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by Dr. Lucy Thompson [content warning: discussion of s*xual violence, s*xual abuse, therapeutic distress] In her most recent article, Psygentra Director Dr. Lucy Thompson discusses a critical feminist concept of 'Institutional Trauma'. In this blog post, Lucy tells us what the main ideas are behind this way of thinking about trauma. What is 'Institutional Trauma'? 'Institutional Trauma' is a particular way of thinking about trauma, which sits among many others. It specifically focuses on understanding how trauma is institutionally mediated. It is also a direct response to increasing public discussions of “institutional trauma” and a lack of engagement with feminist psychological work in these discussions. My work is situated in response to this lack of engagement, and with feminist psychological theory. However, as I discuss below, I do not propose a singular theoretical destination. What are the main ideas behind this concept of “Institutional Trauma”? Trauma is everywhere, but not universal “Institutional Trauma” is a concept that recognizes the ubiquity of trauma in our daily lives. But, this does not mean to say that trauma is experienced or understood by everybody in the same ways. In fact, thinking about trauma as an institutional phenomenon requires an understanding of its specificity, for instance as trauma becomes specifically patterned along institutional lines. These interrelated lines may include (but are not limited to) white supremacy, cisheteropatriarchy, ableism, classism, and the conditions of violence they produce. So, in contrast with universalizing theories of trauma, the concept of “Institutional Trauma” is one way to situate and locate trauma within these conditions: A way to acknowledge that entanglements with institutions should not be ignored and cannot be escaped, and that these entanglements are specific to institutional formations, histories, and legacies. As Sara Ahmed (2012; 2017) argues, these ‘hardened histories’ hit people differently, so while many people might live together in these conditions, they do not all encounter them in the same ways, and they are not all impacted by them in the same ways. These personal-political dimensions of trauma are explored further in my recent paper. We need to stop totalizing trauma The goal of this work is not to subsume all other forms of trauma knowledge under yet another “new” totalizing concept: That is part of the colonial project of Knowing (Liebert (2018) assembles an eloquent articulation of this position). Instead, my work aims to generate language that responds to the constructed(and constructive)-ness of trauma knowledge, and engage with the personal-political entanglements of what we call “trauma” in a particular time and place. My desire to engage in this work is driven by my own experiences of sexual violence and psychological distress. These are messy entanglements, and in my experience, it was not useful to try and disentangle them. For instance, when I experienced sexual assault in the context of a British university, I was acutely aware of the specific institutional location of that experience, and the consequences. This awareness was compounded by my knowledge of feminist psychological theory, critical psychology, organizational psychology, and institutional theory, but it was not something therapists had a language to explore with me. Instead, there was a push to disentangle the personal and the political and deal only with the personal, meaning that therapists sought to isolate and address what were conceptualized as ‘individual-level problems’ within me. These are messy entanglements, and in my experience, it was not useful to try and disentangle them. I did not view this as a problem with the therapists per se; but rather a consequence of a particular historical focus and tradition in the domain of trauma knowledge and practice in the time and place I sought help (a relatively small town in a midwestern state in the United States of America). It was this knowledge I encountered as distressing because it acted to constrain the ways my experience could be acknowledged and understood. For me, Jeanne Marecek’s work on ‘trauma talk’ (Marecek 1999) was a boundary-bending articulation of the constructed(and constructive)-ness of trauma knowledge in practice. This work helped me to understand the therapeutic relationship, and the institutional production and regulation of trauma knowledge and experience. In my own experiences of therapy, the push for disentanglement was distressing because it served to fragment my experiences so that their gravity and depth could not be addressed. My hope with this work is to resist totalizing accounts of trauma with counter-narratives that may help others to understand their situated experiences of trauma in an infinite array of contexts. “Institutional Trauma” may - and may not - be a feminist psychological concept In my work, I situate “Institutional Trauma” as a feminist psychological concept because this is the discipline in which I am situated, and because my work is driven by a desire to: Elaborate on the concept of “institutional trauma” with feminist psychological knowledge in response to current public discussions of this term. Articulate the personal-political entanglements and complexities of traumatic experiences and understand how these experiences may be situated in relation to power - and the experiences of others. Resist the dominance of individualized, depoliticized, and pathologizing knowledge of trauma in mainstream psychology, and decouple the rigid connections between this set of assumptions in trauma theory. However, this way of thinking about trauma might show up in contexts where the specific language of feminist psychology, and feminisms more broadly, is not dominant or present. By definition, “Institutional Trauma” invites the generation of situated institutional knowledge with indigenous thought. So, “Institutional Trauma” may – and may not – be a feminist psychological concept in different times and places. My desire in this work is not to claim ownership or a right to knowledge over others’ experiences, or to isolate and study a coherent institutional ‘part’ of trauma using a singular heuristic. My desire is to push for responses to trauma that are accountable to institutional complexities and entanglements, while questioning the project of Knowing about trauma itself. An open-access version of the article, Toward a feminist psychological theory of “institutional trauma” by Lucy Thompson is available here. References Ahmed, S. (2012). On being included: Racism and diversity in institutional life. Duke University Press. Ahmed, S. (2017). Living a feminist life. Duke University Press. Liebert, R. J. (2018). Psycurity: Colonialism, paranoia, and the war on imagination. Routledge. Marecek, J. (1999). Trauma talk in feminist clinical practice. In S. Lamb. (Ed.), New versions of victims: Feminists struggle with the concept (pp. 158-182). New York University Press.

by Dr. Jem Tosh* This one can be a little difficult to explain because there are multiple uses of the term. Gender dysphoria can refer to a psychiatric diagnosis or a self-descriptor of an embodied experience. It can be a professional and clinical concept or a very personal and individual thing. I use quotes when discussing the diagnosis to show that I'm talking about a concept not the lived experience - it's part of my qualitative research methodology. So let's cover the first one. 1. 'Gender dysphoria' - the psychiatric diagnosis The psychiatric diagnosis of 'gender dysphoria' is currently defined as: "...a marked incongruence between one's experienced/expressed gender and assigned gender" (APA, 2013, p. 452). Boiled down, this basically means a noticeable difference between how your gender appears to others (through your gender expression), how it feels to you (i.e. what you consider your gender to be), and how it is defined by others. This is problematic for several of reasons. One - it gives others too much power over how you are defined. It's saying that how you experience your gender (i.e. your self-determined, self-defined gender) becomes a 'problem' when it contradicts the gender that others have assigned to you. These 'others' tend to be those in positions of power and authority, such as medical professionals. In other words, if you disagree with a doctor's decision on what they think your gender should be, within this psychiatric framework, that's framed as a mental health issue. For a diagnosis to be determined several criteria must be evident for this 'marked incongruence', such as (for children), "a strong preference for the toys, games, or activities stereotypically used or engaged in by the other gender" (p. 452). The criteria for the diagnosis (particularly the childhood version) have been criticised for stereotyping gender and conforming to rigid gender roles. The criteria are far too broad and pathologize a wide variety of people - from transgender and gender nonconforming people, to cisgender folks who cross dress or are tomboys. They also don't allow space for the existence of nonbinary genders with the repetition of 'the other gender' throughout - reinforcing a strict male/female gender binary. This conceptualisation, then, isn't an internal gender 'disturbance' but an incongruence between a person's own gender and their interaction with a cisnormative world. Cisnormative means that cisgender people (when your gender is the same as the one assumed at your birth) are positioned as 'normal' and everyone else is positioned as 'abnormal'. In this diagnostic text, 'gender dysphoria' is framed as a social, societal, cultural issue, rather than an internal emotional or mental 'illness'. There have been many versions of this diagnosis over the years (e.g. 'transsexualism' and 'gender identity disorder'), but this current iteration emphasises, not an embodied and/or emotional gendered distress, but a disconnect between transgender and nonbinary people and the culture they exist within (or without). ...while transgender people and different genders can often be framed as 'new', a 'phase', or 'fad', this drastically overlooks (and erases) the vast history and current existence of genders and gender structures outside of the colonial gender binary. This becomes even more apparent when we broaden our perspective - beyond the very white, North American and Euro-centric, psychiatric perspective to include a more global and multicultural view. There are many examples of different gender structures and conceptualisations in a range of cultures, including the Two Spirit genders of Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island (also known as North America). The term Two Spirit is relatively recent, and not unanimously accepted, but is an umbrella term that reflects the vast array of genders and gender structures recognised and celebrated by different Indigenous peoples that were harmfully condemned during colonisation (and the ongoing colonial violence and oppression of missing and murdered Indigenous women, children, and Two Spirit folks). So, while transgender people and different genders can often be framed as 'new', a 'phase' or 'fad', this drastically overlooks (and erases) the vast history and current existence of genders and gender structures outside of the colonial gender binary. The DSM and mental 'disorders' Currently the diagnosis of 'gender dysphoria' is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (the DSM) - the text that most psychologists and psychiatrists refer to when diagnosing people or when using diagnostic terms as a part of their practice (not all do though - myself included). It's a highly debated text, with lots of disagreement since its inception and even protests by people both inside and outside of the 'psy professions' (e.g. psychology, psychotherapy, psychoanalysis...). Trying to decide what is 'normal' and what is not in an ever-changing, complex, and diverse world is not an easy endeavour, and some argue that it's not even a worthwhile one. On the other hand, some people find that having their experiences validated and recognised by being published in an authoritative text very useful and affirming. For example, if you describe** yourself as being ADHD and you spent a good part of your life being misunderstood or blamed for not acting like other people (i.e. those who are not ADHD or neurotypical people), then finally having a word and an explanation as to why you're different can be a huge relief and can allow for more understanding and self-compassion. Trying to decide what is 'normal' and what is not in an ever-changing, complex, and diverse world is not an easy endeavour, and some argue that it's not even a worthwhile one. For others, that word and explanation doesn't have to come from psychiatry but from community-based knowledge and self-diagnosis (for example). Rather than being different (or having a 'disorder'), within the perspective of neurodiversity, this aspect of the person (e.g. autism, ADHD etc.) is viewed as a part of the normal variation of human neurology. This normalising of neurological variety counters the psychiatric discourse that frames autistic people as 'abnormal'. It doesn't ignore the difficulties neurodivergent people can experience or the medical and social supports some folks need, but it does show how some of those difficulties can relate to existing in a world that doesn't consider them (like the social model of disability***). This is similar to trauma perspectives that view some diagnoses (e.g. depression, anxiety) as a functional and appropriate response to being traumatised, either by a single traumatic event or prolonged abuse, stress, or harm. Again, the emphasis is on the environmental and social factors that lead to trauma responses, rather than viewing them in isolation as a 'symptom' of 'pathology'. It does not deny how these responses (such as flashbacks, nightmares, dissociation, fatigue, intrusive thoughts etc.) can significantly impact on a person's life and wellbeing, it just doesn't frame them as unusual reactions that spontaneously developed and exist independently within an individual. Neurodiversity and trauma perspectives are not unrelated. Neurodivergent people can be at a higher risk for trauma due to discrimination and oppression, and some of these neurodiverse and trauma terms can be used to describe the complex interweaving of (1) neurological variation, (2) embodied and neurological responses to trauma, and (3) social, cultural, and environmental factors. 