Revictimisation via Informal Disclosure: Understanding How Family,Friend,and Partner Responses Can Harm Victim-Survivors of Sexual Violence

Abstract

Despite disclosure research often focusing on formal disclosures (e.g. to the police), evidence suggests that informal disclosure is more common. Prior research has examined the impact of informal disclosures of sexual violence (SV), though understanding is still limited, particularly in the United Kingdom context. This research aims to explore the impact of “negative” informal disclosure responses, from the perspective of the victim-survivor, ultimately arguing that responses are often harmful rather than negative. This was particularly salient for minoritised victim-survivors. This study provides a thematic analysis of semi-structured interviews with 31 victim-survivors of SV (including child sexual abuse, rape, sexual assault, and sexual abuse), exploring the deleterious impact of informal disclosure responses over life-course. A range of harmful responses were experienced, including feeling: victimisation was minimised, blamed, doubted, controlled, and infantilised, as well as disclosure respondents engaging in emotional outburst. Although rape myth acceptance is often used to explain such responses, this study demonstrates the importance of also considering disclosure myths, as well as how these myths intersect with discriminatory attitudes such as racism and ableism. Furthermore, whilst the concept of revictimisation is often discussed in relation to formal disclosure experiences, this study illustrates the potentially revictimising impact of informal disclosure experiences. The implications of these findings are discussed.

Introduction

Although being believed, validated, and supported by family, friends, and partners (informal disclosure respondents) are considered important for victim-survivors (Ahrens et al., 2007; Demers et al., 2017), research indicates that victim-survivors are commonly disbelieved, blamed, and not taken seriously (Person et al., 2024), resulting in deleterious outcomes, including compromised ability to acknowledge victimisation (Ahrens, 2006), self-blame (Opsahl & Pick, 2017; Rees et al., 2019), social exclusion (Côté et al., 2022), anticipation of further negative reactions (Ahrens, 2006; Côte et al., 2022), and thus, being less likely to engage in subsequent disclosures and help-seeking behaviours (Dworkin & Allen, 2018; MacIntosh et al., 2016). Furthermore, negative responses have been associated with mental health outcomes including depression, anxiety, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Hakimi et al., 2018; Orchowski et al., 2013).

Whilst the complexity of disclosing sexual violence (SV) is acknowledged in previous literature (Alaggia, 2004; Easton et al., 2014), the extent of this complexity and how this influences responses and impact is still relatively under-researched. This is compounded by reductive approaches, such as only focusing on initial disclosures (Ahrens et al., 2007; Demers et al., 2017) and restrictive inclusion/exclusion criteria (e.g. victimisation needing to have occurred within 5 years; see Jaffe et al., 2022). Some studies instruct participants who have experienced SV more than once to focus only on the most “serious” (Lorenz & Ullman, 2016) or the “worst” instance of SV (Stiller & Hellman, 2017) and responses are often dichotomised into “supportive” and “unsupportive” or “positive” and “negative” (Ahrens et al., 2007; Person et al., 2024). In some cases, it is the researcher(s) who classify these responses, rather than the victim-survivor (Ahrens & Aldana, 2012). Furthermore, much of this research occurred in the United States, resulting in a knowledge deficit in relation to victim-survivors informally disclosing in the United Kingdom. More recently, Bloomfield-Utting and Skinner (2025) highlighted that the non-linear process of speaking about victimisation is often less about “disclosing” being victimised and more about “discussing” victimisation and impact over life-course (see also, Côté et al., 2022) thus necessitating approaches to research which facilitate a complex understanding of the impact of speaking about SV. Using semi-structured interviews, this study explores the informal disclosure experiences of 31 victim-survivors of SV in the United Kingdom. Whilst previous studies have discussed negative disclosure responses, often conceptualising such responses as unsupportive or inappropriate, this paper reframes informal disclosure responses as potentially harmful and revictimising, particularly for minoritised victim-survivors.

