Building Bridges: Conversations Around Brain Injury and Community Support

By Christy Coenen Coordinator, Membership & Events

Over the past several months, I’ve had the opportunity to collaborate with a dedicated group of professionals to help educate and support our community around brain injuries. This work has opened doors to meaningful partnerships with a wide range of organizations—from homeless shelters to AODA (alcohol and other drug abuse) programs—and has highlighted the power of cross-sector collaboration.

Together, we’ve been able to step into various agencies and offer practical training on how to recognize the signs of a brain injury, how to assess those signs, and most importantly, how to guide individuals to the right services. These conversations are not always easy, but they are essential. They create a shared language among service providers and a clearer path forward for those who need support.

Equally impactful has been the time spent with individuals affected by brain injury. Through support groups, we’ve created space for people to share how they came to understand their injury, the ways they manage daily challenges, and how they lift each other up through mutual support and education. These stories are raw and powerful. They remind us that healing doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens in community.

When It Clicked: Volunteer Passion Meets ATSA’s Purpose

A few months into this work, I had a moment where it all clicked. I began to see just how closely my passion project—working with individuals affected by brain injury—was aligned with the mission we uphold at ATSA.

As I listened to individuals describe their experiences—how they learned about their injury, how it changed their relationships and behaviors, and how it affected their sense of control—it hit me: this isn’t separate from our work at ATSA. In fact, it’s central to it.

ATSA Member's talk about rehabilitation, risk reduction, accountability, and ethical care. What if part of what we call resistance or poor insight is actually rooted in undiagnosed cognitive injury? What if a person’s failure to follow through isn’t willful, but neurological?

This perspective shift matters. Recognizing and addressing brain injuries can be a gateway to more effective intervention, stronger rapport, and better outcomes. It’s not just about screening—it’s about humanizing.

What the Research Reveals

Recent studies make it clear that brain injuries are not a marginal issue in our field—they are common, often overlooked, and deeply relevant:

• Nearly 50% of a sample of 476 adult males who caused sexual harm assessed at a psychiatric hospital had experienced head injuries resulting in loss of consciousness. About 22.5% had significant neurological impact.
  (Langevin, 2006)
• A meta-analysis found that 60% of justice-involved individuals reported a history of traumatic brain injury (TBI), with 53%–75% in male populations specifically. About 52% had experienced TBI with loss of consciousness.
  (Kirk-Provencher, 2020)
• Among young individuals who committed violent offences, 77.5% reported at least one TBI, often linked to aggression and substance use. Many recognized their injury as a turning point toward risky behavior.
  (Katzin, 2020)
• A clinical review found that 6.5% of men with a history of TBI went on to commit sexual offenses post-injury—even without prior history or alcohol involvement—suggesting a neurological role in some offenses.
  (Simpson, 1999)

These numbers are hard to ignore. In comparison, estimates of TBI in the general population range from 12–20%. That means people involved in the justice system—and particularly those convicted of sexual offenses—are several times more likely to have experienced a brain injury.

This Reinforces ATSA’s Values

The more we understand the role of brain injury in behavioral health, the more responsible and effective we become in our work. This includes:

• Recognition before reaction: Behaviors that seem resistant, erratic, or impulsive may stem from brain injury—not defiance or disregard. With screening and education, we can respond appropriately.
• Training across disciplines: Whether you’re in probation, treatment, reentry, or case management, knowing how to spot signs of a brain injury opens up new ways to support individuals—ways that are more just, humane, and effective.
• Community-based support: The support groups I’ve been part of show how powerful it is when people share their stories, learn together, and begin to understand themselves. This mirrors ATSA’s vision of trauma-informed, person-centered care.
• Bringing more voices to the table: We’re stronger when we collaborate. When probation officers, social workers, clinicians, family members, and clients are in dialogue together, we create richer, more supportive systems.

A Call to Action

If you work with individuals—particularly justice-involved clients—ask yourself:

• Have we talked about cognitive or neurological history?
• Have we screened for traumatic brain injury?
• Do we understand how symptoms like memory loss, executive dysfunction, or emotional volatility might be showing up?

