Difficulties of Disclosure

By Dr. Kate Watson

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What Makes It Hard for People to Disclose Their Abuse or Assault?

As victim advocates, we are often the first safe place someone turns to. But more often than not, that moment comes after a long internal battle – a stretch of silence, shame, confusion, or fear. We may find ourselves wondering: Why didn’t they say something sooner? or What made them wait until now?

The truth is: disclosure isn’t a straightforward process. It’s deeply layered, personal, and shaped by trauma, identity, environment, and relationships. While we might be trained to receive disclosures with compassion, empathy, and care, it’s vital to understand the obstacles people face before they ever say a word.

Here’s what gets in the way – and what we, as advocates, need to keep in mind.

1. They might not fully understand what happened yet.

One of the biggest misconceptions about abuse or assault is that the person always knows what happened to them – immediately, clearly, and with certainty. But that’s often not the case. Many survivors, especially those who were abused by someone they trusted or cared about, struggle to define their experience. Emotional abuse, coercion, grooming, or childhood sexual abuse can all take years to fully name.

And when someone is still piecing together their reality, it’s incredibly difficult to disclose something they haven’t yet fully made sense of. Their body might know something’s off – panic, dissociation, numbness – but their mind hasn’t caught up. Survivors may even ask themselves, was it really that bad? or Did I somehow allow this?

As advocates, we need to leave room for that ambiguity. We can hold space for people who aren’t ready to name it, while still affirming that their confusion is valid and their feelings matter.

2. They fear they won’t be believed.

Sadly, this fear is not irrational. Survivors – especially women, LGBTQ+ folks, people of color, disabled people, and those in marginalized communities – often face skepticism when they come forward. They may have been told before:

• “You’re being dramatic.”

• “But he seems so nice.”

• “Are you sure you’re remembering it right?”

When someone’s trust has been broken once, taking another emotional risk – like disclosing abuse – can feel impossible. That fear of being doubted can be more painful than staying silent. As advocates, our belief is powerful. Survivors are attuned to how we react. A calm voice, a soft nod, and a simple “I believe you” can be more grounding than we realize.

3. They’ve internalized shame.

Abuse thrives in secrecy, and shame is often the glue that holds that secrecy together. Survivors may believe:

• “This happened because of me.”

• “I should have known better.”

• “I’m dirty now.”

They may feel like their experience defines them, or that it makes them “broken” in some way. For survivors who’ve also grown up in environments where bodies, sex, or emotions were taboo, the shame is doubled. We live in a culture that often asks survivors, What did you do to provoke this? instead of Why did someone choose to hurt you?

As advocates, we can counter shame with deep, nonjudgmental presence. We don't have to fix the shame, but we can create a relationship strong enough to hold it until they’re ready to let it go.

4. They’re afraid of the consequences.

Disclosing isn’t just about “telling the truth” – it often comes with fallout. Survivors might fear:

• Retaliation or escalation from the abuser

• Losing housing or financial support

• Not being believed by family or friends

• Impacting custody of their children

• Navigating systems that feel invasive or retraumatizing

Even when someone wants support, the reality is: disclosure changes things. It changes relationships, routines, sometimes entire lives. Survivors may need time to weigh the risks before they say anything at all.

As advocates, we can support survivors in navigating choices without pressure. Our role isn’t to push disclosure, but to honor autonomy – while helping them make informed, empowered decisions.

5. They’ve disclosed before—and it went badly.

Many survivors have disclosed in the past.

To a parent who minimized it.

To a teacher who ignored it.

To a partner who blamed them.

To a system that retraumatized them.

These early experiences of disclosure shape future ones. A survivor who was punished or shamed for speaking up may decide they’ll never open up again. This is where our role is so critical. We can be the one experience that feels different. We can rebuild that bridge of trust, even if others have burned it before us.

6. Trauma can silence the body.

It’s important to remember that trauma isn’t just psychological – it’s physical. The nervous system reacts to abuse and assault with protective responses: freeze, fawn, dissociate. Sometimes, that response lingers for months or years. Survivors might feel paralyzed, flat, foggy, or disconnected from their own voice. They may want to talk but can’t – their body hasn’t caught up to their intention yet. This isn’t avoidance. It’s biology.

As advocates, we can practice patience. Disclosure might come out slowly, in fragments, or nonverbally at first. Let it.

7. They’ve heard the word “trauma-informed” before – but it didn’t feel safe.

Let’s be honest: the phrase trauma-informed gets thrown around a lot these days. But many survivors know the difference between a system that says it’s trauma-informed and one that actually is.

They’ve been in offices with a brochure on the wall – but no warmth in the room. They’ve talked to professionals who used the “right” language – but lacked the capacity to truly listen. So yes, people hesitate to disclose because they’re not just waiting for a trauma-informed provider. They’re waiting for a safe one.

And safety isn’t a tagline—it’s a lived experience. It's consistency, presence, care, and humility.

Disclosure is not a moment – it’s a process. And for many survivors, it’s a process shaped by fear, shame, risk, and history. That’s why our presence matters. Not just what we do, but how we show up: slowly, consistently, and with a deep respect for each survivor’s pace.

Being a trauma-informed advocate isn’t about checking a box. It’s about creating space where someone can take their first breath of truth – and know they’ll be held in it. Because when someone finally speaks the unspeakable, they’re not just telling you what happened.

They’re telling you who they trust to hold it. Let’s be worthy of that trust.