Topics: Male Survivors

Victims of therapy abuse may be uniquely disadvantaged among those seeking justice for sexual trauma. Most mental health professionals possess detailed knowledge of how to influence their clients' mental and emotional states. Many also know how to navigate complex legal and regulatory systems.

For male victims of female therapists, the path to justice is difficult, hampered by traditional gender expectations that men are strong, dominant, and in control and that they are thus less likely to be vulnerable or abused. Coupled with a misconception that female therapists are unlikely to engage in abusive behavior, male victims of female therapists may understandably fear that disclosing their abuse will not be taken seriously by friends, family, or authorities. Such biases make it even more difficult for male victims to seek support and legal recourse.

I was one such victim, and my road to recovery has not been easy. My former therapist engaged in an abusive sexual relationship with me for over a year. Realizing this abuse's full extent and impact, I gathered the courage to report it to my state licensing board.

As the owner of a private practice with several therapists working for her, my abuser was the only fully licensed professional in her practice, i.e., only she could approve the work of her therapists to be submitted for payment. When I discussed with her the possibility of a report, she told me that dozens of clients would be going without help because of me. She told me I would force her practice to close, and her coworkers would sue her because they would be out of work. All because of me.

None of that happened. When I filed the report, there were no lawsuits. There was no shutdown. When my former counselor stepped away, the co-owner of her practice got a full license and took over as the sole owner. The practice was safe and secure despite what she had claimed would result from my report. I knew this would be a difficult battle: She is from a wealthy family and is well-connected in the community. I knew she would hire the best attorneys. A California attorney who works with victims of therapist sexual abuse.

Ltitgation went on for several months. Despite substantial evidence, including photos and texts, my former counselor kept her license and received only probation, a temporarily limited license, and a small fine. I was left confused and feeling victimized by a system supposed to protect the public. In what world should a therapist be allowed to continue to practice after doing what she did to me? It felt like my life didn't matter. To make things worse, when I reached out to the investigator assigned to my case for updates, she told me that I should work towards "getting over it" and that my former therapist "wasn't a threat to anyone."

When I read the consent order, I discovered that she had reported herself to the board shortly after I had clarified that I would file a complaint. What was seen by some as her having taken responsibility for her actions was more likely her attempt to control the narrative of my abuse. It worked. The board believed her version of events. It appears that she convinced them that the relationship, while unethical, didn't start until after treatment terminated, a matter of very few weeks. As is common, I now recognize that the abuse had begun long before any physical contact.

Disappointed with the board's lack of understanding of the law and the damage my counselor had done to me, I decided to pursue a civil complaint. My former therapist had malpractice insurance coverage, often the only way mental health professionals pay the settlements resulting from cases like this. However, many malpractice insurance carriers place a $25,000 limit on all claims involving sexual misconduct. I refused to settle. The insurance carrier refused to budge. I ultimately declined the insurer's offer, believing that a gag order would likely have accompanied it. Although I have kept my experience from my family and friends for fear that they would never understand, I wish I didn't have to. I want to be able to talk about my case freely.

I pursued criminal charges once a civil case was out of the question. Thankfully, my state criminalizes, as a felony, sex between a mental health professional and a client during or within two years of treatment. With no help or assistance from the licensing board, despite their obligation to contact the authorities upon learning of potential criminal activity, I reached out to my state's attorney general. They suggested that I file police reports in each county in which the abuse had occurred. There were three. After filing complaints in two, where I lived and where the majority of abuse had occurred, both prosecutors declined to file charges. There was not enough evidence to prove that my former therapist "coerced" me into a sexual relationship. This decision directly contradicted the state's law that makes clear that the patient's consent is not a defense. Coercion is not necessary to prosecute.

I wanted to give up. I started to blame myself for everything. I experienced intense shame, guilt, and regret. I expected the same result when I filed the final report in the third county. But, incredibly, a year after I had filed my initial report with the licensing board, I was informed by the police that the prosecutor would be filing charges. I couldn't believe it. I had all but given up.

The case is currently underway. But for the first time, I feel hope. I feel that maybe I won't have to continue to fight alone. I have also discovered the possibility of filing ethics complaints with professional organizations she and many counselors belong to, including the National Board for Certified Counselors (NBCC) and the American Counseling Association (ACA). Both organizations, within their codes of ethics, forbid sexual contact with clients. I contacted both organizations and began the process of filing formal complaints. Both are still ongoing.