If not, now is the time to start. You don’t have to be a specialist to make a difference. There are practical tools, trainings, and partners in your community who can help.

And don’t have these conversations alone. Bring others in—colleagues, treatment team members, community partners. Because the more voices we bring into these conversations, the more effective and compassionate our work becomes.

Brain injuries don’t define a person—but they can shape their journey. And if we don’t talk about them, we miss a crucial part of the picture.

By recognizing brain injuries, we’re not excusing harm—we’re doing what ATSA has always stood for: looking deeper, asking better questions, and creating conditions for accountability, safety, and support.

Let’s keep building those bridges—together.

 

Beyond the Verdict: Why ATSA's Commitment to Prevention and Accountability Matters

by Amber Schroeder, ATSA Executive Director

A few weeks ago, while I was on vacation, I found myself sitting at a car dealership waiting for an oil change, when the Diddy verdict hit the news. I was outraged—not just by the verdict itself but also because of the glaring, persistent societal misperceptions about sexual harm that led to not guilty verdicts on the more serious charges. Again, a moment that should have highlighted the experience of survivors was reduced to a media spectacle.

Like I’m sure many of you did as well, I felt a deep frustration. As I sat there, I texted with one of ATSA’s Board members from that waiting room, and we found ourselves asking the same question: where is the public understanding of what sexual harm actually is? Where is the conversation about prevention, about power, about the possibility of change? As I drove away, one thought kept rising to the surface:

My very favorite thing about ATSA members is that they fundamentally believe in change.

ATSA members hold a core belief that those who cause sexual harm can take responsibility for their actions. They can grow, be accountable, and help create a safer future. We believe that punishment alone doesn't cut it—healing, accountability, and prevention all need to work together. This belief is what makes our field stand out.

 
And now, it’s time for ATSA to live that belief as an organization.

For too long, ATSA has been a strong voice within the professional community—but a quiet one in the public square. When stories like the Diddy case break, we know the public is paying attention. But too often, our expertise, our members' real-world experience, and our research-based understanding of sexual harm go unheard. Not because we don’t have something to say—but because we haven’t had the structure or strategy to say it boldly, clearly, and in real time.

That’s why our 2024–2027 Strategic Plan matters so much.

This plan isn’t just a roadmap for internal improvement—it’s a call to step forward. It lays out our commitment to:

• Strengthen and grow our professional community;
• Expand and modernize educational opportunities;
• Deepen our support for research and evidence-informed practice;
• Influence public policy with clarity, courage, and credibility;
• And critically, reshape how society understands those who cause sexual harm.

As part of this transformation, we’re shifting from a grassroots, volunteer-led model to a professionalized association with the infrastructure to lead. That kind of change comes with growing pains. We’ve had missteps—communications that didn’t land, transitions that felt unclear. But just as we support our clients through moments of uncertainty, we are holding ourselves to that same process.
We are learning. We are listening. And we are committed to transparency.

This is a crucial moment—conversations about sexual harm are happening, but they're missing the nuance that’s so badly needed. It demands that we speak up. That we advocate for an approach rooted in evidence and compassion. That we model the very thing we believe in: the power of meaningful, lasting change.

To our members: thank you. Your unwavering dedication to this work inspires the direction we’re taking. And as ATSA invests in the broader societal conversation, we do so with the fundamental belief that sexual violence can be prevented because of your work.

We are not just responding to change. We are becoming the change.

Framing Prevention Through an Anti-Memetic Lens

by Aniss Benelmouffok

In Antimemetics: Why Some Ideas Resist Spreading, Nadia Asparouhova explores why cultural ideas fail to spread. Much of the resistance to spreading, “immunity” as Asparouhova puts it, is due to the uncomfortable nature of antimemetic subjects.  Reading the book, I couldn't help but see efforts to prevent sexual abuse through an antimemetic lens.

To frame these ideas, she draws on two concepts:

     •    Memes and Memeplexes: Coined by Richard Dawkins in 1976, “memes” are self-replicating cultural units that spread and evolve like genes. Memeplexes—like religions and political ideologies—are networks of related memes.
     •    Mimetic Desire: Introduced by René Girard, this concept suggests we desire what others desire, emulating “models” in our social spheres. This can lead to rivalry and scapegoating.