'Gender dysphoria' and accessing support For gender dysphoria, then, the label can provide validation and an explanation for feelings and experiences that may have been confusing, distressing, and isolating. If that person has grown up having sensations about their gender and their body that are not the same as their immediate family or peers, they may feel 'stuck' if they do not know how to manage or reduce those distressing feelings. If they do not realise that their experience is shared with others, they may feel alone and like there is something wrong with them because they don't seem to be like other people they know. Having a term like gender dysphoria, means that the confusion can be eased and an explanation given. It also means that they can connect to others who are going through similar experiences for support, advice, and to feel less alone. It can normalise the experience, to see others do and experience similar things, which can be a powerful contrast to feelings of shame. This can co-occur with identity work, such as exploring one's gender. Therefore, the term gender dysphoria (and others like transgender and nonbinary), allow for those folks to connect to communities based on who they are but also how they feel and the difficulties they face. They can access community support by engaging with other transgender and nonbinary people, as well as get advice and support on managing and living with gender dysphoria. Generally speaking, defining anyone as 'abnormal' rarely goes down well, and appreciating diversity rather than disorders gets a better response. These connections do not necessarily need a psychiatric diagnosis - a self descriptor of gender dysphoria (see below) would suffice. What the diagnosis can offer to some, is an authoritative validation of their gendered distress. This can be important for those in unsupportive contexts, such as transphobic environments or homes, when their own voice is not believed. It can provide additional evidence that this distress exists. It can counter gaslighting. Another area where this authoritative perspective can be helpful is in accessing medical and social support. In some contexts (like North America) a diagnosis is required to access gender affirmative care, such as hormones and body modification procedures. More generally the diagnosis can be required for legal changes, such as name and gender changes on birth certificates and government i.d. While in an ideal world all transgender and nonbinary people would live in supportive and trans inclusive environments where their own declaration of distress (and tranness) was enough to be believed and supported, and to access the care they need, at the present time a diagnosis can provide access to these changes and supports.**** The other aspect of diagnosis, however, can be opening the door to harmful treatments too. Conversion therapy (sometimes referred to as reparative therapy) aims to change a person's gender or sexuality. For transgender people this means that the therapeutic goal is to stop them from being transgender and to encourage that person to be cisgender (i.e. the gender that was assumed at their birth). What actually happens in these instances is that the transgender person masks their gender, can internalise transphobia, and performs a version of 'cisness' required by the therapist. This masking and rejection of the self is harmful, which is why conversion therapies are increasingly condemned and criminalised by official and professional bodies. Conversion therapy approaches align with pathologising perspectives - those that frame transgender people as 'abnormal'. Gender diversity perspectives (like neurodiversity approaches) view transgender and nonbinary people (as well as Two Spirit and intersex people) as 'normal' variations in human expressions of gender. So, the diagnosis of 'gender dysphoria' is complicated and regardless of the diagnosis you want to know about, you can be sure that there are many different perspectives. Sometimes those differences in perspective can get quite heated, particularly if you're talking about how someone is defined by others and how they get to define themselves. Generally speaking, defining anyone as 'abnormal' rarely goes down well, and appreciating diversity rather than disorders gets a better response. 2. Gender dysphoria - a personal and embodied experience Gender dysphoria (without quotes this time because I'm referring to a lived experience) can also be a term used to describe a personal experience of gender-related distress. I find that this distress can often get left out of those heated debates on gender that we see in the media and by politicians. Those 'fears' of trans people participating in sports, or worries that kids are too young to know who they are, often lack discussion of the subjective and embodied distress of gender dysphoria. It can be painful, it can be sporadic and unpredictable, and it can be relentlessly enduring. It can come and go in waves, and it can accumulate into a devastating tsunami. This distress can be relatively small that accumulates over time - such as the way clothing feels or sits on the body when it's incongruent with your gender. It can be the weight of the chest area as a constant reminder of bodily contradictions to your gender. It can be feelings of disgust, self-hatred, sadness, grief. It can be regarding the relationship to your body, your gendered body, your gender, or how your (gendered) body is seen and experienced in the world around it. It can be painful, it can be sporadic and unpredictable, and it can be relentlessly enduring. It can come and go in waves, and it can accumulate into a devastating tsunami. This is why we talk about how gender affirmative care is essential and that it can save lives. As I describe in a forthcoming book chapter entitled 'Trans Bodies': Perspectives that deny the existence or lived experiences of trans people can underestimate or neglect these embodied experiences of distress and how intense and debilitating they can be. Consequently, there is a paradoxical obsession with trans bodies as being reduced to genitals and sex characteristics, as an object of study... Another area of silencing and erasure in psychological texts, but one that is discussed more often in trans and nonbinary spaces is the experience and conceptualisation of gender euphoria. This refers to moments and experiences of gender congruence and affirmation - such as someone using the correct pronouns, getting a buzzcut, binding, having no problems changing your name on legal or official documents - it can be anything that results in either (a) a removal of negative experiences to a position of gender neutrality where the person can just be, or (b) positive experiences that bring joy and happiness regarding that person's gender, it's expression and acceptance, or the joy of just being their authentic self. If you would like to read more about the latter two concepts, check out my forthcoming chapter 'Trans Bodies' in the Palgrave Handbook of Psychology, Power, and Gender (edited by Eileen Zurbriggen and Rose Capdevila) If you want to read more about the diagnosis and its history, I cover the concept in-depth in my second book: Psychology and Gender Dysphoria: Feminist and Transgender Perspectives. Notes * This post is written by a nonbinary doctor of psychology who has lived experience of gender dysphoria. * I use the phrase 'describe yourself as' here, not to invalidate those who have self-diagnosed or use the term as a self descriptor, but solely to allow for those who don't use this terminology as well. Some people use the term ADHD, others do not. I want to avoid writing in a way that assumes everyone with this neurological variation uses the same language. ** However, some theories emphasised the role of society and social aspects of disability and failed to fully consider the role of the body and embodiment in experiences of disability (and chronic illness). It is possible, however, to conceptualise disability and chronic illness as a subjective and embodied experience that occurs within a social context that further disables that person due to ableism. *** This is typically referred to as gatekeeping - where there are many barriers to accessing gender affirmative care. On the one hand transgender and nonbinary people highlight how these gatekeeping processes risk the lives of transgender and nonbinary people due to the high suicide risk of this group and the intensity that gender dysphoria can reach, as well as how not presenting as their true self can negatively impact on other aspects of their life in significant ways. On the other, clinicians often point out the need to evaluate, assess, and make sure that gender confirmation procedures are appropriate in each case. However, the extent of those checks can take years (such as the very long waitlists for appointments at gender clinics) and are not applied in the context of cisgender healthcare. When cisgender people want hormonal interventions (e.g. hormonal replacement therapy for menopause or hormonal contraception) or surgical interventions (e.g. cosmetic chest/breast surgery or cosmetic genital surgery) they are not required to have a psychiatric diagnosis, thorough evaluations by multiple professionals, asked to live as if they have that surgery already, or wait years for a decision to be made. Resources: I Love My Chest: A Chest Health Resource for Trans Folks - Qmunity (2014) What It's Like to be Trans and Live with Gender Dysphoria - Teen Vogue (2018) Gender Euphoria: The Bright Side of Trans Experience - Queer KY (2019) Psychology and Gender Dysphoria: Feminist and Transgender Perspectives - Dr. Jem Tosh “A Little Shiny Gender Breakthrough”: Community Understandings of Gender Euphoria - Beischel et al. Rejecting, Reframing, and Reintroducing: Trans People's Strategic Engagement with the Medicalisation of Gender Dysphoria - Austin Johnson The Lived Experience of Gender Dysphoria in Autistic Adults: An Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis - Cooper et al. (article is a little pathologising at times) What Is Gender Dysphoria? A Critical Systematic Narrative Review - Zowie Davy & Michael Toze “Every Time I Get Gendered Male, I Feel a Pain in My Chest”: Understanding the Social Context for Gender Dysphoria - Galupo et al. Missteps in Psychotherapy With Transgender Clients: Promoting Gender Sensitivity in Counseling and Psychological Practice - Lauren Mizock & Christine Lundquist Gatekeeping Hormone Replacement Therapy for Transgender Patients is Dehumanising - Florence Ashley

