion and to hold minimal expectations about how they grieve. Grief is an individualized experience. While there are models, none perfectly encapsulates what it means, feels and looks like to grieve.  

Our grieving process culminated last year as we traveled home for Christmas. Dallas lived his life, with the exception of his final five months, in my small home in Alabama. Before we moved into a proper home in Virginia with a fenced-in backyard, his outside time was spent on a picturesque patch of land next to a lake. Closing my eyes, I can still picture my happy and healthy Dallas splashing around and chasing geese, frequently looking back at me for encouragement. This location, where Dallas seemed his happiest, is where we spread his ashes on a cold Alabama day with tears in our eyes but a sense of resolve in our hearts. I hope that one day I do find him there again, splashing and galloping, just over the Rainbow Bridge.

 

 

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Corban Smith is a doctoral student in the counseling and supervision program at James Madison University (JMU) with a specific interest in substance use and offender counseling. He currently works as both an adjunct faculty at JMU and as a jail/emergency services clinician at Valley Community Services Board. He and his wife reside in Harrisonburg, Virginia, where they enjoy being of service to any being they come across. Contact Corban at smitcor@icloud.com.

Counseling Today reviews unsolicited articles written by American Counseling Association members. To access writing guidelines and tips for having an article accepted for publication, visit ct.counseling.org/feedback.

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.

Restoring relationships with survivors of human trafficking

By Lindsey Phillips August 4, 2021

Jenna Hershberger, a licensed associate professional counselor, was working on a crisis response team for a regional human service center in North Dakota when she received a call from a young woman reporting physical abuse. The woman was forthcoming about her medical complaints but not the state of her mental and emotional health. Hershberger could tell there was more to the woman’s story, so she asked to meet her in real life to discuss things further. The woman agreed.

During their in-person meeting, Hershberger, a therapist at the Village Family Service Center in Fargo, North Dakota, noted signs of potential sex trafficking. “Her presentation was really concerning. She was very tearful,” Hershberger recalls. The woman also kept mentioning how her “friends” had forced her to do things while she was under the influence of substances. The more the woman shared, the more convinced Hershberger grew that the people being referenced were human traffickers, not friends. When Hershberger asked where the woman was staying, she revealed that she was currently homeless.

After talking for a while, the woman finally acknowledged that she had been forced into sex trafficking and wanted to get out. She was scared and didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Hershberger did. She found the woman a safe shelter for the night and helped her locate mental and physical health services.

“I’m in North Dakota … [where] prevalence rates [of human trafficking] are lower, yet it’s still happening,” says Hershberger, a member of the American Counseling Association. “The tragedy where I am and in Midwestern, rural areas is that people just seem to say, ‘Well, this doesn’t happen here.’”

Jared Rose, a licensed professional clinical counselor and supervisor with a private practice, Moose Counseling and Consulting LLC, in Toledo, Ohio, has also encountered a “that doesn’t happen in my community” mentality when it comes to human trafficking. He began working in anti-trafficking about 15 years ago when someone involved in an anti-trafficking organization in Toledo approached him because of his work with the LGBTQ+ community and with people infected with, affected by or at risk for contracting HIV, both of which often intersect with trafficking. When conducting trainings in rural Ohio counties, Rose has heard law enforcement say, “That’s not happening here.” This statement makes Rose cringe because he knows firsthand from his work with individuals who have been trafficked that it is happening.

Human trafficking, in fact, is more common than we think. The International Labour Organization reported that approximately 40.3 million people were in modern slavery globally in 2016. Sometimes people incorrectly assume that human trafficking is a problem only in developing countries, but the National Human Trafficking Hotline identified 63,380 survivors of human trafficking in the United States from 2007 to 2019.

Rose, an ACA member who wrote an ACA fact sheet on human trafficking awareness for school counselors in 2019, finds that too many counselor clinicians also remain unaware of the definition and signs of trafficking. “You could have the epitome case sitting in front of you,” Rose says. “And if you don’t even know what trafficking is, you’re going to miss it.”

Recognizing the Signs

The U.S. Department of Homeland Security defines human trafficking as the use of force, fraud or coercion to obtain some type of labor or commercial sex act. Rose, an assistant professor of counseling at Bowling Green State University, advises counselors to stay alert to signs of force, fraud or coercion with clients. “Take note of who they are with and where the power and control lie,” he says. For example, is someone else benefiting — often financially — from the client’s actions? Does someone else seem to be in charge or making all the client’s decisions for them?