Asparouhova proposes that if we take these two concepts as "canon," we can see how the internet has poured fuel on them. "Rather than ushering in an era of global peace, the internet made us leap at each other's throats," she says. 

 

What Are Anti-Memes?

Anti-memes are cultural ideas that resist spreading—often because they disrupt social harmony. Asparouhova writes, “Networks have a strong built-in immunity to anti-memes,” noting that these ideas tend to be suppressed because of their disruptive power.

Prevention—especially when it comes to sexual violence—is inherently antimemetic. Like disaster preparedness or gun violence prevention, it rarely garners sustained public or political support unless a recent tragedy has captured public attention. ATSA's Roadmap to Talking About Perpetration Prevention offers a structured approach to breaking through this “immunity” and reshaping how we talk about sexual harm.

Asparouhova herself points to how prevention is deprioritized in public discourse and policy. Consider how media attention surges and fades after mass shootings—or how funding for disaster preparedness lags until catastrophe strikes. Prevention doesn’t spread easily because it requires uncomfortable conversations and long-term thinking—both of which challenge the fast-paced, reactive nature of contemporary communications.

The same is true for conversations about treating individuals who have caused sexual harm. These conversations demand we acknowledge the harm sexual abuse has caused, to consider the harm that may occur, and requires frameworks grounded in science that address its prevalence in our communities.

ATSA's Roadmap to Talking About Perpetration Prevention

ATSA's Roadmap to Talking About Perpetration Prevention is a guide for turning anti-memetic ideas into meaningful conversations. It encourages professionals to lead with values—to explain why they work with people who have sexually harmed others or are at risk to. It provides structure for conversations that highlight our shared goal: ending sexual violence.

Although designed for ATSA members, this roadmap is for anyone ready to talk about prevention with nuance and purpose. It:
     •    Emphasizes collaboration with individuals affected by trauma
     •    Draws on decades of clinical research and evidence-based practice
     •    Makes prevention the focal point of our work—not an afterthought

Why We Need Champions

So how do anti-memes break through? Asparouhova’s answer: Champions. These are people who know how to navigate complex systems and bring difficult ideas into broader conversations. Champions help anti-memes find traction beyond their niche communities.

She writes:
“But to the right champion, even the most labyrinthine system feels like an invitation to create something extraordinary... You will know it when looking at the problem makes your heart expand with possibilities, rather than shrink away.”

If you’re reading this, you might be that champion. Because prevention faces many challenges —we need people willing to carry the message.

A Final Note

The ideas in the roadmap aren’t always easy to share. They’re disruptive. They challenge deeply held beliefs. They’re anti-memes. But they also carry the potential to transform lives and communities.
 
This year, we've been highlighting Changemakers within the ATSA community. Members who have embraced the challenge of sharing the message of sexual abuse treatment and prevention to transform their communities.  I hope you'll join them in sharing these ideas with conviction, even when they're difficult to express. ATSA has your back with evidence-based resources and professional media support when needed—that's how change begins.

What I Talk About When I Talk About ATSA

by Aniss Benelmouffok

It usually happens after the server takes our drink orders. A new acquaintance sitting across from me will politely ask where I work. 

“What do you do?” 

For friends who have previously gone down this path, this is well-tread territory. I can sense their shoulders droop, their eyes re-scanning the dessert menu. We’re going to talk about sexual abuse—and depending on the willingness of my new acquaintance it might be the only thing we talk about all night. 

"I work for an international non-profit preventing sexual abuse."

"Oh wow," they whisper, "Thank you, that is such important work. Good for you."  Do I bask in their praise and smile contentedly or do I delve deeper? 

It is important work—carried out by thousands of ATSA members whom I’ve had the privilege to work with and represent. But their gratitude is for the willingness to face trauma. They instinctively recognize it as an act done on behalf of society.

So when I accept their thanks, I make it clear it's on behalf of ATSA’s members—those who turn toward the hard truths every day in the service of preventing and treating sexual harm.