by Dr. Jem Tosh I came out as genderfluid on National Coming Out Day in 2018, and more recently I have started to write about my gender in my published work (e.g. Tosh, 2020). For the most part, the response I have received has been positive and supportive, but over two years later I still find that the most common response to me 'outing' myself as genderfluid is one of confusion. I can see the anxiety on loving faces as they worry about 'getting it wrong' while trying their best to be supportive, I hear colleagues and acquaintances apologise in advance of making mistakes because they are so sure that they will misgender or offend me in some way, I watch as allies and strangers grapple with how to show their support for something that they do not fully understand. So, below I answer some common questions about what genderfluidity is and how you can support the genderfluid people in your life. I still find that the most common response to me 'outing' myself as genderfluid is one of confusion. What do I call you? I define genderfluidity as multiple genders that change. This means that the individual has more than one gender and those genders can shift over time. These shifts can occur quickly, such as experiencing more than one gender in a single day, or more longterm, such as experiencing changes over years or decades. These multiple genders can be experienced simultaneously or consecutively. The important thing to remember here is that gender is not a binary (Kessler, 2002; Roughgarden, 2013). It is best to avoid using phrases like 'both genders' or 'neither gender' when describing genderfluid people. For example, those multiple genders can include a whole range of different identities, such as agender, genderqueer, demiwoman, and so on. It is not as simple as shifting between man and woman - for some people that may be what their genderfluidity is like, but it is not true for everyone. So it is not a good idea to make that assumption or to refer to genderfluidity in a way that excludes many folks by framing it in a binary way. I define genderfluidity as multiple genders that change. That means that the individual has more than one gender and those genders can shift over time. What may be new to some people (especially if their gender is the same one that was assigned or assumed at their birth) is the idea that people can use multiple terms to describe their gender. For instance, it is possible for someone to be agender, as one of the multiple genders (or lack thereof) that they experience as a genderfluid person. So both terms are relevant and valid - and both can be used to define their gender. You do not have to know or remember all of their genders (unless they want you to, and/or you want to) - simply knowing that their gender changes and flows can be enough. Answer: E.g. "[Name] is genderfluid. They have multiple genders that change over time." If your gender keeps changing, how do you know that it is real? I once met with a parent of a teenager who had recently come out as trans. The teenager was still figuring out exactly what terms and pronouns were the best fit for them, but the parent was concerned that this uncertainty and frequent change represented some kind of 'phase'. As a result, the parent did not want them to make social or physical changes based on something that might be over soon. What can be difficult to see from the outside, or if you have never questioned your gender or experienced gender dysphoria, is that all that change is the constant. What that parent saw as inconsistency - of changing names, pronouns, and personal style - led to the conclusion that their child's understanding of their gender could not be trusted. As a genderfluid person myself, and an academic who specialises in the psychology of gender, what I see is a consistent questioning of their gender: a process of unlearning the gendered information and socialisation that they had experienced up until this point, and a learning of new ways of thinking and understanding gender that fit better with their body, brain, and identity - they were just still working through that process. While for non-genderfluid trans folks that process of unlearning may lead to a relatively consistent gender experience, for others there may be some movement and change, and some changes can happen with cisgender folks too (e.g. name changes, changes in style of dress and so on). For genderfluid people, it can be easier to look back in hindsight and see the fluidity in action - like flicking through photographs and seeing the flow between different variations of gender before your eyes. It can take time to experience and identify the genders of a genderfluid person, and some may not become apparent until later in life, but it is the fluidity of the gender that is consistent. This can provide a lot of ease and comfort to those who find that fluidity initially confusing and destabilising - leading to questions about who they are and what their identity is. Understanding that gender isn't always a static thing can be healing and helpful to those of us who have a gender that is a little more nomadic than most. (See also Temple Newhook et al. (2018) for a critique and review of why research that claims that ‘most’ trans youth ‘desist’ (i.e. stop being trans) is problematic, and Winters et al., 2018 for why listening to trans youth is imperative in physical and mental health care) Answer: The most stable and consistent thing about genderfluidity can be its movement and inconsistency. What does a genderfluid person look like? There is not one specific 'look' for genderfluidity and you will not be able to tell if someone is genderfluid by looking at them. Genderfluid folks can flow from femme to butch to anything else. Genderfluid does not mean androgyny. There can be a stereotype that all nonbinary and genderfluid people encompass masculine and feminine gender expressions, usually combined together. There are other common representations of whiteness and thin and non-disabled bodies, but genderfluidity is much more eclectic and variations of flowing or non-static genders exist in a wide variety of cultures too (McNabb, 2018; Robinson, 2019). So, don't assume that the androgynous person you see is genderfluid or nonbinary, or that the femme or butch person you meet is not. Answer: Whatever they want to look like. What pronouns should I use? Genderfluid individuals can have multiple pronouns (for example, mine are they/them and she/her), and these can change over time too. Some individuals wear a pin or some other visual way of indicating which pronoun to use that day. This can be a difficult area to manage as a genderfluid person, as using the wrong pronoun can be a distressing form of misgendering. For those of us who write, having biographies written in a pronoun that suited one day but doesn't the next, can be a constant reminder that, for some of us, gender dysphoria is inescapable as it moves and sways along with our genders - and our bodies and pronouns just can't keep up. ...if you can remember to change someone's title based on their education (i.e. Dr.) or relationship status (i.e. Mrs)... then you can figure out a changing pronoun for a genderfluid person. Like appearance, there is no one pronoun for genderfluid people and you are unlikely to be able to tell just by looking at them - so it is always best to ask the person and make changes as needed. If you make a mistake, don't worry. No need for lengthy letters or poems of an undying regret and guilt, just correct yourself as quickly as you can and move on. If the person has become upset, then sure, apologise and comfort as needed and commit to doing better in the future. Avoid placing blame on the genderfluid person - such as stating that it is impossible to keep up with their changes and that they should just be happy with the effort you are making. Framing genderfluid folks as a problem is not supportive, and if you can remember to change someone's title based on their education (i.e. Dr.) or relationship status (i.e. Mrs), or what you call them depending on the context (i.e. Ms. Smith at school/work and their first name in less formal contexts, or someone’s real name and their stage name), or their changing last name based on divorce (i.e. using a maiden name), separation, and marriage (i.e. taking or combining with a partner's last name), then you can figure out a changing pronoun for a genderfluid person. Answer: Ask them. Are you transgender? Will you want to be some day? It depends on the person and the definition of transgender that is being used. For example, I define transgender as someone whose gender is not the same as the one assigned or assumed at their birth. So, as no one assumed that I was genderfluid or nonbinary when I was born, this term technically applies. But the word 'trans' is deeply personal (and political). So, it is best to check with the individual if they include themselves in that category or community, rather than applying a (changing and diverse) term to someone else. The word 'transgender' can be used as an umbrella term that includes nonbinary people, and some people consider nonbinary to be a separate umbrella term entirely (that can include other types of gender, such as genderfluid, genderqueer and so on) - so check with the person. On whether or not this will change over time, well it could if the person feels differently about the word later on. The other aspect of this, though, is when nonbinary and genderfluid people are treated like bisexual folks in queer communities - where their identity is minimised as being a 'phase' to something else. So, while bi-erasure works by framing bi people as 'really' gay or lesbian and therefore disregarding the validity of bi folks (myself included #bipride), so too can nonbinary individuals be assumed to be either a trans man or trans women who is in a temporary transitional phase. For some people they may explore genderfluidity before finding a gender that is more comfortable and right for them - but others don't and it is not a good idea to assume that they will or dismiss genderfluidity as not valid or authentic in itself. Answer: It depends on the definition of 'transgender' that you're using and how the person defines themselves. How do I cite your work that uses your deadname? Genderfluid folks can have a deadname - a name that they used to be known by and that was chosen by others but does not fit well with their gender. Not all genderfluid people will change their name, so not everyone will have a deadname, but for those who do, the general rule is not to use it. Ever. Forget it. There is no need to say '[deadname] is now [new name]', because there are other ways of identifying a person. This was the case with Elliot Page's coming out and media reporting - such as showing their picture and listing the projects they have been involved in is enough for most people to know who Elliot is. For a colleague this could be 'The teacher of grade five has come out as transgender and their name is now Sam and their pronouns are she/her' (to be done with the permission and consent of the person in question, of course. Don't out people unless you know they are okay with it). Another example would be, 'My eldest child has asked to be called Aaron from now on and I am proud of my son for knowing who he is'. Not all genderfluid people will change their name, so not everyone will have a deadname, but for those who do, the general rule is not to use it. When it comes to authors, you can look for recent information from the author - such as what is used on their website or Twitter profile. If you are unsure, it is possible to get in touch and clarify what names and pronouns should be used. More and more people are including this information (like pronouns) in their email signatures and bios. As genderfluid people can have changing pronouns and names, it may mean using the right one at the time of writing, using them interchangeably (such as changing pronouns and using more than one when describing the person), or including an 'aka/also known as'. As there are a variety of options, again, the best option you have is checking with the person you are writing about. Answer: Avoid using deadnames (the name assigned to them by others) and check with the author for clarification if the information cannot be found on their public sites. Do you experience gender dysphoria? Have you had or do you want surgery or hormones? The term 'gender dysphoria' is both a problematic psychiatric diagnosis and way of describing gender related distress. You can read about my analysis and critique of the diagnosis and pathologisation of gender nonconformity here. For the latter use of the term, a self-defined distress, it can be experienced by genderfluid people. Not necessarily all genderfluid people will experience it, but for those who do, it can either be a constant or frequent distress regarding physical and bodily appearance that can lead to needing body modifications (such as top surgery or hormones) and for others that gender dysphoria can be as fluid as the genderfluidity. So maybe one day a certain area of the body is really distressing, but as the gender flows, maybe that distress eases as it temporarily becomes more congruent with the gender currently being experienced. In this way, if the distress is a moving target, then permanent changes may not be helpful. Other methods can be used to manage the gender dysphoria, such as different ways of dressing, changing hairstyles, binding and so on. It is also important to note that it is not appropriate to ask invasive questions about people's bodies or health. Respect people's privacy and boundaries by not asking transgender, nonbinary, and genderfluid people about their bodies or surgeries (unless they want to talk about it). Moreover, the experiences of genderfluid folks should not be used to invalidate those of other genders (e.g. trans men and trans women) who pursue body modification interventions. In