Disclosure Responses

Despite the disclosure rationales outlined above, victim-survivors often experience informal disclosure negatively. Research has identified numerous negative, inappropriate, and unsupportive responses to informal disclosure which result in victim-survivors feeling doubted/disbelieved; blamed; dismissed/ignored; treated differently; and their sense of control undermined by disclosure responses (Ahrens, 2006; Ahrens et al., 2007; Ahrens & Aldana, 2012; Ahrens et al., 2009; Côte et al., 2022; Gill & Harrison, 2019; Jackson et al., 2017; Opsahl & Pick, 2017; Salim et al., 2024). Whilst literature indicates minoritised victim-survivors experience these responses in differing and/or intensified ways, the majority of these studies are in the United States context (Hakimi et al., 2018; Jackson et al., 2017; Opsahl & Pick, 2017; Salim et al., 2024; Slatton & Richard, 2020; Washington, 2001), relate to formal disclosure (Murphy-Oikonen & Egan, 2022), and/or the challenges to informal disclosure (as opposed to responses; e.g. Gill & Harrison, 2019 in the United Kingdom). Thus, the impact of disclosing and discussing SV, as a minoritised victim-survivor, in the United Kingdom, is under-researched. An exception to this, though not exclusively pertaining to informal disclosure, is Balderston’s (2013) user-led research with Deaf and disabled victim-survivors in Northern England, which highlighted the ways in which macro-level disablist/ableist narratives result in additional barriers to feeling believed.

Many prior studies utilise Ullman’s (2000) Social Reactions Questionnaire (SRQ), which dichotomises responses into either positive or negative (see Person et al., 2024) and thus does not necessarily reflect the perspective of the victim-survivor, or the complexity of responses. For example, using the SRQ to guide analysis, Ahrens and Aldana (2012) concluded that egocentric responses (such as anger) were negative, regardless of how the victim-survivor experienced these responses, or if they even considered them to be egocentric in nature. In fact, some victim-survivors considered such responses to be indicative of love and therefore positive, especially when these responses occurred alongside other positive responses (e.g. calling the victim-survivor to offer support). Ullman et al. (2017) then developed the 16-item Social Reactions Questionnaire-Shortened (SRQ-S) comprising of three general scales and eight sub-scales: turning against (almost exclusively “negative” reactions), unsupportive acknowledgement (comprised of both positive and “negative” reactions), and positive reactions. Whilst the SRQ-S is therefore better suited to exploring the nuance in disclosure experiences (see Salim et al., 2024), the SRQ/-S is primarily a measure of responses (rather than impact of responses). Furthermore, over relying on the SRQ/-S to guide analysis can mute victim-survivor perspectives of specific and complex interactions, as well as responses which may be specific to minoritised victim-survivors. Koon-Magnin and Schulze (2019) adapted the SRQ to measure disclosure responses with sexually diverse young adults, finding that 41.4% of responses from a family member were victim-blaming, however, the quantitative nature of the study limits insight into the nature of such responses. Jackson et al.’s (2017) research with sexual minority men (SMM), for example, illustrates that stereotypes of sexual behaviour among SMM may play a role in these negative responses, such as victimisation “being part of being gay” (p. 282).

Disclosure responses are often explained in terms of SV myths, most often rape myth acceptance and to a lesser extent, child sexual abuse (CSA) myth acceptance. Burt (1980) defined rape myths as “prejudicial, stereotyped, or false beliefs about rape, rape victims, or rapists” (p. 217). Key examples include rape is more likely to be perpetrated by a stranger, often in public space at night, and victim-survivors will have “severe wounds and signs of struggle” (Burt, 1998, p. 130; Lonsway & Fitzgerald, 1994). In terms of CSA myths, Cromer and Goldsmith (2010) classify these as myths which: minimise or exaggerate the harm of CSA, deny the extent of CSA, absolve perpetrators of blame, draw upon stereotypes of perpetrators and/or CSA victim-survivors. Consequently, victim-survivors whose experiences do not align with these myths are often not perceived as credible and legitimate victim-survivors (see Estrich, 1987). Minoritised victim-survivors are also potentially less likely to be regarded as real victim-survivors on account of these myths intersecting with discriminatory narratives. For instance, Black women being regarded as “sexually available and sexually deviant” (Donovan & Williams, 2002, p. 98l) and disabled people experiencing polarising narratives of hyper-sexualisation and desexualisation (see Santos & Santos, 2017), infantilisation (Boux, 2022), and devaluation (Balderston, 2013) undermines the extent to which they can be regarded as legitimate withholders of consent (see Day, 1994) and thus valid victim-survivors of SV. Building on the conception of rape myths, Rivera-Cuadrado (2021) concluded that the provision and denial of support is also significantly linked to disclosure myths, which affect the ‘sympathy’ with which the victim-survivor is viewed. These myths relate to the gender and sexuality of the victim-survivor (e.g. victimisation defying the stereotype of a male perpetrator and female victim-survivor), the time between victimisation and disclosure, the extent to which the impact of trauma is visible, and the “recovery-work” embarked upon by the victim-survivor.