"I work for a membership organization of treatment providers, researchers, and professionals within the criminal justice system who treat and manage individuals at risk of causing sexual harm." 

At this point, the table is typically silent. My friend will have to tell us about his kayaking trip off the coast of Seattle next time. The questions and conversation will pour out. And the thing is, this conversation energizes me every time.  We discuss who is at risk of causing sexual harm, the effectiveness of treatment, that a significant proportion of sexual harm is perpetrated by youth, how sexual harm often occurs within the context of a household, and the ways fear and retribution make our policies less effective to prevent harm before it occurs. Everyone is affected by sexual harm, directly or indirectly, this is never more clear than during these conversations. These topics are foundational to ATSA members, but can be revelatory at the dinner table.

As ATSA's Director of Public Affairs, and the Editor of the ATSA blog, I am eager to bring that energy for these conversations to the blog. I hope to promote our members voices in alignment with ATSA’s mission, our strategic plan, and the evolving policy agenda. I invite all members to reach out to me to collaborate on future submissions that support this direction. If you have a post in mind, feel free to send a brief outline or summary or if you want to bounce ideas around - well that's one of my favorite things to do- lets do it!  
 
I’d like to acknowledge and thank the previous bloggers—Kieran McCartan, David Prescott, Kasia Uzieblo, and Robin J. Wilson—and the regular and guest bloggers who built this platform. I look forward to building on their foundation and continuing the conversations the blog has fostered for over a decade. 

In true ATSA fashion, we have the numbers to prove it: over 1.26 million views, more than 300,000 words, and 575 posts shared to date.

Let's add a few more views to that count. I look forward to sharing the stories of ATSA members and the vital work they do.

Spring Conference Wrap-Up and Farewell

By David S. Prescott, LICSW

As someone who has borne witness to change in clients for over 40 years, I recently found myself at a true crossroads a few weeks ago and stepped down from the ATSA Blog. This kind of change is always bittersweet. I have been very fortunate to be part of the blog since its earliest days, when Robin Wilson first established it at ATSA’s behest. The timing has been good; I am just back from many of the spring conferences in our field. Each of these conferences has been an opportunity to reflect on a long career in the field and to look forward as well.

In April, the Oregon and Washington state chapters of ATSA teamed up for a conference at the beautiful Skamania Resort on the banks of the Columbia River. The Pacific Northwest is one of the birthplaces of ATSA, and its strong independent spirit was evident at this conference. A highlight of the experience was Lyne Piché and Anton Schweighofer coming down from Canada to discuss their work with people convicted of CSAM crimes. However, the real take-away was the fact that this inaugural joint conference showed what can happen when organizations team up to talk about their work and the challenges they face. This grassroots effort not only recalled ATSA’s earliest days (often involving brown-bag lunches to discuss the use and misuse of the existing measures of the time), but also exemplified how a small group of dedicated professionals can make things happen.

The Minnesota ATSA conference convened in April. MnATSA now has a long history of highly organized events, strongly influenced by long-time members who know the audience and bring humor and camaraderie as well as numerous options for workshops. The highlights included a keynote address by Apryl Alexander, who reminded us of the importance of simply talking about the issues we face – particularly in respecting individual cultural differences. Another highlight was Jill Levenson’s keynote address on post-conviction stress and its effects on clients. Each of these keynotes would have been unimaginable 20 years ago and were only possible because of our field’s history of not shying away from difficult conversations.

A week or two later, the Oregon Adolescent Sexual Offending Treatment Network held it’s 40th anniversary conference. To celebrate, the organizers brought in Tim Kahn to provide a pre-conference workshop and then had an afternoon panel featuring Tim Kahn, Tom Leversee, and me to reflect back and look ahead. Without any question, the biggest take-away from this conference was the discussion of the use of polygraph with adolescents, especially in the wake of ATSA’s 2017 statement that it no longer supported the use of this measure. Given the role of polygraph in our field’s history, the discussion illustrated the sea change of thought and improved practice as the use of the polygraph has waned. Sadly, it was almost entirely extemporized in the moment by the speakers, highlighting a fact of great conferences: You had to be there; it wasn’t recorded or written down.