either context the consent, bodily autonomy, and self determination of those individuals should be paramount. This is for many reasons including (1) the long history of unavailable and inaccessible support and healthcare for trans people, (2) the documented improvement in mental health and quality of life when trans and nonbinary people receive gender affirmative care (Mehringer et al., 2021; van der Miesen et al., 2020) and (3) the negative impacts of trying to change a person’s gender from transgender (or nonbinary) to cisgender (Turban et al., 2020). Answer: Genderfluid people can experience gender dysphoria. Some pursue body modification procedures and hormones, or tuck or bind, and others don't. It depends on the individual. How does it impact on your sexuality? Is it fluid too? Like the word trans, this depends on the definition being used. For example, as a bisexual person I define my sexuality as an attraction to people of the same gender as me, as well as those with a different gender than mine. In this way, I have centered the connection between my gender and sexuality and their significance to my relationships. It also means that my sexuality does not change no matter what my genderfluidity is up to. For instance, for me to be in (what would typically be considered) a 'same-sex' relationship, or a relationship where my partner and I would have the same gender, they would need to be genderfluid too. All others would fall into the latter category, of their gender being different from mine. Similarly, for genderfluid folks who define themselves as pansexual and are attracted to all genders and/or find gender irrelevant or less important in their attraction to others, the term pansexual would be applicable no matter how they expressed their genderfluidity at different times. As the word queer is often used to represent a vast array of non-straight sexualities, it can also be constant despite a flowing gender experience. For others their sexuality may be as fluid as their gender, and there are of course people who experience sexual fluidity who are not genderfluid. They may use a variety of terms to describe their changing sexuality (such as gay, straight, bisexual) or they may simply define themselves as sexually fluid. Answer: It can be, or it can be unchanging. It depends on how the individual defines their sexuality. If I'm attracted to a genderfluid person, does that make me gay? I can understand the anxiety someone might have in thinking that if their partner's gender changes, how might that impact on their own sexuality or how their sexuality is perceived by others. In a homophobic and heteronormative world, those anxieties can come up and cause problems in relationships. The key here is to remember that it is those negative constructions and misrepresentations of gender and sexuality that are fuelling the anxieties, not the genderfluid person who is just trying to exist as they are. ...you define what your sexuality is, no one else. In short, no, being attracted to a genderfluid does not make you gay and this is for several reasons. One, you define what your sexuality is, no one else. So if you define yourself as straight and you are attracted to a genderfluid person then you're straight and attracted to a genderfluid person. Two, if that genderfluid person's gender changes during your relationship or the time you are attracted to them, they don't suddenly change from being a genderfluid person. No matter what gender(s) they are experiencing it is all a part of their genderfluidity (if that is how they choose to define themselves). If you define yourself as gay and the genderfluid person experiences genders that you feel are incongruent with a gay relationship, it doesn't invalidate or undermine your gay identity. This is because that one gender is a part of an eclectic mosaic of multiple genders of the person you like. It is up to you how you define that attraction as a part of your gay identity, such as defining your sexuality as inclusive of genderfluid people. That is up to you. Answer: No. You define your sexuality and you can define your gay or straight identity as being inclusive of genderfluid people. Conclusions One thing that is apparent when discussing genderfluidity is not only the movement and flow of gender, but also the possibilities. I have not included strict and limiting answers because genderfluidity is the antithesis of that. Therefore, while I have answered some common questions, with some common answers, they can not be taken as an authoritative or unchanging perspective. Language in this area can change quickly - from a commonly used term that becomes offensive, to new words and phrases generated that provide better and more inclusive options for a greater range of people, or the reclaiming and redefining of harmful words from the past (like queer). If you are looking to become a better supporter or ally to a genderfluid person in your life, then reading beyond this brief commentary to fill your life with a range of genderfluid and gender diverse voices will be an important step, as will making sure that rather than following general advice for a broad audience, you also make the time to listen and implement changes based on the individual you want to support. Originally published in the Journal of Psychology, Gender, & Trauma. Republished with permission. Click link below for PDF. Definitions Agender: Having no gender Genderqueer: A gender that is related to a person’s queer identity, someone who queers (as in examining through a queer lens, subverting or disrupting straight and/or cisgender norms) gender and/or the gender binary, or as Wilchins (2020) describes it, “…a name for those of us who were ‘visibly queer’, whose queerness flowed not from our sexual orientation, but from our gender” (p. 1). Demiwoman: Definition: When someone experiences a gender in part, but not fully. Such as being a woman to a certain degree but that is not all that their gender is, or as Barker and Richards (2015) define it, when people “…are to some extent, but not completely, one gender (e.g. Demi man/boy, demi woman/girl)” (p. 166). Gender Affirmative Care: Gender affirmative care supports the self determination of the individual and allows for gender exploration. It does not encourage or promote any particular gender, rather it supports the individual in the exploring their gender, if they choose to. It is a non-pathologising approach (i.e. it does not frame transgender or nonbinary people, or gender exploration, as ‘abnormal’). References Barker M.J., & Richards, C. (2015). Further Genders. In C. Richards & M.J. Barker (Eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of the Psychology of Sexuality and Gender, pp. 166-182. Palgrave Macmillan, London. Galupo, M. P., Pulice-Farrow, L., Parker Pehl, E. (2020). “There is Nothing To Do About It”: Nonbinary Individuals’ Experience of Gender Dysphoria. Transgender Health (Pre-Print). Retrieved 2 November 2020 from http://www.researchgate.net Kessler, S. (2002). Lessons from the Intersexed. London: Rutgers University Press. Robinson, M. (2019): Two-Spirit Identity in a Time of Gender Fluidity. Journal of Homosexuality, 67, 1-16. McNabb, C. (2018). Nonbinary Gender Identities: History, Culture, Resources. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Mehringer, J. E., Harrison, J. B., Quain, K. M., Shea, J. A., Hawkins, L. A., & Dowshen, N. L. (2021). Experience of chest dysphoria and masculinizing chest surgery in transmasculine youth. Pediatrics, 147(3). Robinson, M. (2019): Two-Spirit Identity in a Time of Gender Fluidity. Journal of Homosexuality, 67, 1-16. Roughgarden, J. (2013). Evolution’s Rainbow: Diversity, Gender, and Sexuality in Nature and People. Berkeley: University of California Press. Temple Hook, J., Pyne, J., Winters, K., Feder, S., Holmes, C., Tosh, J., Sinnott, M.L., Jamieson, A., Pickett, S. (2018). A Critical Commentary on Follow-Up Studies and ‘Desistance’ Theories about Transgender and Gender Nonconforming Children. International Journal of Transgenderism, 19(2), 212-224. Tosh, J. (2016). Psychology and Gender Dysphoria: Feminist and Transgender Perspectives. London: Routledge. Tosh, J. with Dempsey, F. (2020). Sexual Abuse and Surviving with(in) Psychology. In D. Lee & E. Palmer (Ed’s.), #MeToo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak About Sexual Violence and Abuse. PCCS Books. Turban, J. L., Beckwith, N., Reisner, S. L., & Keuroghlian, A. S. (2020). Association between recalled exposure to gender identity conversion efforts and psychological distress and suicide attempts among transgender adults. JAMA psychiatry, 77(1), 68-76. van der Miesen, A. I., Steensma, T. D., de Vries, A. L., Bos, H., & Popma, A. (2020). Psychological functioning in transgender adolescents before and after gender-affirmative care compared with cisgender general population peers. Journal of Adolescent Health, 66(6), 699-704. Wilchins, R. (2020). Preface to the New Edition. In R. Wilchins, J. Nestle, C. Howell, S. Rivera, S. Wright, & G. Reiss (Eds.), GenderQueer: Voices from Beyond the Sexual Binary, pp. 1-2. Riverdale: Riverdale Avenue Books. Winters, K., Temple Newhook, J., Pyne, J., Feder, S., Jamieson, A., Holmes, C., Sinnott, M.L., Pickett, S., Tosh, J. (2018). Learning to Listen to Trans and Gender Diverse Children: A Response to Zucker (2018) and Steensma and Cohen-Kettenis (2018). International Journal of Transgenderism, 19(2), 246-250. Want more information? Check out my academic analysis of the psychiatric diagnosis of 'gender dysphoria'. Sign up to be notified of the upcoming release of our Gender Inclusive Practice with Survivors of Sexual Abuse online course. See our blog post on Deconstructing 'desistance': GIRES Award for journal commentary about trans youth. Have more questions? Book a one-to-one consultation.

by Dr. Jem Tosh A few months ago in an interview with Zoë Martin I was asked what queering psychology means for a new exhibit for Psychology's Feminist Voices. Below there is a brief preview where I give my thoughts on what queering psychology is. You can watch the whole interview on the exhibit website and the full transcript is available too. So, have a look if you want to hear about if I think we have queered psychology already, what role I think allies have, and what queerness has to do with psychology anyway. From Psychology's Feminist Voices - Queering Psychology Exhibit [video transcript]: "For me, queering psychology is about de-pathologization. My work looks a lot at the history of psychology, and compares it to today. And it's just impossible to know that without being very aware of how queerness has been very negatively represented within psychology and a lot of the historical texts and works and the — observing those changes, but also being aware of how a lot of those negative representations are still carried through in certain spaces in psychology for that. creating more positive narratives about queerness, that moves it away from mental illness So for me, queering psychology is addressing that, changing that, countering, that, producing discourses and narratives that center queerness in a way that isn't framing it as an abnormality. That's kind of one big part of it. And the other part, for me, is not just so much as creating more positive narratives about queerness, that moves it away from mental illness and all that kind of thing, but de-centering heterosexuality and deconstructing that norm that has been produced over such a long period of time — It's just so strong and so influential — that even in spaces that aren't, you know, outwardly homophobic or, um, framing queerness as, as abnormal, you still find that it's considered as like an extra on the side if it's considered at all. Is there a reason you don't think queer parents exist? So I think there's been, there have been a couple of times where I've been really surprised and maybe I shouldn't be, but you know, I remember talking to a researcher once that was talking about parenting. That was kind of the research area. And I was chatting about the research that I do and they're like, “Oh, that's so interesting... but, you know, sexuality isn't really relevant to my work.” And I was kind of like, “is there a reason you don't think queer parents exist?” There's these kinds of decisions where people think that queerness is only relevant in sexuality studies and that queer people only belong in this little sub-category over here [gestures to the side]. So for me, queering psychology is about challenging that." Further Reading Want to know more about the history of queerness and psychology? Curious about how psychology has framed queer people and how queer people have framed psychology? Read Perverse Psychology, which traces how psychology frames queer sexualities and gender nonconformity and outlines the development of conversion therapies. For more on problematic psychological treatment practices with queer folks, check out The Body and Consent in Psychology, Psychiatry, and Medicine: A Therapeutic Rape Culture.

