I went to counselors in my teens, twenties and thirties. I’d get really desperate for help, try to find a fit, stop after a session or two. No help.
Do you know how many of those counselors, upon hearing my story, validated it by agreeing that I had been raped or sexually abused? Zero. None. Nada. Do you know how many of those counselors did tell me that I was a victim, implying broken? At least two.
Reasons I became a counselor: I didn’t want anyone, ever, to be left confused and wondering, or labeled broken…like I was.