Finally, towards the end of May, the combined conference of New York State ATSA and the Alliance for the Prevention of Sexual Abuse convened. After excellent pre-conference workshops and a shared keynote by Jacque Page and Bob McGrath, Jeffrey Sandler presented preliminary outcome data from New York’s Strict and Intensive Supervision and Treatment program. One view of his findings was that this program not only has considerable impact, but that when clients do return to the system, it is more likely to be as a result of factors related to antisociality rather than problematic sexual interests. Another highlight was when New York resident Justyna Rzewinski received the conference’s President’s Award for her remarkable efforts at exposing cruel practices at New York City’s Rikers Island. Together, Sandler’s exhaustive research and Rzewinski’s courage are models for what can be accomplished in our field.

That’s it for me! I am eternally grateful to Robin Wilson for asking me to join the blog early on, and to all of those I worked with subsequently, including Jon Brandt, Alissa Ackerman, Kieran McCartan, and Kasia Uzieblo. Of course, I am most grateful to my wife, Louise, who has been patient with my fascination with this work for 32 years, and who has always been willing to speak with me as an outsider, sharing ideas and feedback. As the old saying goes, alone I can travel faster, but together we can go further.

Not the end, rather the next chapter

By Kieran McCartan & Kasia Uzieblo

Sexual abuse is a complicated and simple issue simultaneously. This is a source of concern, frustration, hope, and despair for many individuals working in the field. It is a multi-agency, multidisciplinary issue involving numerous organisations, charities, frontline services, and providers working with individuals to address the reality, causes, and impact of it. Over the years, we have come to see sexual abuse as a multi-systemic issue that impacts all levels of society (individual, interpersonal, community, societal), all facets of society (gender, race, culture, health, psychology and wellbeing), and all societies; it is truly a global issue. Part of the challenge of sexual abuse is the conversation, communication and messaging around it. Translating professional, policy and research conversations to public and community discourses to educate and upskill everyone. This was the aim of the blog when it was first established as an offshoot of the Journal of Sexual Abuse and continues to be its aim as it transitions to being the ATSA blog, aligning with its policy and practice addenda moving forward. Sexual abuse, and the blog, has always been evidence- and practice-based and politically motivated (with a small “p”), and this remains true today, but has become more critical with the current socio-political climate.

Over the years, since the first blog in July 2010 by Robin Wilson (the original lead blogger on the site), there have been 574 blogs (this is the 575th), and they have covered everything from treatment, polygraph, policing, policy approaches, trauma-informed practice, work with adults as well as children and young people, drug and psychological therapies, risk assessment, victim services and narratives, policy, practice, research, conference reviews, and obituaries for leaders in the field.  The blog has featured numerous associate bloggers and guest blog posts over the years, truly reflecting the discussions among professionals, practitioners, policymakers, and what you might expect to see at an ATSA, NOTA, ANZATSA, NL-ATSA, or IATSO conference. In doing so, the blog has succeeded in gathering a wide range of international voices and insights, albeit predominantly from the Western world, thus fostering an important global dialogue while acknowledging the need to continue expanding diverse perspectives. The blog, although aimed at professionals, talked to members of the public and highlighted critical public debates and issues. However, it is also a real challenge, as the field of sexual abuse has become more political over the last 15 years, nationally and internationally, which means that there needs to be a more strategic and coordinated approach to the blog and what it is saying.

As of next week, the blog will be run by the ATSA staff, marking an essential milestone in the evolution of the blog and ATSA’s transition from a grassroots members' organisation to a professional policy and practice organisation. The blog has been and will continue to be a central tenet of ATSA’s messaging, and it will remain so.