Okay, we haven't been the most consistent or active on social media - but with good reason! We hate Facebook. The other really good reason, is that doing the kind of work that we do and being who we are, we are more likely to experience abuse and hostility online. It's not a nice reality, but it's the reality we have to deal with. We don't like Facebook for many reasons, but the main one is that we don't find it very user-friendly and when running a public/business page, it doesn't provide us with the options that we prefer to create a safe space to engage with others and share information. we are more likely to experience abuse and hostility online We do, however, quite like Instagram. And we discovered that when we use a platform that we actually like, with supports in place to reduce the risk of online harassment, we use it more often. Not all that surprising, really. So, we've set up a lovely psygentra Instagram account that is private - meaning that you need to request to follow and not everyone can see what we post or what you comment. This is one of our work and social media boundaries, to make the kind of emotive and stressful work that we do more manageable, and to reduce the need for moderation (because let's face it, that can be a full time job in itself and we're an extremely small business...). What can you expect on our lovely new social media space? We have informative posts on psychology (critical psychology, queer psychology, feminist psychology and more...) Information and education on gender (e.g. gender identity, gender dysphoria, how to be more gender inclusive) and sexuality (e.g. different sexualities and relationship structures) We talk about what trauma is and ways to heal Our content centres intersectionality and issues of discrimination, oppression, violence, and abuse We produce content on qualitative methodology and how to analyse a range of material You'll see behind the scenes info on what we are working on and things that are in progress We'll let you know about our publications - past, new, and those in the works We'll be sharing mini media analyses of tv shows, films, books - anything related to psychology, gender, and trauma We post information and discussions about concepts from our Self-Care Academy (like setting boundaries and red flags to look out for) And there is more information about who we are and what we do So if you like the sound of that, or you like what we do more generally, follow us on Instagram and recommend us to your friends and colleagues if you think they would like us too. We're a small business and space by design, and our account is private and new, so help us grow! @psygentra ...recommend us to your friends and colleagues if you think they would like us too. ----> psygentra stands against transphobia, homophobia, biphobia, racism, sexism, classism, and ableism - and the same goes for our Instagram account. We block hate.

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning: discussion of psychiatric diagnoses regarding s*xual abuse) I just received my copy of Meg-John Barker's new graphic guide on sexuality, which is beautifully illustrated by Jules Scheele. The comprehensive and accessible text includes discussions on sexual diversity and fluidity, the concept of sexual 'normality' (and its problems), as well as the #metoo movement and consent. It's a great overview of the topic that veers into territory often left out of most general introductions. A handy guide for long-standing academics, as well as a great introduction for students and those with a general or personal interest who find this format more engaging than your standard textbook or journal article. I was very pleased to be asked for my work to be included in the text, not only because I'm a big fan of comics, but because it's rare for academic work to be presented in this way. My mention is in the ethics section and includes a comment relating to my work on 'paraphilic coercive disorder' (PCD). I began studying PCD during my PhD in 2010. I was completing my thesis on psychology and sexual violence when the American Psychiatric Association released potential diagnoses and changes to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) - the book used by most psychologists and psychiatrists when describing or diagnosing mental health conditions/distress. There were concerns that this medicalised rape and that the diagnosis would be misused within the legal system. It is a highly contested text, because who can accurately define what is 'normal' and what is not in such an eclectic world, or how emotional distress feels for one person when we have no way of knowing their experience other than from an outsider perspective? Even those who have gone through similar traumas can experience and respond to them very differently. The DSM, then, attempts the impossible task of creating broad general categories to be applied to specific individuals with unique lived experiences, identities, and cultures. It attempts to be a universal guide for billions of people, with regard to their personal experiences of distress and trauma, as well as their bodily and neurological uniqueness. Criticisms abound, from the stigma attached to the labels it produces, to the problems with constructions of gender and race. On the other hand, some folks find that having a diagnosis in this authoritative text brings validity to their experiences and a label that helps them define themselves and find community. A big difference here is self-determination and consent - the difference between someone in a position of authority telling you who you are (and assigning a label to you, one that you may not agree with or find helpful) and having a professional agree and validate your own way of understanding and describing yourself. Not to mention, the health services and resources that are often tied to having an official diagnosis. It also had a troubling conceptualisation of sexual violence that I examined in-depth for my research. With the release of new potential diagnoses in 2010 there was a description and criteria for PCD, a diagnosis that was first suggested during DSM revisions in the 1980s. It was rejected then and it was ultimately rejected again. It is not included in the current edition of the text, but it does represent an ongoing construction of (some forms of ) sexual abuse as 'pathological' within psy discourse - which creates a deeply problematic binary of 'normal' and 'abnormal' rape. It is this discursive boundary that I analyse. The diagnosis centred on sexual violence and framed the social issue as an individual behaviour that was a mental disorder. There were concerns that this medicalised rape and that the diagnosis would be misused within the legal system. It also had a troubling conceptualisation of sexual violence that I examined in-depth for my research. This led to my qualitative analysis of archival material on 'paraphilic coercive disorder', which later became a much larger genealogical discursive analysis of psychiatric constructions of sexual abuse - starting with Krafft Ebings' Psychopathia Sexualis from the late 19th century and included a vast array of diagnoses. This analysis, and how it relates to the pathologisation of gender nonconformity, can be found in my first book Perverse Psychology (2015)*. More recently, I have continued this project by examining constructions of consent, coercion, and sexual abuse in therapy in my latest book The Body and Consent in Psychology, Psychiatry, and Medicine: A Therapeutic Rape Culture (2020). Both publications examine the concept of sexual abuse alongside analyses of gender and sexuality, and like Sexuality: A Graphic Guide, these analyses foreground queer perspectives and trouble gender binaries. Check out Meg-John Barker's book launch here. * Please note that the language in 'Perverse Psychology' was not what I wanted (i.e. 'transgenderism') and is outdated. The book includes an analysis of how gender norms and gender nonconformity are constructed and pathologised by psychiatry, from a nonbinary perspective.

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning - discussion of family rejection, loneliness, familial abuse) While 2020 and COVID-19 will mean that many people will not be spending this holiday season with their family, for some folks being apart from family can be a more frequent occurrence. Whether that's because they are an immigrant who cannot travel during the holidays, a survivor of abuse who has a no-contact boundary in place to protect themselves from further familial abuse, or those who have been rejected by family for their sexuality or gender - there are many reasons why someone's family of origin can be unwelcoming, unsafe, or just not possible to spend the holidays with. In these situations sometimes people talk about their chosen or found family. This can be a whole chosen family all on its own, or chosen family can add to an extended family of origin. A chosen family can include people you have met along the way, who have been supportive, accepting, nurturing, and loving. It can be life-long friends who just 'get it', people who are 100% supportive and always have your back. Pets can be members of chosen families, as well as great additions to any kind of family. It can also include those who you find love, hope, and reassurance in - not even necessarily in direct contact. For example, it could be a celebrity or fictional character who inspires you, or celebrates themselves in such a way that it makes it easier for you to celebrate those parts that others (wrongfully) rejected or criticised. Maybe they just give you the courage to live a more authentic you*. ...there are many reasons why someone's family of origin can be unwelcoming, unsafe, or just not possible to spend the holidays with. It could be people you've met in your life only briefly, but for some reason, they made you feel a little more included, accepted, or seen. It could be a teacher you had years ago who really believed in you and made you believe in yourself too. It could be a health professional who heard and validated your pain and tried their best to help you. They can be people you think are 'like a sister to me' or like the 'mother I never had'. Some people tell their chosen family these things, and there is an openness about how that relationship is viewed by those who are a part of it. For others, it can be something they keep to themselves, not because of shame or secrecy, but because's it's private and not really anyone else's business. Most will be a complex mix of all of the above - some good friends, influential supportive people from the past, a few fictional characters here and there who inspired you or you really related to. Some might know that they form a part of your chosen family**, or that your friendship is more like a sibling bond, and others may not realise just how significant they have been to your life. All types of chosen family can be equally important - such as needing a close friend to talk to after a bad day, or having a fictional character that is dependable, so that no matter how crappy life gets, you can re-watch that show/film, or re-read that book and know exactly what they are going to do. It can be comforting to find a predictable and repeatable relationship, one that maybe only occurs in a single episode, especially for those who experienced abuse or trauma with their family of origin where unpredictability was frightening. ...invest your time and energy with people who choose to love and support you and are happy to have found you too. So don't feel guilty about a 'guilty pleasure' if it's rewatching that episode for the millionth time, the stash of posters you have for your favourite celebrity, or just how tatty that book is because you've been reading it for over a decade. If they make you feel better and they take up space in your life and your mind as being like family, and especially if you have vacancies in those family roles, then take joy and comfort where you find it. And for those real-life relationships, whether that's friends or supportive folks you know, rather than feeling sad or bad about not spending time with family who don't support you, invest your time and energy with people who choose to love and support you and are happy to have found you too. Possible Activity: If the holiday season might be difficult or triggering for you, particularly around feeling a lack of familial support, you could try drawing or thinking about what your chosen family tree might look like. It could include any type of relationship like those described in this post - pets, friends, famous people, fictional people, those you only spent a small amount of time with but the experience had a significant (positive) impact on you. You could draw them, write their names, or print out some pictures. Having a visual reminder of how many people care about you, and how many you feel connected to, can be helpful when the days are getting shorter, the nights longer, and the holidays can be tough. If drawing isn't your thing or you're not a visual person, you could try coming up with a story that includes your chosen family to help you remember how many there are for times when it feels like you are alone. It could be a holiday meal where your favourite celebrity is sitting next to your pet cat who is eyeing up your BFF's plate. If thinking about family (i.e. family of origin or chosen family) feels too upsetting, reach out to your support network (e.g. a therapist, support group, good friend or partner, local organisation etc.). If you have a self-care plan, make sure it is in a place that is easy for you to find and access. Some Resources: 'A place for you': Why chosen family can be a lifesaver for LGBTQ people over the holidays from CBC. Merry queermas! Why we'll be spending Christmas with our chosen families from HUFFPOST UK For some LGBTQ+ folk, the family you choose is everything at Christmas from Refinery29 The importance of found families for lgbtq youth, especially in a crisis from glaad Choosing your own family members can be life-saving. Here’s why these Canadians did it from Global News Why queer people need chosen families from Vice Why we need to rethink the concept of queer "chosen family" from Out 5 queer people on how they found their chosen families from Wired What happens to queer people who don’t have a chosen family? from bitchmedia Books How we show up: Reclaiming family, friendship, and community by Mia Birdsong Families we choose: Lesbians, gays, kinship by Kath Weston Journal Articles: We Are Family: Chosen and Created Families as a Protective Factor Against Racialized Trauma and Anti-LGBTQ Oppression Among African American Sexual and Gender Minority Youth from the Journal of GLBT Family Studies “I'm Kinda Stuck at Home With Unsupportive Parents Right Now”: LGBTQ Youths' Experiences With COVID-19 and the Importance of Online Support from the Journal of Adolescent Health Queer Polyfamily Performativity: Family Practices and Adaptive Strategies Among LGBTQ + Polyamorists from the Journal of GLBT Family Studies * This can be tricky given the changes in writers, directors, and characters in media representations. If a character is made to go through something difficult if could be both cathartic and triggering, and of course, with the trope of killing queer characters, sometimes feeling overly connected to a fictional character can be painful (Destial fans, I feel for you <3). In these situations it can be helpful to make note of the singular episodes that bring you comfort and rewatch them when needed. Fan fiction can also be a great area for cathartic healing - so if you don't like the ending, just rewrite it ;) ** When deciding to tell a person that you consider them to be family, like family, or a part of your chosen family, remember to think about boundaries first to make sure that you are not violating any of your own, or their possible boundaries. This can be particularly important if professional boundaries are a factor.

