Why the Right Support Matters

If you’ve been following the news surrounding the “Cornell 7,” you may have noticed that this story feels different.

Maybe you’re angry. Maybe you can’t stop reading about it. Maybe you’ve had to stop reading about it altogether. Maybe it has brought up memories, questions, or feelings you weren’t expecting. Or maybe you don’t totally know why it’s affecting you - you just know that it is.

All of those responses deserve space.

The allegations surrounding the Cornell 7 have sparked conversations about sexual violence, consent, power, privilege, fraternity culture, institutional accountability, and what happens when survivors come forward. And for a lot of women and survivors, those conversations aren't abstract.

We live in a culture where women are still routinely asked to explain what they were wearing, how much they drank, why they went somewhere, why they trusted someone, why they didn't leave, why they didn't report sooner, or why they can't remember every detail perfectly.

The question so often becomes: Why did she…?

When we should be asking: Why did they?

And when you’ve spent your life watching women’s experiences questioned, minimized, debated, and dissected, a story like this can hit a nerve - even if you have no personal connection to the people involved.

One of the most important parts of therapy is the belief that you are the expert on your own experience. Your therapist doesn't get to decide what should affect you.

You don't need to have the “right” kind of trauma. You don't need a perfectly clear memory. You don't need to know exactly how you feel before walking into the room. Sometimes therapy starts with: “I don't know why this is bothering me so much.” That's enough.

A good therapist can help you get curious about what's coming up without telling you what you're supposed to feel, pushing you to disclose more than you're ready for, or trying to turn every emotion into something that needs to be “fixed.”

We talk a lot about going to therapy.

We don't talk enough about finding a therapist who actually feels right for you. Because therapy is deeply relational. Credentials matter. Training matters. Experience matters.

But so does sitting across from someone and feeling like you don't have to edit yourself. The right therapist should make room for your anger. Your grief. Your uncertainty. Your humor. Your contradictions. Your politics. Your identity. Your lived experience.

They should understand that our mental health doesn't exist in a vacuum. Gender, power, relationships, culture, racism, homophobia, transphobia, reproductive experiences, money, work, family expectations, and the systems we live within all shape how we experience the world.

Sometimes the goal isn't learning how to cope better with something that shouldn't have happened in the first place. Sometimes the first step is simply having someone say: “Yeah. That was not okay”.

You are allowed to be selective. Finding a therapist can feel weirdly similar to dating. You can meet someone who looks perfect on paper and still think, Absolutely not. You're allowed to ask questions before starting therapy.

Ask how they approach trauma. Ask about their values. Ask whether they have experience working with sexual violence. Ask what happens if you don't want to talk about something yet.

And pay attention to how you feel around them.

Do you feel heard? Do you feel respected?

Can you disagree with them?

Can you swear? Can you laugh?

Can you say, “I don't want to talk about that today,” and trust that they'll respect it?

Therapy asks us to be vulnerable. You deserve to be thoughtful about who gets access to that vulnerability.

And please, log off if you need to.

There is no prize for consuming the most upsetting information. You can care deeply about survivors and still mute the topic. You can believe women and still skip the comment section. You can want accountability and still decide that reading another graphic detail isn't good for you today. Protecting your peace isn't the same thing as looking away. Sometimes taking care of yourself means talking about it. Sometimes it means getting angry. Sometimes it means finding the right therapist and finally unpacking something you've carried quietly for years. And sometimes it means putting your phone down, texting a friend, taking the dog for a walk, and coming back to the world tomorrow.

You get to decide what taking care of yourself looks like.

If conversations about sexual violence are bringing something up for you, confidential support is available through the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-HOPE (4673).