As we look ahead, the future of the blog lies not only in continuing to reflect the breadth and depth of professional discourse, but also in strengthening its role as a platform for engagement, advocacy, and change. Over the past 15 years, the blog has already played a vital role in informing, challenging, and connecting thousands of readers—something reflected in both its sustained readership and its consistent ranking among the top sexual abuse blogs globally. As it becomes more deeply embedded within ATSA, we believe this integration will open up new opportunities to amplify ATSA’s mission, inform policy and practice, and foster meaningful dialogue across disciplines. In times marked by increasing societal polarisation, growing misinformation, and a widespread questioning of scientific evidence and expertise, it is more important than ever that we stand strong together - grounded in evidence, united in purpose, and committed to supporting all those affected by sexual abuse.

As we pass the torch, we want to express our heartfelt gratitude to everyone who has contributed to, responded to, challenged, and supported the blog over the years. It has been a privilege to be part of this vibrant and committed community. We are proud of the conversations we’ve fostered, the bridges we’ve built, and the critical issues we’ve been able to highlight together. The field of sexual abuse prevention and response has undoubtedly evolved: there is more open discussion, policies have shifted (albeit still too few and too slow), and research continues to grow. But we are far from talking. Despite decades of effort, innovation, and intervention, prevalence rates of sexual violence remain stubbornly stable. This stark reality reminds us that the fight against sexual abuse is far from over. It calls on us to reflect critically on what works, what doesn’t, and what needs to change. We must keep pushing forward, with renewed commitment to prevention at every level: individual, relational, institutional, and societal. That’s why platforms like this blog are not only relevant but essential. We cannot - and must not - stop talking about sexual abuse, our response to it or how we individually, as well as collectively, can prevent it.

When things come up.

By Stephanie Wayda, BA.

You’ll always hear something you aren’t expecting. Through my journalistic work and recent research work, I’ve come to realize that stories of sexual abuse can surface in interviews even if the interview doesn’t directly ask about abuse.

My undergraduate degree is in Journalism from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I wanted to go into journalism to learn how to develop the skills to help people tell their stories better. My true passion lies in storytelling. Journalism felt like a great path to learning, research and storytelling.

I’ve focused on helping others tell their story and relay important issues. In Champaign, Illinois I helped tell stories of arrests for marijuana before and after legalization showing how Black people were arrested more, a minority community surrounded by liquor and gambling establishments, and then as part of my undergraduate studies I was the Director of Photography on a documentary following women across Sierra Leone, Africa, advocating and finding solutions to period poverty for girls and young women.

Since graduating from university, I’ve been working on research related to my documentary work. Dr. Sophie King-Hill, Idrissa Kamara (Fourah Bay College, Freetown, Sierra Leone), and I are conducting qualitative research about why professionals in Sierra Leone choose careers in sexual health. We’re looking to understand the motivations of these professionals working with what is a stigmatizing issue in the context of Sierra Leone due to religion and traditional values.

Sierra Leone is a coastal West African country with a population of almost nine million people. Sierra Leone’s history includes the Transatlantic Slave Trade, Civil War, Ebola, a deadly mountain slide, and now the removal of USAID. Gender based violence in Sierra Leone is a common occurrence. According to UNFPA, sixty-two percent of women report experiencing physical or sexual violence. To combat this, the government of Sierra Leone has passed legislation such as the Gender Equality and Women’s Empowerment Act 2022. Most recently, they passed the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act 2024.

Our research, conducted in spring 2025, used narrative interviews. In the interviews, we asked participants about their backgrounds, life histories, life course development, career pathways, and current attitudes, beliefs, and context. This was to help us get a better understanding of the context of their lives and the motivations leading them to their choice to have a career in sexual health. None of the questions asked about previous experience with sexual abuse or any specific sexual health topic. Yet, in several interviews, I heard stories of sexual abuse. I wasn’t expecting to hear those stories in this research, but I did. I expected to hear stories about the context of growing up in Sierra Leone, and the challenges it presented, or stories of personal struggles, monetary or otherwise, or other positive stories about wanting to help others.