Hershberger, a doctoral candidate in the counselor education and supervision program at North Dakota State University, also looks for visual signs such as bruising, scarring or branding. Individuals who are being or have been trafficked are often branded with “ownership” tattoos with the name of their trafficker or with symbols such as a star or cowboy hat. Because sex acts place a lot of strain on the body, survivors often discuss medical complaints such as dental issues, migraines or urinary tract infections, she adds.

Clients who have been trafficked “may appear overly compliant and submissive, or they might appear really abrasive and abrupt,” Hershberger points out. Counselors must recognize “that those strategies were adaptive at one time but they’re not right now.”

As it relates to falling victim to trafficking, Rose notes that the No. 1 risk factor for children is being unhoused. He prefers the term unhoused to runaway, he explains, because children are often abandoned or “thrown out” by their families. “Within a matter of two to three days of being out of the home, kids are approached [by traffickers], and one-third of those [unhoused] kids are going to get trafficked,” he says. “So, that piece of being unhoused — couch surfing, staying at a shelter, living on the street or whatever the case may be — puts them at significantly higher risk.” Children who are already vulnerable may easily fall prey to an adult who shows them attention or what they initially perceive as support, he adds.

Other risk factors include lower socioeconomic status, past trauma (sexual, physical, emotional, verbal or spiritual), being differently abled, substance use, and belonging to a racial or sexual minority group, Hershberger says. Given the complex trauma that these individuals experience, they often present with comorbid disorders such as substance use, bipolar and severe depression, she notes.

Counselors may overlook or miss signs of trafficking when they take the client’s circumstances or presenting issues at face value, notes Paige Dunlap, an associate professor of counseling at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University. For example, if a client is homeless or doesn’t have any identification, counselors may start to talk about the emotions, behaviors and social systems surrounding the client’s chronic homelessness and help them come up with a plan to find a more stable environment. But in doing this, clinicians may miss the larger picture, stresses Dunlap, a licensed clinical mental health counselor with a private practice in Greensboro, North Carolina. Perhaps the client was forced into sex trafficking after being taken from their home or fleeing an unsafe environment.

“There’s a lot of different risk factors. There’s a lot of different things to look for. There’s a number of populations that we are particularly concerned about, but at end of day, it all boils down to vulnerability,” Rose says. For that reason, he stresses that counselors need to be cognizant of that vulnerability piece in connection with their clients.

Sometimes counselor practitioners worry that they won’t be able to recognize the signs that someone has been trafficked, Rose says, but he reassures them they know how to read interpersonal reactions. They know when someone is looking to another person for answers. They notice when people’s stories do not match up.

Counselors also need to consider what a trafficking survivor might look like in their particular clinical setting, Hershberger says. For example, if a counselor is doing crisis work, they might have someone who is in denial about being trafficked or confront a situation that appears to be domestic violence.

The office setting may determine the likelihood of a practitioner encountering an individual who is currently being trafficked or who has gotten out. Counselors who work in public health settings or hospitals are more likely to see individuals who are currently being victimized when these individuals come in for a medical issue such as testing for a sexually transmitted disease or injury from abuse, Rose notes. Counselors working in private practice or at a community agency will typically see these clients after they have been extricated, he says.

Establishing trust and safety

People who have been trafficked may find it difficult to trust others. Before thinking about clinical treatment plans, counselors need to establish a sense of safety and a healthy therapeutic rapport with these clients, Hershberger stresses. These individuals have experienced “complex trauma in the sense that it’s repeated for long duration and often comes from people who should be caregivers,” she explains, “so it makes it really hard for survivors of trafficking to trust us. We need to be really authentic because survivors will pick up on it if [we’re] not.”

Hershberger, president of the North Dakota Association for Counselor Education and Supervision, advises clinicians to maintain an open-door policy with survivors of human trafficking, especially when they are working on engagement with the client. People who are dealing with significant trauma may be more prone to canceling sessions, so adhering to a policy of termination after two missed sessions will not help build engagement and rapport with these clients, she cautions.

Counselors’ innate desire to help clients heal can sometimes be an impediment to build-ing this relationship. Rose sees counselors who want to dive right into the trauma work before first building strong therapeutic and strategic foundations, which can take a long time. “The minute we try to push too much — even if our best intentions are there — is when someone can have [a negative] reaction” and feel that the counselor is forcing them to do something they don’t want or are not yet ready to do, he says.

