Key points to consider
A narrative worldview supports the belief that no matter how compelling any given story might be, no matter how powerfully it is entrenched, there are always other stories. Michael White (2003) names the ability to hear both stories as âdouble listeningâ. Therefore, initially when the practitioner is listening to a person presenting problem stories of their suffering, their fears, their experience of sexual violence, at the same time, they can be listening for openings into stories that speak of other possibilities, alternative accounts of how people have responded to the trauma. Paying attention and drawing out the actions they may have taken during their experience of oppression requires continual reassurance and sensitivity from the practitioner. It depends on many factors as to when these conversations can be had â for instance, the person needs to be ready to move beyond the problem story. This can take time and requires patience from the practitioner. Exploring these reclaimed ideas of self can occur when the conversation moves towards the often-neglected stories of a personâs response to their experience of sexual violence, and it can enable the excavation of what the person stands for and how they wish to live their life. Through conversations where the knowledge and experience of a person become more richly described, the person can identify with their own experiences. Furthermore, White (2003) used the term âabsent but implicitâ to convey the understanding that in the expression of any experience of life, there is a discernment we make between the expressed experience and other experiences that have already been given meaning and provide a contrasting backdrop, thus shaping the expression being given attention to. In therapeutic conversations, we can use the concept of the âabsent but implicitâ to enquire into the stories of self that lay beyond the problem story. For instance, a personâs ability to discern their own despair implies that they also have hopes, dreams or visions that have been lost or weakened. Making visible the clientâs own positive identity conclusions has an intention for the client to reclaim what was already theirs.
Early on with Dale, it was particularly important not to focus only on the negative impacts of the sexual abuse and the actions of the person that carried out the sexual abuse, though these conversations did occur, and at times in great detail over a number of sessions, as it was crucial to acknowledge the problem stories experienced by Dale. These stories were also important to acknowledge as they enabled Dale to feel heard and be clear on where he stood, indicating the actions of the person who carried out the sexual violence were morally wrong and physically abusive. Yet, our conversations also explored actions Dale took to place himself in a situation of safety during his experiences of sexual violence. These conversations drew upon an assumption that Daleâs ability to withstand, get away from, disassociate from the pain and suffering experienced during the sexual violence placed him in a position of power, even if subtly, enabling Dale to take a position on his preferred identity. To illustrate this point, I have included an excerpt from a conversation I had with Mathew, a child I previously âwalked alongsideâ. Mathew was enabled to speak with conviction and freedom through his sharing of how he took action in resisting the sexual abuse. Finding openings where the practitioner can be curious, exploring exceptions to, or a time where, the person was not under the influence of the problem and was able to take a stand, however small, against the problem is a key tenet of narrative therapy. Angel Yuen (2007) named this as exploring the personâs âacts of resistanceâ to the oppressive influence of the problem. Acts of resistance are not only physical acts but can include thoughts that may contradict the way the problem would be causing the person to think. In particular, narrative therapy is about asking questions that enable the person to identify the alternative stories to the problem story (of abuse). For instance:
Tim:
What did you do to get yourself through what happened, to get yourself out of the situation [⌠of being sexually abused]?
Mathew:
[Using the whiteboard, Mathew wrote a list of actions he took that enabled him to get himself out of the situation of being sexually abused.] I used to say to the âbad fruitâ that I am tired and that I needed to go home, or sometimes I would say that I needed to call my brother.
Tim:
What would you name this as⌠the ability to be able to say this to the âbad appleâ?
Mathew:
I would call it âcourageâ.
In future sessions, Mathew and I built upon these actions of âcourageâ and examined how he had used this ability in past and present situations within other life contexts, and not only within his experiences of the abuse. The process of people re-authoring their lives involves noticing the âquietâ, unnoticed stories that are able to support them in âreclaiming selfâ as they separate themselves from their problems. As Michael White wrote, these âquietâ stories are often referred to in narrative practice as âunique outcomesâ or âexceptionsâ. Effective therapy is about engaging people in the re-authoring of the compelling plights of their lives in ways that arouse curiosity about human possibility and in ways that invoke the play of imaginations (White 2007). Following on from my conversations with Mathew, their experiences were documented in the form of a therapeutic letter named as âMathewâs actions of Life/Braveryâ (refer to Appendix A). As a result, Mathew wasnât experiencing the distancing effects of therapy, where the expert analysis of the problem stems from the therapist and can potentially further silence the client from speaking out about their experiences for fear of self-doubt, shame and judgement.
Having the answers to the clientâs problems is not always possible. When I was initially consulting with Dale, my desire to grow his understanding of his experiences of shame was provoked. I would do this via particular questions, such as, how can someone who has experienced sexual violence take on the acts of the perpetrator when it wasnât their choice? At the time I was new to working in sexual assault, and I felt personally vulnerable due to the uncertainty I had around not being able to fix Daleâs pain. Instead, I listened to Daleâs expertise, relying upon his lived experiences. By exposing my vulnerability and asking Dale questions with curiosity and wonder, I was not relying on evidence-based theories. This was a reflection of my own questioning around dominant therapeutic models.
We all have knowledge, skills and experience we bring into our work setting that gives us certain competencies, enabling us to contribute to peopleâs lives in significant ways. Therefore, how can we as professionals challenge dominant ideas of expert-driven service and become aware when we are pushing our own agenda in the therapeutic setting? Maybe you are already doing this? How were Dale and I able to challenge societyâs view of shame, particularly as to how sexual violence informs the clientâs view of themselves? I hope that this book honours the stories of the people I have âwalked alongsideâ â it is particularly important to distance myself from being the primary author of what has been written.