Revictimisation

The concept of secondary victimisation (also referred to as revictimisation) is defined by Campbell and Raja (1999, p. 262) as “the victim-blaming behaviours and practices engaged in by community service providers, which further the rape event, resulting in additional stress and trauma for victims.” Revictimisation has been well established in literature exploring formal disclosures, such as to the police, medical professionals, in the military, and within the Criminal Justice System (Campbell & Raja, 1999; Jordan, 2015) and is often considered to be predicated on rape myth acceptance (RMA) (e.g. among doctors, police, prosecutors, and judges) resulting in insensitive, blaming, and doubting responses to victim-survivors (Campbell & Raja, 1999). Victim-survivors from particular social groups may be more susceptible to secondary victimisation in formal settings, such as disabled victim-survivors (Balderston, 2013; Spaan & Kaal, 2019) and male victim-survivors (Javaid, 2018). However, significantly less is known regarding revictimisation via informal disclosure responses. A notable exception to this is Jackson et al.’s (2017) research with SMM, which ultimately concluded that secondary victimisation must be widened to include informal disclosure responses.

Methods

Recruitment

Participants (n = 31) were recruited via self-select (n = 28) and snowball (n = 3) sampling methods. Requests for SV victim-survivors were displayed in a range of locations including in public spaces (e.g. supermarkets); SV support services, including services for specific marginalised identities (e.g. ethnic minority SV groups); generic support services (e.g. a support group for young LGBTQ+ adults). In some cases, gatekeeper approval was influenced by the perceived identities of the researcher, thus impacting the overall diversity of the participants. ¹ An information sheet was then provided to prospective participants which outlined the various aspects of the research including what participation would entail (with a degree of negotiation possible), data storage and usage, and participant rights (e.g. to withdraw, to avoid answering specific questions). Consent forms were signed by participants, and the interviews were arranged at the convenience of the participant. Participants were then sent a basic demographic questionnaire, which was completed and returned via email prior to the interview taking place.

Interviews

In-depth semi-structured interviews were then carried out – these were informal and largely directed by participants, ranging from 1 to 2.5 hours in length. Online (n = 7) and in-person (n = 24) interviews explored the following: when and to whom victimisation was disclosed, how disclosure was responded to, and the impacts of these responses, concluding with a discussion of ideal responses and how these could be achieved. Participants were able to discuss all experiences of SV and/or disclosure they felt comfortable in discussing, thereby enabling a richer understanding of disclosure as a process.

Analysis

The interviews were recorded with the explicit consent of the participant and subsequently transcribed. Thematic analysis (TA) was employed to provide “a rich and detailed, yet complex account of data,” specifically in terms of the nuances in victim-survivor experience (Braun & Clarke, 2006; Nowell et al., 2017, p. 2). TA was carried out using Braun and Clarke’s (2006) guidelines, in accordance with Nowell et al.’s (2017) trustworthiness criteria. Transcription was regarded as the first stage of analysis on account of the increased familiarity with the data, followed by actively reading through the entire dataset. An abundance of initial memos and codes were created pertaining to various aspects of informal disclosure; those which related to “negative” responses and impact were then iteratively organised into themes.

Ethics

The interview itself was also another disclosure experience for victim-survivors and as such, it was crucial that questions were asked sensitively, and victim-survivors felt believed. An initial disclaimer was provided to reiterate that questions were merely for the purpose of clarity (as opposed to indicating doubt, for example) to minimise potential distress. Participants were thanked for their time and insight, and then provided with a debrief form containing a range of SV resources and support groups.