Rose has also witnessed the inverse: clients who get frustrated when counselors don’t jump straight into the trauma work. When this happens, he explains to clients that although they may feel ready, their whole system may not be. To further illustrate the point, he compares trauma work to a physical wound: “If I start poking around at a wound and you don’t trust me yet or your entire system isn’t ready to allow that yet, you’ll immediately pull back and you’re not going to want me to go near it,” he tells clients. “And the same [thing] is happening cognitively and emotionally with trauma. If we start poking around and you’re not ready, then it’s going to fall apart on us.”

The need for clinical trauma care

Rose asserts that counselors are in a prime position to provide clinical psychotherapy and trauma-focused work. Rose is an executive member of the Lucas County Human Trafficking Coalition, and he was awarded the Social Justice Leader Award from the Human Trafficking and Social Justice Institute in 2017.

Mental health services geared toward survivors of trafficking are great at managing clients’ symptoms through art or expressive therapy or group work, but Rose finds this is often where their treatment ends. “It has to be more. It has to be evidence-based trauma work,” he stresses. “We can’t just treat symptoms. We have to treat the whole person, and we have to treat the trauma.”

“Folx that have been labor trafficked have all sorts of layers of trauma damage. … Sex traffic victims have all of the symptoms of domestic violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse — all rolled into one very unpleasant package,” he continues. “And expressive therapy is not going to treat that trauma; it’s going to treat the symptoms. If we really want to help folx, we have to go deeper, and that’s where counselors really need to come into play.”

Rose, a certified therapist in eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), recommends that counselors use an evidence-based trauma treatment that follows a triphasic approach that a) establishes a foundation, b) reprocesses and works through the trauma and c) plans for the future. Rose often uses EMDR when he’s working with this population because he finds it helpful to treat the root cause of the trauma. He also recommends trauma-focused cognitive behavior therapy, especially when working with children and adolescents.

Take the relational approach

Hershberger points out that traffickers differ from other sexual offenders (who are often described as socially awkward and desire a sense of belonging) in that they are often socially intelligent, charismatic and good at forming relationships. They gain the trust of vulnerable individuals by initially fulfilling their need for love, connection and belonging, she explains. For example, the trafficker could be the first person in the individual’s life to recognize and celebrate their birthday or give them special attention, such as taking them to get a manicure.

These acts can cause some survivors to form bonds with and defend their traffickers — a condition often referred to as Stockholm syndrome. Hershberger and Dunlap point out that something similar sometimes happens with individuals who experience domestic violence. “Survivors will often defend their trafficker because they didn’t have that sense of belonging or that family growing up. So, this is the first time they’re experiencing that — along with horrible kinds of trauma — but it’s hard for them to differentiate that,” Hershberger explains.

According to Hershberger, these trauma bonds illustrate survivors’ desire for human connection. Traffickers thwart this connection by exploiting this desire for their own gain.

“Human sex trafficking is the ultimate anti-relationship,” argues Hershberger, who recently presented on this topic at ACA’s Virtual Conference Experience. Survivors of sex trafficking have been forced “to exist in a world absent of authentic, growth-fostering relationships,” she explains. Thus, she recommends that counselors use a relational-cultural approach with this client population to foster an authentic growth-fostering connection.

To explain this approach, Hershberger presents Marie, a fictional client: When she was 14 years old, Marie lived in an abusive home where her mother’s boyfriend molested her. So, Marie was excited when Jake, a 24-year-old man, approached her and promised a better life as his “girlfriend.” He bought her nice things and told her she was “amazing in bed.” One day, he told Marie some money hadn’t come through at work and asked if she would help him by having sex with a few guys. When she resisted, he beat her until she complied. He forced her into sex trafficking, and she was having sex with as many as 10-15 men a night. (See Hershberger’s 2020 article, “A relational-cultural theory approach to work with survivors of sex trafficking,” published in the Journal of Creativity in Mental Health, for a more detailed discussion of this case study.)

Following a relational-cultural framework, Marie’s counselor first establishes a sense of safety and trust, and they are authentic, empathetic and consistent in their interpersonal interactions, Hershberger says. So, if the counselor makes a mistake by showing up late for session, they own that mistake, apologize and ask Marie how they can make up for it.

Marie may have internalized negative beliefs or self-blame such as “I’m only good for my body and others’ use” or “I’m not worthy of being loved.” The counselor can help Marie first identify and name these beliefs, and then they can work together to challenge these negative beliefs. The therapeutic relationship further challenges Marie’s distorted thinking about herself and relationships, Hershberger notes, and models what a healthy relationship entails.