In Sierra Leone, I talked to educators who support students’ needs outside of the core curriculum, who support student health and wellbeing as well as educational achievement lesson plans, and who offer discussion or hygiene items to students in need. I talked to students at the university looking to pursue a career in sexual health. I talked to women who support other women, children of all genders, and their community. Throughout these interviews, I heard stories about different kinds of sexual abuse which were committed by different individuals. The way in which the participants opened varied from casual, short, long, or intense, depending on the person. This really spoke to the varying impact that sexual abuse has on people and that not all victims understand and process it, or recover from it, in the same way. I encountered many different stories from an array of different people and learned to navigate each one differently. From the people I talked with, I found that the abuse committed against the (survivors/victims) was by a person in the close family unit, i.e., romantic partner, mother, father, or sibling. From what people said, the family units stayed intact, and the abuse wasn't something openly discussed.

The people I’ve gotten to know in Sierra Leone are extremely compassionate and kind, but hearing of the additional adverse experiences they encountered and how that positively motivated them to help others really impacted me.

As a journalist, I’m accustomed to hearing about difficult topics and sensitive issues in interviews and having to compassionately navigate them. In the research setting, it became even more apparent that people felt comfortable opening about their experiences of abuse, again, even if abuse wasn’t asked about. I felt emotional and honored that people feel comfortable opening up to me about their experiences of sexual abuse. Before this research project and talking with professionals in the sexual abuse field, I had to develop strategies based on little previous knowledge to navigate talking with someone about their abuse. Journalism classes don’t necessarily teach you how to navigate those conversations. Much of your response relies on your compassion and understanding, which can still be effective.

Sexual abuse isn’t a topic that I feel at ease talking about or hearing about. It makes me feel deeply emotional, but I’m able to disconnect that part of myself when someone opens up. I think that everyone deserves respect and to be properly listened to and understood. After talking with someone, I can emotionally process or take measures to take care of myself, but in the moment, that person deserves and receives every bit of my attention.

Research interviews are different from journalistic interviews due to less strict guidelines and fewer oversights. Confidentiality isn’t guaranteed, and anonymity is taken very seriously if needed in journalism. Whereas research interviews value anonymity, and any recognition is taken seriously. Talking to people isn’t any different, but the adjustment to asking questions in a set way was something I easily adjusted to. I felt a lot of pressure internally to conduct these interviews to the highest standard, with minimal experience with academic-style interviewing. I anticipated less personability from myself and the participants but found that people felt comfortable and safe talking with me about their story. I found I felt far more comfortable than I anticipated. As a non-clinically trained person, I consulted with my advisor, Dr. Sophie King-Hill, to reflect on how I handled situations, and I felt like I handled them in the best way I could, not expecting the topic of abuse to come up as often as it did.

In the past few months of working with sexual abuse professionals, Dr. Sophie King-Hill, Prof. Kieran McCartan, and David Russell, I’ve learned a lot about sexual abuse and strategies to support individuals opening about abuse. Learning from these professionals made me realize how, outside of a professional environment, society isn’t equipped with proper tools or information to navigate anything surrounding sexual abuse. Their guidance and support helped prepare me for those interviews and speaking with people about their abuse.

In the U.S., I think about all of the barriers and struggles victims and their families face, such as stigma, shame, and resources. In Sierra Leone, I found that people faced the same barriers. With the interviews in Sierra Leone, I heard stories of sexual abuse, and I learned about myself in the process. I learned that I could listen to stories of sexual abuse and support individuals in the moment of opening up. I can offer agency in their opening up so they can decide what they’d like to share.

From all my experience in Sierra Leone and my reflection, I’ve truthfully found an increased sense of personal responsibility to support people in the moment of them opening up. One person I talked with wasn’t sure about opening up, and before they said anything about the issue they were going to bring up, I made sure to tell them they don’t have to share anything they don’t want to. Once they opened up, I wanted them to feel a sense of empowerment in sharing their story, so to one person I said, “You have the power now to share or not share. It’s up to you, you have all the power at this moment.”  

I’m not sure where my work will take me, but in my career, I will take my experience in talking about sexual abuse and expand my ability to talk about other difficult topics with a focus on the participant telling their story in a comfortable way. I’ve also developed strategies to listen to difficult topics. This experience deepened my cultural competence and ability to discuss difficult topics cross-culturally. Since people have been so vulnerable with me, it’s encouraged me to be more vulnerable.