A unique feature of this book, Reclaiming Lives from Sexual Violence, is that Dale – who was sexually abused as a child by a clergy member at the local Catholic Church – is centred in the narrative. The focus is on Dale as the expert in forming and reclaiming his life. By not imposing my own agenda in our therapeutic work,

Dale was able to give further context to his experiences of sexual violence. Thus, during our many conversations, Dale’s skills, abilities and hard-won knowledge were made visible; furthermore, Dale gave me hope for the other people I consulted with.

So you can appreciate the significance of our story and what is represented in this book, I offer some background for context. In the early stages of practising as a social worker, my enthusiasm was led by a desire to contribute deeper meaning to people’s lives. My ideals incorporated concepts of social justice and ‘finding voice’ for the individuals, families and groups I walked alongside. What you are about to embark on is a walk down this path, witnessing first-hand the therapeutic journey Dale and I took together over approximately three and a half years.

As I explored therapeutic models that fitted with my life philosophy, and which I could easily understand, I was challenged with feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability

regarding the knowledge and skills I brought to the profession. I was not overly familiar with therapeutic interventions such as cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), psychodynamic theory and schema therapy – and these models were often talked about and emphasised as a ‘magic potion’. So during my early days as a social worker, the feeling of being under-equipped and under the microscope from peers resonated strongly. To counter this, I found cultivating ‘practices of self ’

into my work useful, emphasising my values, principles and techniques of transparency, accountability, working collaboratively and paying reverence to clients’ sharing

of stories.

Over time, I became primarily focused on counselling in my practice, and by the time I met Dale, I was working for a specialised service counselling survivors

of sexual abuse. During this time, I felt confronted by the language used by my colleagues when they were talking about a client’s experiences of abuse. The focus

was often on conveying only one story of identity, and that was not representative of my experience with the multiple stories a client generally presents with.

Similarly, I was particularly challenged by the use of models of therapeutic practice that focused on the problems of the person. Furthermore, I felt pressured to align

with these ideas that diagnosed and treated the problem. In contrast, what interested me was exploring the client’s ‘acts of resistance’ to the problems they

faced and how their experiences of sexual abuse compromised their values, which often silenced them from living life in their preferred way. This will be expanded

upon further, later in the book.

During this time, I came across a therapy that seemed to align with how I wished to position my counselling practice. Known as ‘narrative therapy’, in this model of practice the therapist is decentred as the expert and influential in the conversation (White 2007, p. 39).

My walk (journey) with Dale became instrumental in the development of my narrative therapy practice and further tertiary studies – so much so, Dale gave me the opportunity to give voice to how I preferred to work. As a result, narrative therapy has now become my dominant model of practice. Michael White, considered to be the founder of narrative therapy, highlights that – in the context of therapeutic work – it is often only the problem stories in people’s lives that we hear and pay attention to. This book,

Reclaiming Lives from Sexual Violence, highlights an ethical way of working, assuming that people who consult with us have meaning making skills developed over their lives and that people are always telling stories and giving meaning to these experiences (White 2007).

Finally, dominant therapeutic discourses are in danger of positioning the health practitioner or counsellor as the expert. This power dynamic can play into a client potentially walking away from a consultation with self-doubt and unrealistic expectations about their road to recovery. Often, clients question their own ability to get through tough times, and therefore feel the need to continue engaging in therapy in order to feel well again. This over-reliance can be hazardous and potentially keep the person in a space of not moving beyond the victim story. In this book, Dale and I give significant consideration to challenging these ideas around expert-driven therapy. As Michael White (2011, p. 31) eloquently writes about the importance of self-reflection in our therapeutic work:

It is because I love my work that I am highly motivated to identify any abuses of power and to root them out. I believe that if one is not tripping across abuses of power in one’s therapeutic practice, it means one has gone to sleep.

What are your intentions when engaging in therapeutic conversations? Do you provide the space to reflect on your work – by yourself or with others? Do you find ways to advocate for your own way of practice, if your preferred models of therapy are not fully supported in the organisation you work for?

Finally, I will leave you with a quote from Michel Foucault (1995) to reflect upon as you read through this book – maybe you already position yourself in this way? I hope you are inspired to be vulnerable and innovative in your own work.

He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes responsibility for the constraints of power; he makes them play spontaneously upon himself; he inscribes in himself the power relation in which he simultaneously plays both roles; he becomes the principle of his own subjection.

Through sharing Dale’s story, I hope that it will get you thinking about what is possible in your own practice – what you place importance on and what motivates you in your practice.

Tim Donovan