To challenge Marie’s belief, the counselor could use self-disclosure and tell Marie, “I experience you as a creative, confident individual who is worthy of being loved.” Hershberger recommends that counselors use the client’s own words when reflecting positive attributes to help the client identify and own their strengths.

As Hershberger points out, traffickers try to keep victims in a constant state of uncertainty about their environment, safety or identity. So, the counselor’s role is to identify moments or thoughts that are unclear, such as Marie’s negative perception of her self-worth, and help her add clarity to them.

Hershberger names bibliotherapy and narrative therapy as useful approaches for empowering survivors of trafficking and helping them find their own voice. For example, the counselor could ask Marie what name her trafficker gave her and the name she wants to use moving forward. Then, Marie could journal about this new identity and the qualities associated with it.

The counselor could also add in creative techniques such as collage or relational imagery. For example, Hershberger once had a client who identified with the image of a wounded deer because they too had been hurt and abandoned. The wounding paralleled their own trauma around the physical abuse they had experienced while being trafficked. Later, Hershberger used this image to help the client think about what they wanted their future identity to be and to create a collage of their strengths.

The therapeutic relationship becomes a healthy relationship — one that is safe, dependable and empowering and that counters the disconnection and uncertainty survivors experienced when they were trafficked, Hershberger says.

Preparing to work with this population

The best way to understand what is going on with human trafficking in a specific area is to get involved and volunteer in the community, Rose says. One place to start is joining or attending meetings of local, regional or state trafficking coalitions and task forces. “You can learn more about what agencies are providing services for this population,” he says. “They need to know where mental health providers are, and you need to know where additional services are for survivors.”

Rose advises counselors to approach these partnerships with an attitude of wanting to learn and help. Communities don’t respond well to people who think they know what is best or have all the right answers, he says. Instead, inform these organizations of the crucial skills they may be missing. Counselors have “the clinical piece that a lot of these places need and strive for,” Rose notes. “There’s a lot of social workers, nurses and different helping professionals, but clinical mental health treatment may not be what they have.”

In addition to attending monthly meetings of North Dakota’s trafficking task force, Hershberger prepared to work with this population by reading case examples and familiarizing herself with these tough stories. She also reached out to other clinicians in the field to hear about their experiences. As she points out, “It’s one thing to hear terminology, but it’s another thing to hear somebody’s story.”

Rose and Dunlap recommend that counselors limit their caseloads (if they have that option) when working with this population. “You can’t hear the thing of nightmares for three, four or eight hours a day and expect to be OK by 6 or 7 o’clock at night,” Rose says. Both he and Dunlap, an ACA member who researches and works with youth with disabilities, survivors of human trafficking and criminal populations, have had to learn how to balance their clinical schedules better. They intentionally leave time between these difficult sessions so they can reflect, reenergize and regroup before seeing their next client.

Counselors must also remember that not every client-counselor relationship is the right fit, Rose says. For example, someone may refer a female survivor of sex trafficking to him because of his expertise in EMDR, but if she has been abused by men her entire life, she may not want to work with Rose regardless of his qualifications and reputation as a counselor.

“These clients have had people treat them really poorly their entire lives,” he points out. “Part of that therapeutic relationship is recognizing maybe I’m not the best counselor for every person I want to help, and that’s OK. Just giving [clients] that freedom and autonomy will help them along in their journey. They don’t have to work with me to fix the problem.”

Rose reminds counselors there are other ways to help serve this population without working directly with clients. Counselors can get involved in local agencies that work on human trafficking, provide education and trainings, or work on prevention, he says.

Hershberger understands how difficult it can be when counselors must refer a client. Because she was part of a crisis response team when she met the woman who was a survivor of human trafficking, she wasn’t able to continue working with her. The woman was referred to another clinician who worked for the human service center. “That was hard,” she recalls. “I couldn’t stay with her, and having that continuity of care would have been nice.”

Hershberger did have a chance to meet with the woman a few months later. With the help of her new counselors, she was making progress toward creating healthier relationships.

fizkes/Shutterstock.com

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Working with perpetrators of human trafficking

Paige Dunlap, a licensed clinical mental health counselor in Greensboro, North Carolina, once worked with an agency in Detroit that assisted individuals who no longer wanted to be engaged in gang activity. In sharing their stories, some of the group members disclosed that they had been directly or indirectly involved in trafficking other individuals. After recovering from the initial shock of hearing that, Dunlap started to think and educate herself about ways counselors could help perpetrators of trafficking.

“We as counselors don’t really talk about this hidden population” of perpetrators, she says. “We don’t know too much about them.”