This research gained a favourable ethical opinion from the University of Bath Social Sciences Research Ethics Committee. Given the sensitivity of the topic, a robust consideration of harm and distress was required. Steps were taken to minimise the possibility of participants experiencing distress by not asking details of victimisation given that the focus was on disclosure experience. However, as evident in this paper, disclosure was equally if not more traumatic than SV victimisation, thereby having important ethical implications for future research. This was evident in many interviews in that discussing responses sometimes resulted in visual signs of distress whilst recalling victimisation did not appear to. In line with the understanding that victim-survivors should be regarded as experts in their healing, be empowered to make decisions regarding involvement (Survivor’s Voices, n.d.), alongside my involvement in lived experience advisory groups, ² participants were not asked if they wished to terminate the interview because they expressed feelings of upset but rather, were reassured that the content and pace of the interview was determined by them. None of the participants suspended or terminated the interview. Participants and/or any potentially identifiable information are referred to by pseudonyms to preserve anonymity and confidentiality, with special attention given to the fact that participants who experienced minoritisation in various ways expressed a feeling of vulnerability in terms of being identifiable.

Participants

The 31 participants had all experienced one or more form of SV including CSA (18); sexual assault (10); rape (18). Twenty participants indicated that they had experienced multiple forms of SV with 12 of these participants explaining that they had experienced SV in both childhood and adulthood. Perpetrators included (step) fathers, (step) siblings, family friends, youth instructors, strangers, acquaintances, friends, and partners. The time between victimisation/disclosure and participation in this study ranged from approximately 70 years to 4 months. In terms of ethnicity/nationality, participants identified themselves as follows: White British (21); Mixed Race (2); White European (2); Romanian-British (1); Northern Irish (1); Black Caribbean (1); Greek (1); and Ashkenazi/British (1). Regarding sexuality, participants identified as heterosexual (16); bisexual (10); lesbian (1); gay (1); asexual (2), and 1 participant did not provide this information. Sixteen of the participants did not list a disability, 2 participants did not provide this information, and the remaining 12 participants listed one or more disabilities and/or neurodivergence and/or mental health condition. The age of the participants ranged from 18 to 75. Two participants identified as male, the remaining 29 identified as female. In accordance with the eligibility criteria, all participants were over the age of 18 at the time of the interview, living in the United Kingdom, and had informally disclosed to at least one person.

Findings

The findings echo prior literature demonstrating that victim-survivors may experience a range of overlapping responses, including minimising SV, blaming victim-survivors, doubting/disbelieving victim-survivors, emotional outbursts, and controlling/infantilising victim-survivors. The data suggest that whilst some of these responses were regarded as unsupportive, participants often felt actively harmed by these responses.

Minimising SV

The findings suggest a variety of ways in which victim-survivors felt that their experiences were minimised, including disclosure respondents seeking to rationalise or excuse victimisation, diminish the impact of victimisation, refusing to discuss victimisation, and continuing to have a relationship with the perpetrator(s).

Rationalising victimisation was considered problematic because it prevented victim-survivor’s needs being acknowledged and met. For instance, Racheli explained that the primary reason for disclosing to a friend/Rabbi within her community was to be heard, however, his response was to rationalise her victimisation:

Instead of just listening to me, I felt he tried to explain what happened, in relation to HaShem (G-d) ³ . . . He didn’t blame me or anything but he did try to explain it to me which I didn’t need. It was very frustrating but I think it’s because he’s a Rabbi so he’s used to people going to him for some kind of answer or insight.

Whilst Racheli felt more “frustrated” by this response than harmed because of the context of her relationship with the disclosure respondent, seeking to justify and/or rationalise victimisation was considered harmful when it appeared as though the actions of the perpetrator(s) were being excused. For example, when Bryony disclosed being sexually abused by her stepfather to her mother, she was insistent that “he didn’t mean to do it” which resulted in Bryony feeling that she was being implicitly blamed, overlooked, and “clearly not the priority. He was.”

