An experience I had with a therapist years ago continues to haunt me. It serves as a reminder of how devastating it can be when a therapist not only misses the mark but adds to the trauma they’re supposed to be helping heal. 

I had been through unimaginable trauma, subjected to systematic suffocation torture throughout my 15th year, and was struggling to comprehend its effects on my mind, body, and relationships. I was looking for understanding. I needed answers about how such profound abuse could affect my brain, my relationships, and even the person capable of carrying out such horrors. I sought out a therapist at a local rape crisis center with the hope that she could guide me through this process. Instead, I was met with dismissiveness and a lack of care.

I had told her in advance about my need to understand suffocation torture’s effects and she had agreed to reach out to her colleagues. When the session finally came, I learned that she hadn’t done any of what she had promised. Instead, she opted to tell me about her knowledge of suffocation being a part of “the scene” in consensual sexual play. It felt like she was normalizing the almost unspeakable torture I had endured as a child. She finished her unsolicited, self-centered explanation with, “But that’s not what you experienced.” 

I felt instantly shut-down. Her attempt to redirect the conversation into a space where she could showcase her “coolness” was unhelpful and highly inappropriate. I had come to her in need of validation, to be seen in the gravity of my trauma, and instead, she trivialized my experience. 

I was so destabilized by the conversation that I thought I could regulate myself by going to the pool. Swimming had always been a way for me to calm down, to reconnect with myself. But when I arrived, the music was too loud, and my already overwhelmed nervous system prevented me from swimming. I couldn’t bring myself to swim again more than a few times in the 7 years since. The pain and frustration from that therapist’s callousness stayed with me, disrupting even the places I once found comfort.

From an Interpersonal Neurobiology (IPNB) perspective, this therapist’s actions were a textbook example of a failure in basic trauma-informed care. What a survivor of trauma needs is safety, attunement, and validation. Instead, I received none of those. She took a deep, complicated part of my trauma and turned it into a conversation about her own comfort and knowledge, invalidating my experience. In doing so, she created a wall between us instead of the connection I desperately needed for recovery.

Trauma survivors are often hyper-vigilant to cues of safety or danger. When a therapist’s body language mirrors their disconnection—arms crossed, body turned away—it sends a message that the survivor’s presence is not welcomed. Looking back, I can see how this nonverbal communication was an additional layer of hostility, signaling that my vulnerability wasn’t respected. For a survivor, these kinds of micro-messages can be deeply triggering and re-traumatizing. They disrupt the fragile sense of safety a person has and can leave lasting scars on the therapeutic relationship.

What I needed in that moment was a therapist who could attune to the complexity of my trauma and hold space for me without imposing their ideas or minimizing my experience. Instead, I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered sense of self and wonder if anyone would ever be able to truly help.

Therapists must recognize that trauma survivors don’t just need to be heard with words; they need to be seen and understood in their entirety. Every aspect of the therapeutic process—both verbal and nonverbal—must support that. It is the therapist’s responsibility to create a safe, validating space, not divert the conversation to make themselves feel better or more knowledgeable. If they fail to meet this basic need, it can be devastating, as it was for me. 

I now see how harmful her body language was, and I wish she had recognized it herself. Healing isn’t just about offering knowledge, but showing up, physically and emotionally, with compassion, empathy, and understanding. Therapy should be a space where you feel met, not shut down, where the focus is on your healing, not the therapist’s need to feel in control or superior.

Therapists, please, remember that your body language speaks just as loudly as your words. For survivors, every interaction, every gesture, is loaded with meaning. What you communicate nonverbally can either open the door to healing or shut it completely. It’s crucial to be aware of how you show up in the room. The difference could be the difference between healing and harm.