You know the statistics. You’ve heard the horror stories. You think you know how to handle it.
But then it happens.
Your client sits across from you—maybe on your couch, maybe through a glitchy telehealth screen—and drops a quiet bomb: “I don’t feel safe at home.”
Your heart speeds up. You shift in your chair. Your mind races through every bit of training you’ve had on domestic violence. You remember terms like power and control, cycle of abuse, trauma bonding—but the reality of a human being sitting in front of you, waiting for your response, makes all of that feel flimsy.
Do you safety plan? Do you report? Do you ask more questions?
The truth is, most of us weren’t taught how to handle intimate partner violence when it happens in our clients.
Let’s be honest about what usually happens:
None of these approaches serve your client the way they deserve. And that’s the problem.
If your response to intimate partner violence is automated rather than intentional, you’re going to fail your client. And when you fail a client in an abusive relationship, you’re not just missing a clinical opportunity—you’re potentially putting their life in danger.
IPV cases force therapists into incredibly complex ethical and emotional territory. You have to balance safety, autonomy, legal obligations, and trauma-informed care—all at once.
And, frankly, most clinicians don’t feel confident doing that.
You might worry about misreading the situation—after all, abuse isn’t always obvious. You might struggle with your own biases, assuming that certain people “don’t seem like the type” to be in abusive relationships (spoiler: there is no type). Or you might hesitate to challenge a client’s narrative when they’re downplaying or rationalizing their partner’s behavior.
So, instead, a lot of therapists default to what feels safest for them.
But here’s the thing: if a client brings IPV into the room, they are telling you something, even if they’re not ready to say it outright. And your job is to know what to do next.
The Social Media Ethics for Mental Health Professionals course in our Licensure Renewal Package doesn’t just regurgitate statistics and legal obligations—it teaches you:
Because IPV work isn’t about you feeling like a good therapist. It’s about your client surviving, healing, and reclaiming their autonomy.
Look, we know you don’t need another requirement to check off. But if you’re serious about this work—if you actually want to be the therapist you envisioned yourself becoming—then you owe it to your clients to know this material.
Because one day, someone will sit in your office and tell you they’re not safe.
And you will have to decide in that moment—do I actually know what I’m doing?
Or am I hoping I won’t screw it up?
If that question makes your stomach drop, good. It means you care.
One of the most insidious parts of IPV is that it thrives in silence. Your clients might not be ready to say, I’m in danger. They might not even be able to recognize it themselves yet.
But if they bring you stories of fear, control, isolation, or cycles of extreme highs and lows, they are telling you something important.
And they are trusting you to hear it.
So, the real question is—will you be ready when that moment comes?
Because it will. And when it does, your knowledge, your training, and your ability to respond could change the course of someone’s life.
👉 Enroll in Social Media Ethics for Mental Health Professionals right here!
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