For marginalised victim-survivors, it was common for their victimisation to be rationalised in relation to their minoritised identities. For example, both Maya and Racheli experienced discriminatory disclosure responses, which resulted in them feeling less valid as victim-survivors:

People have hinted that “you know these Black people, it’s their culture; it’s the way they move – it’s part of it,” and the other one – I’m half Asian . . . “Indian/Pakistani people they do that all the time” . . . so I have felt and seen and heard those undertones. (Maya)

[my non-Jewish friend] said I’m not surprised you experienced that, being a Jew. As though that either explains it or makes it not as bad . . . what I had gone through was not as important but also, I wasn’t as important. (Racheli)

In cases of ongoing victimisation, victim-survivors not being taken seriously also enabled the abuse to continue “because nobody took it seriously enough to stop it” (Eliana). Eliana reflected that the internalisation of this viewpoint had long-term impacts in terms of acknowledging and processing victimisation, as well as her sense of self-worth.

“Even now I sometimes feel like a bit of a fraud – like it wasn’t really a big deal and – I hate this phrase but that I’m a big drama queen. I do think it’s because of [adults in positions of power] knowing what was going on but not taking it seriously enough to intervene. I wasn’t important enough for them to stop it”

Participants also felt that SV was minimised when the impact(s) of victimisation were not taken seriously. For example, Louisa continually expressed a deep sense of fear at the impending release of the perpetrator from prison:

Nobody is taking me seriously; I genuinely believe that this guy is going to hurt me in some way when he comes out [of prison]. And everyone is like “don’t be silly, no he won’t, the law is there.”

Relatedly, comments akin to “you’ve really got to get over it” (Carrie) and “oh it happened years ago” (Maya) also minimise the impact of SV, often being internalised by victim-survivors and resulting in feelings of invalidation:

I would feel more shame and I like I was over-exaggerating it almost, like the effect it should have on me, like I should just get over it and it wasn’t that bad but it was affecting me in all these different ways and then it just made it really hard to process it. (Carrie)

Minimising responses may also become more prevalent over time, as illustrated by Louisa:

“as time has gone on the support has got less . . . I’d be brushed off quicker now than when I was, when it first happened.”

Louisa added that “conversation shutdowns” have become more frequent; a response which she attributes to a lack of understanding of the prolonged impact of trauma and SV. Some participants explained that refusing to engage in subsequent conversations regarding victimisation/impact (following initial disclosure/detection) can also result in feeling that their experiences are being minimised. For instance, Esther’s parents refusing to discuss her being sexually abused by her father has led her to question “what am I worth actually?” Similarly, Sarah recalled that her experiences of CSA were minimised by her parents by their refusal to “discuss it at all,” as well as their insistence on continuing the relationship with the perpetrator:

It was the most disastrous response ever . . . their response was how is this going to upset our lives; how is this going to impact us. They decided that the impact on them was just too great and that he should remain in the family and that they should remain sort of supporting him. They went on holiday with him after this and it’s something that I’m still quite angry about today and I’m 50. It’s one of those things that you don’t sort of quite get over . . . They even asked me to fund my abuser’s trip, his birthday trip to Australia. They said oh perhaps you could pay for him to go and I was like “er . . . no?!”

Sarah also explained that there was something uniquely difficult about such a response coming from her parents, arguing that:

it would have been easier to cope with coming from someone else but because it’s your parents you expect more from them. I expected more support from them which was just not forthcoming. At all.

Although Sarah felt that her friends responding in a similar way to her parents would have been “easier because you kind of expect that,” Eliana reflected that her friends continuing to have a relationship with the perpetrator was “the ultimate betrayal”:

My closest friends at that time took his side. They weren’t even properly friends with him but they continued hanging out with him, laughing with him – a fucking paedophile. I’ve never understood how the abuse of a child, multiple children actually, could mean so little . . . The thing is they knew, it wasn’t that they didn’t believe me, they knew I was telling the truth but they still chose him over me. You know? They chose a rapist over me.

Blaming Victim-Survivors

The majority of participants expressed feeling blamed for their victimisation by at least one informal disclosure respondent. Lucinda explained that blame is particularly harmful because it shifts the focus away from the victim-survivor, the harm they’ve experienced, and their needs. Some participants felt that blame was especially harmful because it resulted in such responses being internalised. Zara reflected:

I definitely felt blamed. Definitely blamed by my partner; his first response was that I shouldn’t have been walking home under the influence. Also, I suppose my Dad, maybe with the fact that he had to ask the police [if I was telling the truth], and then the police themselves . . . so I blamed myself a lot.