by Dr. Jem Tosh Last week the new edited collection #MeToo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak about Sexual Violence and Abuse was published. It includes my chapter, 'Sexual Abuse and Surviving with(in) Psychology', which is a personal reflection on how growing up as a queer* and genderfluid** survivor in Northern Ireland influenced my career in psychology. It talks about the intersections between homophobia, transphobia, and sexual abuse - and has a conversation section where I talk about sexual abuse and intersectionality with my life-long friend, Fionn Dempsey. The in-person book launch was transformed into a live online Twitter celebration due to COVID-19 and social distancing guidance - which meant that I could attend despite being in a different country from most of the contributing authors. The launch was on May 14th 2020 on Twitter, but here is a summary of my contribution and check out the hashtag #metoocounselling for more content. About the chapter 'Behind the scenes' Quotes Want to hear more about my new chapter? Find out why I wanted to talk about my personal experiences in my academic work and how I survived psychology here. Book Contents 1: Retribution - Seb Randall, with Celia Urbach 2: ‘Survivors are everywhere’: our #MeToo, #WeToo journey - Kaur with Deborah A Lee 3: Lighthouses, rocky shores and safe harbours - Concetta Perôt with Clarinda Cuppage 4: How we talk to girls about ‘sex’ - Taylor Broughton with Sarah J Wilson 5: Sexual abuse and surviving with(in) psychology - Jem Tosh with Fionn Dempsey 6: Therapists’ lived experience in counselling and psychotherapy training - Liz Smith & SaraTeresa Mollis 7: Survivors of sexual violence training as psychotherapists in the UK - Deborah A Lee with Peggy, Sam and Phoenix. 8: #MeToo on the internet - Tara Shennan with Haley Clifford 9: Reconnection through dance movement psychotherapy - Amanda Light with Tina Johnson. 10: Shattering the sounds of silence - Reena Shah with Clarinda Cuppage 11: While I was sleeping - Andrew Pari with Katy Woodger 12: ‘#WeToo’: groupwork as an act of solidarity and resistance - Leah Salter with Emily Jacob 13: Pushing, pulling and parts coming together - Joy Farrimond with Emma Palmer 14: Dirty secrets, ecocide and the specialness of the world all around - Emma Palmer with Charleen Agostini Concluding poem - #MeToo, by Clare Shaw Reviews ‘This innovative and ground-breaking  book is an exceptional and much-needed contribution to understanding sexual violence and sexual abuse. It provides invaluable insight to the experience of those who work with and support survivors of sexual violence who are also survivors themselves. It allows us to bear witness to how survivor practitioners engage in their work with survivors and demonstrates how powerful and transformative it is to give voice to and share lived experiences. It is an indispensable addition to our understanding of sexual violence and deserves a place on every practitioner’s bookshelf.’ Christiane Sanderson, Senior lecturer in psychology, University of Roehampton, and consultant in sexual violence and childhood sexual abuse ‘The capacity to work with experiences of sexual violence and abuse is an essential competence for all counsellors and psychotherapists. #MeToo presents a diverse, accessible, and deeply moving collection of chapters on this issue, from both personal and professional perspectives. As such, it is a vital resource for our field.’ Mick Cooper, Professor of Counselling Psychology, University of Roehampton ‘This book is truly transformational.  It not only documents the #MeToo movement by bringing together therapists in dialogues about the impacts of their personal experiences of sexual abuse in a powerful and moving way. It also deconstructs and disrupts the ways we talk about these experiences and reconstructs the phenomenon entirely. Throughout it challenges notions of ‘us’ and ‘them’ and shows us how to hold ambivalence, as de Beauvoir taught us in her ‘ethics of ambiguity’. Either/or becomes both/and, such as in the desire to be seen and to be hidden, to feel agency and to experience dependence, to feel special and to be shame-ridden, and wanting to hurt and feeling empathy for abusers. ‘No, we will not be silenced!’ shout the authors, united. It is a convincing plea for #WeToo and the power of standing together in solidarity against shame and victim-blaming. This book is a powerful testament of how abuse is a relational experience – a counter-story to the individualisation and pathologisation so rife in our society.’ Dr Gillian Proctor, lecturer, University of Leeds ‘If you don’t find yourself reading this book with your whole mind-body self, then you are missing a unique opportunity for being moved, kinaesthetically touched by the personal stories and learning what it means to work therapeutically towards a soul-soma integration. The different theoretical perspectives, writing styles and conversation structures made me read the book in a 3-D way: as a (socio-political) witness, but then also hearing the different voices that were previously silenced and also feeling in my own body and movement the emergence of deeply hidden memories. Spirituality, politics and intersectionality are at the heart of this utterly inspiring book that sensitively stimulates reflections, inner processes and questioning of conventional therapy practices. It is essential reading for therapists and non-therapists alike.’ Sissy Lykou, UKCP registered psychotherapist ‘Intensely powerful - a book about pain and remembering, but also about testimony and hope.’ Nicole Westmarland, Professor of Criminology, Durham University Notes * I use the terms queer and bisexual to describe my sexuality. I define bisexual as having an attraction to people with the same gender as me, as well as those with a different gender from me. It is transgender, genderfluid, nonbinary and intersex inclusive. This term best represents my sexuality as it positions my gender as central to the definition (rather than a term like pansexual), which is important to me and my relationships ** I use the terms genderfluid and nonbinary to describe my gender. I define genderfluid as having more than one gender and I use nonbinary to refer to genders that encompass more possibilities than a binary of male/female allows. This can include multiple genders (ie. demiwoman) as well as no genders (ie. agender).