Often people’s biases can cloud their judgment about these individuals. The more Jenna Hershberger, a licensed associate professional counselor in Fargo, North Dakota, researched and worked with cases of sex trafficking, the more she discovered the dichotomous thinking attached to it: People consider traffickers to be “bad” and survivors to be “good.” But it’s more complicated than that, she says.

“In the literature, we see that traffickers and survivors experience the same kinds of childhood traumas, such as sexual, emotional, physical and spiritual abuse,” she explains. But for individuals who become traffickers, “there is a distortion that happens in the way that they respond to the trauma.” Hershberger, a doctoral candidate in the counselor education and supervision program at North Dakota State University, acknowledges this is an area of research that mental health professionals do not fully understand yet. But initial clinical findings, as well as Hershberger’s own professional experience, indicate that traffickers often seem to have empathy deficits and endorse trafficking myths such as “people like this way of life.”

Dunlap, an associate professor of counseling at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University, says that traffickers and victims of trafficking often get enmeshed in that world for similar reasons. “There is a need for belonging in all of these individuals,” she says. Both groups often lack support systems, have limited work opportunities and are tempted by the promise of a “better” life, she explains.

Once individuals get involved in trafficking, it becomes difficult for them to leave, Dunlap points out. “It becomes almost an institutionalization for them too. … They don’t know how to function outside of that.”

“Getting those individuals into your office to do this hard work is really going to be tough,” she admits. “If you’re a counselor and you do happen to have these clients, the last thing they need is for your own biases to be stopping them from getting help, because they’re doing good just to be there.”

Hershberger hopes counselors continue to research ways to better help both the survivors and perpetrators of human trafficking. In doing so, she encourages counselors to consider a larger question: How as a society are we creating spaces in which people don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like so that they’re seeking out this subculture for a sense of belonging?

 

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Lindsey Phillips is the senior editor for Counseling Today. Contact her at lphillips@counseling.org.

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.

Supporting AAPI communities: ‘We still need to do more’

By Bethany Bray August 2, 2021

The United States has seen a significant spike in anti-Asian hate crimes and discrimination in the past year. Since spring of 2020, “there was anti-Asian bigotry and misinformation spreading almost as quickly as the [corona] virus itself,” said Rep. Judy Chu at an online panel discussion hosted by the American Counseling Association last month to address the recent rise in anti-Asian sentiment and the professional counselor’s role in addressing it.

“Conversations about mental health have never been more important,” she noted. “With each new report of an innocent Asian American being attacked, many across the country worry, ‘Will I be next?’” Chu, a Democrat who has represented California’s 27th district since 2009, is a psychologist and the first Chinese American woman to be elected to Congress.

She was one of three legislators on the panel discussion held on July 21. The other speakers included Rep. Sharon Tomiko Santos of Washington and Sen. Chris Lee of Hawaii as well as ACA CEO Richard Yep and ACA President S. Kent Butler.

The panelists noted that stigma and barriers, including being isolated or marginalized because of language barriers, often keep those in the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) community from seeking mental health services. Lee and Santos also discussed how mental health, trauma and the COVID-19 pandemic intersect.

“The issues that we are seeing have a lot to do with the isolation that we’ve experienced under COVID-19 restrictions and the challenges of race that have never been resolved in our country,” said Santos, who has been a community activist for more than 40 years. “What we are seeing, in my opinion, is the exacerbation of those fault lines that have existed in our communities for many, many years. … These are challenges that will involve all of us working together at the state and national level to address.”

Butler noted that counselors are called to help all disadvantaged groups. Not only is helping people regardless of their background or immigration status an ethical mandate but it is also a part of “who we are” as counselors, Butler stressed.

Although numerous measures have been passed by local and federal legislatures to better track and address anti-Asian violence and hostility in the United States, “we still need to do more,” Chu said. “There is so much that can be done to support our communities, and counselors are on the front lines.”

 

 

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Watch the full video of the July 21 event at ACA’s YouTube page: youtu.be/PYAvqIOWEzo

Related reading from Counseling Today

Take action

Support the following initiatives and others by visiting the ACA Take Action page:

  • Teaching Asian Pacific American History Act
  • Stop Mental Health Stigma in Our Communities Act
  • Increasing Access to Mental Health in Schools Act

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Bethany Bray is a senior writer and social media coordinator for Counseling Today. Contact her at bbray@counseling.org.

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Opinions expressed and statements made in articles appearing on CT Online should not be assumed to represent the opinions of the editors or policies of the American Counseling Association.