Kicking EMDR Therapist to the curb

As the weeks went by, I grew increasingly more frustrated with June. I vented to Sheldon, discussed it at length with him, with some close friends and with my support group. Finally I decided I had given her far more chances than I should have. I wrote her this letter:

October 9, 2012

Dear June,

After a great deal of careful thought and introspection, followed by several discussions with my husband and with trusted friends, as well as additional reading about EMDR, I have come to the conclusion that it would be best to discontinue therapy with you. My husband suggested writing “an articulate letter” expressing my concerns. This is my attempt at such a letter, although I’m not sure how well I will manage the “articulate”.

[I wrote a paragraph, which I'm not including, explaining and describing my support group.]

Our combined experiences and study have taught us quite a bit about what makes therapy effective for us. We need our therapists to communicate in a way that inspires our trust and confidence in them. Obviously, safety is a big issue for all sexual trauma survivors. In order to feel safe, we need the assurance that not only do our therapists possess the necessary expertise, but that they also treat us with sensitivity and compassion. We recognize that what we require is no simple or easy thing. In fact, it is unfortunately far easier for even the most well-meaning therapists to inadvertently do the opposite, causing us to lose what confidence we may have had in them. I’m afraid that is what has happened with you and me.

The first troubling incident was when you touched my knee. I was shocked that a therapist would touch a sexual trauma survivor without warning or permission. Some of my friends considered this a “major red flag”. What we have all grown to expect is being asked something along the lines of, “Is it OK if I touch your knee? It might help calm and ground you.” Instead, what happened felt like a violation of my personal boundaries. Your response to my reaction -- both then and each time you have mentioned it since -- has been unsettling to say the least. You have given no indication of understanding how inappropriate your actions were.

Somewhat less troubling, but still a cause for concern, was the way in which you disagreed with my decision not to press charges against my rapists. I question the purpose of lecturing me thirty years after the fact, and I see no therapeutic value in what came across as an attempt to undermine my confidence in a decision I have never once regretted. What made it worse is that you know extremely little about the circumstances of my rape or my life at the time, yet you felt no qualms telling me what I should have done.

Then there was the issue of eye contact during therapy. The first time you mentioned this, I was both baffled and amused. Frankly, I was tempted to respond, “Duh! I’m a rape and incest survivor!” or to tell you about my friend who stared at her therapist’s shoes every session for an entire year...or my friend who studies the carpet intently...or the other friend who rarely faces her therapist...I was also tempted to mention what several PTSD experts advise therapists regarding this very issue, but surely you already know this far better than I do. Yet you seemed to find it remarkable that I do not feel comfortable maintaining constant eye contact with you. I simply do not understand.

You have also given the impression that you consider it at least somewhat unusual that I did not disclose the incest to my parents at the time that it was happening. You even stated that this should have received special comment in the report from the psychologist who recently tested me. Why would my non-disclosure be particularly significant when the majority of those incest victims who disclose do not do so until well into adulthood? Our reasons for remaining silent are so numerous and compelling that I am amazed at the courage of anyone who does speak up. I would expect a therapist who treats incest survivors to at least acknowledge this reality.

Your negative characterization of my therapeutic relationship with Randy struck me as unprofessional. What was especially offensive is that you made those remarks in the context of describing others’ perception of me and how I can be taken advantage of. I found this insulting to both Randy and me. I'm tempted to refute your statements, especially the one about him being “in over his head” with my trauma issues. However, this letter is already long enough. I know who I was three years ago; I know who I am now; I know how tremendously I benefitted from therapy. I also know that only an exceptional therapist could have gained my trust the way Randy has.

My biggest frustration about therapy in your office is that I cannot point to any positives that will outweigh or even balance out the negatives that concern me. I kept waiting to experience progress or benefit from our sessions. Instead, I have felt stuck in what seemed to be an increasingly longer preparatory phase that brought me no closer to actual treatment than when I first walked in your door.

It would seem to me that if my tendency to dissociate is so problematic, we should either have agreed that I am not a good candidate for EMDR, or our sessions should have focused directly on overcoming this barrier to treatment. Neither has been the case. Even if I did not have my other serious concerns, I would see no reason to waste your time and mine by continuing therapy together.

Sincerely,

Annie [mysterious last name that I'm not ready to disclose here]

cc: Randy [his last name]