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning - mention of s*xual abuse and h*mophobia) In the transcript below I talk about my new chapter in the edited collection #MeToo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak about Sexual Violence and Abuse. #MeToo Book Launch What is the chapter about? The chapter is about the topics that I usually research, so sexual abuse, gender, and sexuality, and how they all interconnect in complicated and nuanced ways. What makes this chapter different is, it includes summaries or overviews of academic work in those areas but they are intertwined with my own personal experiences and reflections. So, the beginning of the chapter focuses on growing up during The Troubles in Northern Ireland as queer* and genderfluid,** and how that impacted on my experiences of being a survivor of sexual abuse. I reflect on the messages I received about what sexual abuse is and what it is to be a survivor, and how they intertwined with messages that I was also receiving around gender, sex, and sexuality. What makes this chapter different is, it includes summaries or overviews of academic work in those areas but they are intertwined with my own personal experiences and reflections. So, the chapter is consistent with what I argue in my other academic work, but it really shows through personal examples how you can’t separate those topics. You can’t talk about sexual abuse without talking about gender, without talking about sexuality, and for me it highlights the problems with approaches that have a very binary way of thinking. This is both in terms of assuming that there are only two genders (male and female) and excluding trans, nonbinary, and intersex perspectives, but also the binary of perpetrators that assumes only (cisgender) women are victims and only (cisgender) men are perpetrators. When everything is framed in cisnormative and heteronormative terms, the voices that get silenced in that process are queer and trans people but also queer and trans survivors.*** Why talk about your own experiences? When you start training in psychology you tend to learn statistics first and approaches that encourage you to be very objective. You're instructed to not talk about yourself and to not use ‘I’ statements, but to be factual and as detached as possible. Then I got my training in qualitative methods which was very different. It was about being transparent and reflective, seeing how you interpreted that information and what you were bringing to that material. It was a co-construction of knowledge and meaning. This was an interesting experience because even after many years of qualitative training, teaching, and research, it still took me a very long time to talk about my personal experiences in relation to my work. ...when I saw the call for chapters for this book, I was looking for an opportunity to do this for a while and it just seemed perfect because I would be able to academically 'come out’ as everything. I did reflect on my history of sexual abuse during my PhD but I kept it very private, such as in discussions with examiners but it wasn’t something that I published about. So, there was this awareness that I was keeping a part of myself back in my research and writing. I was writing about sexual abuse as a psychologist and a survivor, but I wasn't stating that explicitly. Also, academically analysing texts regarding specific forms of sexual abuse that I had personally experienced and not drawing on that knowledge became another aspect of myself that I wasn’t ‘out’ about. I wasn’t out as bisexual or as nonbinary but I was writing about issues around gender and sexuality and keeping that part of myself back because of all the complexities and issues and risks around coming out, both personally and professionally. So, when I saw the call for chapters for this book, I was looking for an opportunity to do this for a while and it just seemed perfect because I would be able to academically 'come out’ as everything. What’s the key message? I would say the key message in the chapter is complexity regarding sexual abuse. Appreciating the importance of specifics in each individual case and that you can’t generalise people’s experiences. All aspects of who you are and where you are, and the context and culture that you live in, are all pertinent when we are looking at healing from or analysing issues around sexual abuse. My upbringing and the context of Northern Ireland and the extreme forms of homophobia that I was exposed to were key aspects of my abuse experiences - because how do I manage that tension between my identity as being Irish (at a time when being queer was seen as incompatible with Irishness) and these coercive sexual experiences, while at the same time being shamed for my sexuality? That all merges together in this big mess of trauma. How sympathetic and supportive are people going to be when they find out that some of my abusers were women? Will I be blamed for that because being queer is seen as ‘bad’ in this context? I can't address it by only looking at the coercive or violent part and ignoring my experiences of being queer in this context. It's important to consider how those sexually abusive experiences impacted on my queer identity and whether or not it felt safe to come out, because if this is the violence I experienced when I was perceived as being straight, there's a (reasonable) fear regarding how much worse it could get if I came out in a context where I was told that homosexuality was a sin and I was going to hell for my attraction to women. How sympathetic and supportive are people going to be when they find out that some of my abusers were women? Will I be blamed for that because being queer is seen as ‘bad’ in this context? So culture, context, and history all form a part of that analysis and understanding needed for healing to be more than one narrow focus, and instead considers how sexual violence can impact all aspects of a person's identity. How did you survive psychology? I survived psychology by making connections with other queer, nonbinary, and trans psychologists, as well as connecting with those areas of psychology that reflect on the profession. Those that look at its history and present and critique it - what could we be doing better? Where are we unintentionally causing harm? Where are places potentially intentionally causing harm? How can we broaden out from a constructed ‘norm’ to include so many voices that it’s impossible to even think of a ‘norm’ at all? How do we make space for everyone’s experiences, identities, cultures, and contexts with such uniqueness and specificity and so many plural and diverse options for healing? That’s how I survived, finding those spaces and thriving in those areas. The book #MeToo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak About Sexual Violence and Abuse, featuring my chapter, ‘Sexual Abuse and Surviving with(in) Psychology’, is available now. Missed the live book launch on Twitter? You can read a summary of the online discussion here. Notes * I use the terms queer and bisexual to describe my sexuality. I define bisexual as having an attraction to people with the same gender as me, as well as those with a different gender than me. It is transgender, genderfluid, nonbinary and intersex inclusive. This term best represents my sexuality as it positions my gender as central to the definition (rather than a term like pansexual), which is important to me and my relationships ** I use the terms genderfluid and nonbinary to describe my gender. I define genderfluid as having more than one gender and I use nonbinary to refer to genders that encompass more possibilities than a binary of male/female allows. This can include multiple genders (i.e. demiwoman) as well as no genders (i.e. agender). *** As well as silencing men survivors and those who have been sexually abused by women.

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning - discussion of physical, emotional, and s*xual abuse - mention of h*mophobia, tr*nsphobia, and b*phobia) When people think of violence or abuse, they tend to think of that stereotype of physical violence - aggression and anger. Silence can seem like the antithesis of that - calm and peaceful. But silence can show up in many ways in abusive contexts, sometimes playing a key role in its continuation. Silencing victims One of the most pertinent ways that silence can impact on abuse is when abusers coerce victims into silence. This can be done in a wide variety of ways, such as making threats about what they will do if the victim tells someone (usually threatening to harm someone they care about), or shaming them into silence. This can involve using the victim's own actions against them, like those who have been exploited online being threatened with the exposure of those images to family members, friends, employers and so on. For LGBT+ people, it can include being outed without your consent. When victims are silenced through fear, coercion, intimidation, and further violence, it often enables the abuse to continue. It first accomplishes this by making sure that those who would be likely to intervene are not aware of it. It can also function later as a means of invalidating the victim's experience - such as people questioning why the victim didn't tell anyone sooner. ...if the abuse is chronic then they could have learned that silence was a better coping and survival strategy. Learned Silence The concept of Learned Helplessness refers to when people are repeatedly exposed to a stressful situation or occurrence and as a result, feel like they are unable to change or control it. For instance, if an individual was to be hurt once by a perpetrator, they may fight back, call for help, tell people afterwards, and take action to avoid that person. But if that individual was hurt repeatedly by that perpetrator over a long period of time and the situation felt impossible to change, they might stop fighting back, and they may fall silent - in the belief that such actions would either serve no purpose at all, or they may make it worse. This is why it can be problematic when people ask how much a person resisted during sexual abuse or if they called for help - because not only can some people freeze or dissociate which makes such actions difficult and/or impossible - but if the abuse is chronic then they could have learned that silence was a better coping and survival strategy. Another example could be a queer child living with unaccepting family members. They might challenge their parent's homophobic views, but if that is repeatedly unsuccessful, or frequently results in further distress and/or emotional abuse, then they may consider silence a safer approach for the time being. It does not mean that they have stopped being queer, or stopped caring about LGBT+ issues, but that silence has become a survival strategy. The silent treatment Standing up for yourself can have many positive consequences, such as feeling empowered, and better self confidence and self esteem - it can be the beginning of putting boundaries in place that can keep you safer and help you thrive. Another possible consequence can be abusers giving you the 'cold shoulder' or the silent treatment. This can be a manipulative strategy designed to wear you down and get you to give in to something that you don't want to do. It uses the relationship you have with someone, giving it and taking it away, based on their terms to get you to do what they want - threatening you with the constant fear of abandonment. This isn't to be confused with situations where someone you know or care about genuinely needs some space or time to process things or for self care after a difficult conversation. Nor, is it the same as implementing a no-contact boundary. A no-contact boundary is used when someone needs to have zero contact with a particular person - because they have been abusive, hurtful, violent - and no other means of resolving that relationship/situation have been effective. It is a tool used for safety and self care. Being abused can leave a person feeling powerless and isolated, and when it seems like those around you don't care enough to stop it or speak out about it, that loneliness and vulnerability can accumulate. Bystanders On International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia (#IDAHOTB2020), I can't help but also think about the silence of those who witness abuse and do or say nothing - those who allow it to continue uncontested. Whether it is looking the other way when homophobic bullying happens, assuming that it doesn't have anything to do with them, or disbelieving or minimising the experiences of those who disclose violence and abuse - it's a silencing that can make a bad situation worse. Being abused can leave a person feeling powerless and isolated, and when it seems like those around you don't care enough to stop it or speak out about it, that loneliness and vulnerability can accumulate. So, as this year's theme of IDAHOTB2020 is 'Break the Silence', I hope that those who witness homophobic, transphobic, and biphobic abuse speak out and speak up for those who are currently using silence to survive. Read about how I broke my silence in the new book chapter - 'Sexual Abuse and Surviving with(in) Psychology', published in the edited collection - MeToo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak About Sexual Violence and Abuse.