Some participants were blamed for the consequences of disclosing rather than victimisation itself. For example, Melinda recalled her mother telling her that if she wanted her stepfather (the perpetrator) to leave the family home: “we would have to sell the house, we’d be poor . . . Christmases and birthdays would be crap.” This was a particularly harmful response because Melinda was made to feel responsible for the financial security of the family, as well as being expected to continue living with the perpetrator. This had an enduring impact on her self-perception:

If I wasn’t important enough for my mum to do anything to help me then why would anybody else think I was important enough and I think that just undermined my whole self-esteem.

Doubt and Disbelief

The data suggest that manifestations of doubt are nuanced, encompassing a range of responses, not all of which are necessarily intended to express doubt. In terms of explicit manifestations of doubt, it was common for participants, especially those disclosing CSA to be considered mistaken. For instance, Ivy was told she “just has active imagination” and Fiona’s disclosure was “completely dismissed straight away” as “just a story you’re telling yourself.”

Whilst participants disclosing CSA were more likely to be considered mistaken, participants who experienced victimisation during adolescence and/or adulthood were more likely to experience accusations of lying, often under the assumption that consensual but regretted sex had taken place. Having been sexually assaulted by someone in her friendship group, Veronica explains:

One of our friends made my boyfriend believe that what had actually happened was that I’d slept with [the friend] and knew that [my boyfriend] was jealous, like a jealous person and didn’t want him to know that I’d slept with him so I’d made this thing up and then [my boyfriend] like started to believe that because that’s what people were telling him.

Importantly, victim-survivors may feel doubted, despite that not being the intention of the disclosure respondent. Sofia, for example, interpreted questions such as “why you didn’t say something?” to imply doubt, as well as a lack of understanding of CSA, concluding that “you don’t say anything” often as a result of “being raised with fear.”

Some participants explained that disclosure respondents appeared to appraise their reactions to victimisation/impact in order to doubt their disclosure. For instance, Veronica was told “if this had happened, you wouldn’t be here like smiling and stuff.” This was particularly common for neurodiverse participants. For instance, the “detached” nature of Eliana’s disclosure, which she ascribes to being autistic, was a main factor in the doubt she experienced:

They basically were expecting tears and hysterics and when I wasn’t that way they assumed I was lying. For me, that’s because I’m autistic so my emotions are not as easy to understand . . . I think as well, when I didn’t react in that way, they assumed it wasn’t a big deal.

Conversely, Piper, was accused of “being way too much” and “having an extreme reaction” to being abused by her previous boyfriend, which she attributes to Borderline Personality Disorder. In addition to being treated with a lack of compassion, Piper explained that these responses were particularly harmful because they resulted in her questioning if she “was imagining it and making it up because of that.”

Emotional Outbursts

The findings suggest that there is a difference between disclosure respondents displaying genuine emotion and emotional outbursts, with the latter being harmful because it “leave[s] no room for you as the victim” (Eliana). Participants alluded to two overarching reasons for the harmful impact of these responses: limiting the extent to which victim-survivor needs can be fulfilled and making the disclosure about the disclosure respondent, as opposed to the victim-survivor. Outbursts of anger were particularly common which often resulted in victim-survivors feeling “guilty” (Louise; Ivy), “scared and confused” (Zara), and silenced. Whilst some participants explained that disclosure respondents reacted in a distressed manner (e.g. crying), which shifted the focus of the disclosure away from the victim-survivor, others felt that disclosure respondents being upset signified empathy, love, and support. Thus, it is important to recognise that it is the impact of emotional responses on the victim-survivor, as opposed to the emotional response itself, which determines whether it is supportive or harmful.

Participants who were victimised during adolescence and adulthood were more likely to experience anger from male partners or family members. Zara explained that her boyfriend: “kicked and flipped his living room table and swore at me . . . his first response was, he lashed out.” When asked how this made her feel, Zara said:

I was scared because I hadn’t ever really seen a physical, violent side to him. Plus, I was exhausted from being at the police station for like five hours or something and I was really tired and if he was going to lash out at me there was no way I was going to be able to do anything so yeah I was definitely scared and then confused that it would provoke that sort of reaction.