Additionally, given that she routinely disclosed confidential information regarding a client of hers while the abuse was occurring, I realized it might be possible to file a HIPAA complaint as well with the Office for Civil Rights. That is also underway.

Throughout the process, I have realized how dysfunctional many of the systems in place to protect the vulnerable are. I want to help others so they don't have to fight like I have to get justice. Once my case concludes, no matter the outcome, I am considering returning to school to pursue a master's in clinical mental health counseling. No one should have to navigate through something like this alone.

Stephen Johnson

A Male Survivor’s Story

 
Revolutions begin when people who are defined as problems achieve the power to redefine the problem.           

John McKnight,
The Careless Society

 
Five years ago, I received a letter from the Board of Physical and Occupational Therapy in the state where I live informing me there would be no investigation of the physical therapist who had sexually abused and harassed me, had violated my right to confidentiality, and had failed, on several occasions, to disclose to her employer— the hospital where I was an outpatient—that she used hospital facilities to treat me.
 
The image that best captures the depth of trauma I experienced when I came to see that a person I trusted used that trust to harm me, violating her profession’s ethical code, is Edward Munch’s painting, The Scream. In it, a head that seems detached from its body is standing alone on a bridge, crying out to the universe in agony.  The screamer is ageless and neither male nor female. The Scream was recently stolen from the museum that exhibited but failed to protect it, an irony that makes this picture even more relevant to my experience,
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The psychiatrist who helped me deal with the effects of my abuse stood up and yelled “bullshit” on learning of the Board’s refusal to investigate my abuser. He had described to the Board’s chairman some of the serious consequences I had suffered as a result of the abuse: depression, anxiety, insomnia, and an inability to trust health professionals. He had told the chairman of my credibility and expressed concern about the need to protect other patients from the physical therapist.  He was shocked, as were my attorney, my wife, and I, to have the many pages of evidence presented in the complaint dismissed without explanation.
 
I had, like many victims of professional exploitation, blamed myself. I had done considerable research into and had written about the sexual abuse of children within the Catholic Church. How could I, an adult, not know enough about professional boundary violations to protect myself?

 My physical therapist had seemed controlling and manipulative from early in my treatment. She complained to me about a patient who wrote her a letter saying he could no longer “take care of her emotional needs,” and spoke about intense personal relationships with other patients with whom she socialized and treated outside of the hospital. The meanings of these behaviors were unclear to me at the time.
 
Looking back after five years, I understand the role that gender stereotypes and displaced shame played in why I blamed myself for having been exploited, i.e., I am male and powerful; my abuser is female and not powerful. I had been the object of unwanted sexual advances by two female employers several years earlier and had not reported or confronted either experience.  “Maybe you are responsible for this,” an inner voice kept saying.  “Maybe there is something about you as a man that invites sexual advances and even abuse from professional women.”
 
Reinforcing this sense of personal responsibility, the female psychotherapist from whom my wife and I had sought counseling to help us deal with the impact of the abuse on our marriage blamed me, quickly pointing out the powerlessness of the lowly female physical therapist.  Although I didn’t then understand how trust, gratitude for relieved pain, and an aggregate sense of personal vulnerability could combine to set up a man or woman for abuse, it didn’t feel right that the psychotherapist blamed me and protected the abusive professional.  It was I, after all, who had suffered trauma at the hands of a professional who was not supposed to harm me.  It was I who, with the support of my wife, sought to heal from the injury and to protect other vulnerable patients.
 
Several months after my wife and I had terminated our couple’s therapy, I learned that the psychotherapist’s license had previously been suspended for several months because she had abused a client, a woman who the therapist had infantilized. The therapist had urged the client to call her “mom,” had sent the client love letters, had violated the client’s confidentiality, and invited the client to use illegal drugs with the therapist and her husband. When the psychotherapist was asked to write a letter of apology to her victim as a condition of reinstatement, she referred to her malpractice as “our experiment” and failed to take responsibility for her actions. Knowing this background, it now seems clear why this psychotherapist identified with her fellow professional abuser and not with me.
 
As a male survivor, I find comfort and healing from knowing that the Hippocratic oath and all professional ethical guidelines uphold the principle of equality when it comes to professional abuse and gender. No one is exempt—male or female—from the moral imperative to “above all, do no harm.”

Anonymous

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