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning - discussion of s*xual abuse, coming out, h*mophobia, b*phobia) Today is the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biophobia. The theme this year is 'Breaking the Silence' - "This year again, tens of thousands of us will speak up. We will take the space that is rightfully ours, because our voices, our stories, our lived realities matter!" The theme resonates with me deeply. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, silence was something that became a part of my life very early on - silence and secrets*. To keep a secret one must be silent. Whenever an opportunity arises when you could speak** your truth, you experience that invisible hand covering your mouth from a distance. A psychological imprisonment made of threats, fear, and shame - one of the many reasons why survivors often do not disclose even decades later. It was a circumstance that would become even more ingrained and familiar as I learned just how many 'secrets' I was meant to keep. My bisexuality and gender nonconformity being high on that list too. As a child, who has to keep silent about so many things, you learn to listen well - and you can hear or observe a lot. Every homophobic 'joke', every declaration that same-sex relationships are a 'sin', every time dyke and queer are used as an 'insult'. Even before you know that those words relate to you, you can learn that they are 'bad'. So, quickly those parts of you need to be kept a secret too. Whenever an opportunity arises when you could speak your truth, you experience that invisible hand covering your mouth from a distance. A psychological imprisonment made of threats, fear, and shame... Those secrets can be devastating in two ways - 1. that you are experiencing multiple forms of abuse (i.e. sexual, reparative/homphobic/transphobic/biphobic abuse) and 2. that you can't tell anyone about it or voice your truth - whatever that may be. The physical and emotional impacts of silence in this context can be significant. My silence always settled at the top of my chest and in my throat. A constant ache and pain - that got worse every time I was made to stay silent about who I was and what I had experienced. The cost of masking, or filtering every statement, movement, and thought, to match that expected of you (and/or forced upon you) can be exhausting. Have you ever faked a smile for the sake of another person's expectations or to avoid conflict? Imagine holding that projected image for days, weeks, or even years - and the pain that would result from having to consciously hold that expression. Imagine that stopping to smile could result in a wide range of outcomes, including violence. Think about the pain in the muscles of your face, and how it would get harder to do and more painful the longer you had to do it. Now imagine that it's not a smile, but everything about a part of who you are. It's a price many pay to be safe(r) - and to survive. When I was 18, I tried to come out as bisexual. Having tried for many years with no success (most often being told that there was no such thing), I decided that having recently moved to a new area that I could try again and have a new start. Full of nerves and butterflies I said the words, 'I think I'm bisexual'. The response was similar to what I had experienced before ('that's not a real thing') followed by two additional points that further silenced me for over a decade - 'There's something wrong with you. Don't ever tell anyone what you just told me.' It came from a place of fear and an attempt to protect me (and a healthy dose of biphobia and bi-erasure). Knowing the hostility I was likely to experience, silence seemed safer - and that can be the case for many. But the forced silence, of not being believed, being pathologised, and being told that I must stay silent about this forever or something terrible would happen, meant that I buried a part of myself so deep that I barely knew it existed anymore. Then, when I was researching sexual abuse in my twenties, I read Audre Lorde's essay 'The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action'. I related to so much of it as a queer survivor. The phrase 'Your silence will not protect you' echoed in my mind for years. Because I had been told the opposite so many times by abusers - and living in a context of such fear and secrecy I had never doubted it. I came out as bisexual in 2017 and as genderfluid in 2018. But behind that short statement of 'I'm bisexual' or 'I'm genderfluid', was years of advocating for LGBT+ rights, challenging and educating those who knew me about LGBT+ issues, and surrounding myself with allies and a queer and trans community that meant when I finally refused to be silenced, I had the support I needed. Breaking my silence meant that I could make those connections - coming out slowly to more and more people as I met others like me. ...being told that I must stay silent about this forever or something terrible would happen, meant that I buried a part of myself so deep that I barely knew it existed anymore. Another important aspect for me, which relates to Audre Lorde's piece so much, was the decision that keeping the secret was worse than the consequences of speaking out. Knowing that I could lose support I had depended on my whole life, and knowing that I had to do it anyway - whether that was publicly stating that I had been sexually abused or coming out. As Lorde states, "For we have been socialised to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us." I think too often we envisage 'Breaking the Silence' as a sudden and immediate act - like breaking glass. And it can be, but it can also be a long process of finding your voice and your truth - that can first involve breaking the lies you were told - to speaking your truth when it feels right for you. You can read more about my experiences of growing up as a queer and genderfluid survivor in my new book chapter - 'Sexual abuse and Surviving with(in) Psychology' published in #Metoo: Counsellors and Psychotherapists Speak about Sexual Violence and Abuse. *I'm using the term 'secret' here intentionally, to show how the harmful silencing of victims and survivors, both by abusers and rape culture, is often framed in this way - that minimises the violence of that silence as well as putting the blame on the survivor for *doing* something (i.e. keeping a secret) rather than on the abuser (i.e. forcing/threatening a survivor to be silent as a part of the abuse), and the cultural context (i.e. gaslighting and disbelieving survivors when they do speak out). **I use the term 'speak' to refer to the many ways that such experiences can be communicated. This can include a wide range of different forms of communication, as well as appreciating that survivors may not be able to describe their experience - especially if the trauma occurred when they were very young and/or unconscious (for example). I often refer to voice and speaking in this post specifically, as I am drawing on my own lived experiences, which may be different from those who communicate in other ways.

by Dr. Jem Tosh (Content warning: Mention of r*pe, descriptions of types of s*xual abuse, one link to an article mentioning su*cide, one link to an article mentioning childhood s*xual abuse) I will never forget the first feminist workshop of my PhD. It was the first time I was going into a new space to meet new people and could introduce myself as someone doing a PhD in the psychology of sexual abuse. I was in that exciting and scary phase of wanting to absorb as much information as I could, because like so many first year students, I felt out of my depth and like I would never know enough to be able to complete the huge task before me. The first presenter got up and introduced themselves and stated that they were going to start their presentation with a short clip from a film. The doors of the room were closed (to stop the light coming in from the hallway) and all of the lights were turned off. Now we (a group of about forty academics and activists) were sitting together in darkness, except for the screen in front of us. I was forced to witness a graphic depiction of a particular form of rape that I had experienced a few years earlier. I was sat next to the wall, having been my usual overly punctual self who arrived far too early. To leave the room, I would need to stand up, shuffle past several people as they sat (like people do at the cinema or at a seated event) with the half-awkward, half-polite ‘oh excuse me, sorry, thank you, coming through...’. Then I would have to find my way from the third row of seats to the back of the room and through the door that had just been closed. There were also several people standing in front of the door because the room was at capacity, another obstacle in this conference-themed maze. Not the easiest task for the socially anxious, but try it with a flashback. After the room fell into darkness (itself a trigger for some), the short clip was played. It was a graphic rape scene. As soon as the scene started, I felt sick. I closed my eyes, but I could hear it. I covered my ears but it was no use. I was forced to witness a graphic depiction of a particular form of rape that I had experienced a few years earlier. Despite having already spent several years studying and researching rape, volunteering at rape crisis centres, supporting survivors in a range of community and clinical settings - all my skills and ways of coping with being exposed to traumatic content were useless when I was thrown into a situation that I had no control over, no warning about, and didn’t sign up for. People need to be able to choose to participate in that content, or it can become harmful. I know what my limitations are, where my boundaries lie, and how to recover from reading through or analysing emotive content. It’s the only way I’ve managed to keep working in this area for so long. Not having a warning about the content meant that I could not prepare for it, nor could I make an informed decision about whether or not that presentation and/or workshop was appropriate for me at that time, on that day. Now you might think that a rape scene is obviously inappropriate and should have a trigger or content warning, but you might be surprised that it really is needed beyond the obvious. You don’t know what people’s triggers are (not that it’s possible to know or provide warnings for every possible thing), and the authoritative position of a presenter or professor in the very hierarchical context of academia and higher education, can create problems around consent that may be less obvious. Take for example, those who show sexually explicit material without warning, either critiquing or challenging the status quo in their teaching, subverting sexist double standards, or people showing their own body in an act of body-positive, sexual celebration and a challenge to slut-shaming. It’s something that I’ve seen often as a feminist academic. There will be people in those lectures and presentations who have been forced to witness similar things. Sexual images, nudity, sexuality - are not inherently problematic - but showing them without someone’s consent (or assuming that everyone consents unless you have evidence to the contrary) is. People need to be able to choose to participate in that content, or it can become harmful. And that ‘evidence to the contrary’ can be hard to come by - those who have been deeply upset or distressed by a portion of a class or presentation may have to leave to take care of their mental health - and they might not come back. It’s not exactly the huge warning you might have expected. Although anger and a need to talk can be responses for some, silence is another. It can be easy to assume that rape is only relevant in discussions of embodied and physical violence, but sexual abuse encompasses much more. Can’t understand why simply showing an image is harmful? [Descriptions of different types of sexual abuse follows …. ] Think about the cases of sexual abuse where victims are forced to watch pornography, or had to watch their abuser get undressed. Even the increasing sexual exploitation on the Internet, where physical bodies never touch but [Content warning* - link discusses suic*de] the psychological consequences can be severe. Or even the more recent ‘zoombombing’ of pornography or [Content warning - link discusses childhood s*xual abuse] images of sexual abuse in lectures and presentations - and how traumatic and distressing participants have found this. It can be easy to assume that rape is only relevant in discussions of embodied and physical violence, but sexual abuse encompasses much more. It’s not that sexual images are automatically traumatic (although, of course that depends on the image), it’s the context and lack of consent. Watching porn? Cool, whatever you’re into mate. But showing it to someone else when they don’t want to, not asking them if it’s ok, or down right forcing it in a context where they can’t refuse? Nah, that’s rape culture. ...if you’re teaching a seminar of 20 students or a lecture of 300, chances are you have survivors in the room. Of every topic. In every class. In every university. That’s why warnings are needed in advance - not just at the beginning of the talk. People need to know what they’re getting into, so that they can make an informed choice if it’s right for them - because *yes* they should be able to skip your class. There are a lot of things more important than your lecture, and your students’ mental health is definitely one of them. Otherwise you’re just perpetuating the ableism and sanism of academia. Generally speaking, prevalence rates of rape (which tend to underestimate for a variety of reasons) range between 1 in 4 and 1 in 2, depending on the population of study. So, if you’re teaching a seminar of 20 students or a lecture of 300, chances are you have survivors in the room. Of every topic. In every class. In every university. Watching porn? Cool, whatever you’re into mate. But showing it to someone else when they don’t want to, not asking them if it’s ok, or down right forcing it in a context where they can’t refuse? Nah, that’s rape culture. They could freeze, dissociate, go numb, or have a flashback. They won’t learn what you wanted them to learn. Instead, they’ll learn that your classroom isn’t for them. So, does this mean that millions of survivors should not learn? Are they too ‘delicate’ to study these upsetting topics? Are they f*ck. If anything, it’s the opposite. It’s even more important that we include the voices of a diverse range of survivors in different disciplines. It’s that same rallying cry we hear in a variety of contexts, from disability activists to queer spaces - ‘nothing about us without us’. Recommended Resources: Lockhart, E. (2016). Why trigger warnings are beneficial, perhaps even necessary. First Amendment Studies 50(2): 59–69. Rae, L. (2016). Re-focusing the debate on trigger warnings: Privilege, trauma, and disability in the classroom. First Amendment Studies 50(2): 95–101.