Eliana felt that anger was a particularly difficult response for her as an autistic victim-survivor:

My dad was so angry – shouting. I hate shouting and because I’m autistic, I didn’t understand that his anger wasn’t directed at me. I thought he was angry at me and I was scared to say anything and thought he thought I’d done something wrong.

Angelika, however, experienced anger from her mother, which she in part attributed to her Mother’s upbringing:

it felt like she was putting the blame on me, saying like it’s your fault; you put yourself in a vulnerable position like this and when she finally did calm down after about ten minutes of screaming at me, she was like, it’s okay, it’s not your fault; it’s on him but why didn’t you tell me? [My parents] grew up in Communist Romania and I think that heavily impacted my mum’s response.

In contrast, participants who had disclosed victimisation during childhood were more likely to experience responses of anger linked to punishment. For example, Leah said:

it was more of a matter of being chastised . . . she proceeded literally to drag me off the ground – this little 7-year-old naked body and back through the cobbles and back through the streets and then dragged it up the stairs into the house and placed us on the toilet seat and proceeded to give me another leathering.

Similarly, because Ivy’s mother considered her to be responsible for being raped as a six-year-old, her mother displayed no empathy and ultimately punished her, resulting in her feeling:

as an ignorant little 6-year-old, that I had done something terribly, terribly wrong. I felt terrible. I felt terribly wicked.

Both Ivy and Leah categorised their childhood homes as abusive, often feeling blamed “for every problem” (Ivy) and “punished all the time anyway” (Leah).

Control and Infantilisation

The findings also suggest that feeling controlled by disclosure respondents often followed/accompanied outbursts of anger and extreme upset. For instance, Zara recalls being made to feel that she “shouldn’t be going out by myself” by her then-boyfriend’s controlling behaviour and continual attempts to “put me in some kind of protective bubble.” Controlling responses were both particularly common and especially harmful for disabled and/or neurodivergent participants. Una explained that as a disabled woman, she is perceived as “different” and “vulnerable” which results in her life being “restricted by [her] over-protective parents.” As a disabled woman who has experienced SV, however, Una felt “overwhelmed” by her parents’ response:

My parents were checking on me 24/7. Checking I was with the right people. It was overwhelming. All my life I just wanted to be treated normally and after the rape, it was even worse than before. I felt so controlled – it’s the worst thing you can do; control another person.

Eliana also alluded to the feeling of infantilisation being intensified post-victimisation:

People think autistic people are like, eternally children. I felt that even more after [victimisation]. In some ways I think it legitimised people trying to baby me, like “well look what happened’ kind of thing.

Understanding These Reponses as Harmful

Several participants referred or alluded to the harm incurred via “unsupportive” disclosure responses, positioning such responses as inextricably linked with the initial victimisation:

it’s horrible to acknowledge that an already unbearable situation was made worse by the people that are meant to love and support you. It wasn’t just that they didn’t really help me – I maybe could have coped with that better but it was that they made it worse. (Racheli)

That was definitely the worst thing about all of this – the way that my friends and family reacted. Even having the police involved was nowhere near as bad as them. (bryony)

For some participants, the detrimental impact of experiencing SV relates more to informal disclosure responses than victimisation itself:

If I was to cry about anything now, even [in this interview], the parts I get more upset about is recalling where people weren’t there. I could probably sit and tell you what happened to me without crying at all, so I think the emotion of what happened still stays with the fact that you felt alone . . . So, yeah, the impact on me was, I felt only in this horrible world and had I not had my dog I don’t think I would have made it out. I’m fairly certain I probably would have attempted to take my own life. (Zara)

That was the worst experience of my life – my mother’s response. Much, much worse than what the man did. (Ivy)

I think when you’ve experienced something that awful and then you go to someone you think will support you, and then they don’t – it honestly was awful – worse really; to think that your own friends and partner could make you feel worse than an actual rapist. (Eliana)

The findings indicate that informal disclosure responses can be particularly harmful because these disclosures and discussions often taken place with “the main points of your life – your partner, your family” (Zara). For ethnic/religious minority victim-survivors, community and peoplehood was especially important in light of discrimination and oppression: “in your community you find strength because every day we have the trauma of racism” (Maya). Similarly, Racheli referred to a history of exile and genocide resulting in “a strong awareness that we only really have one another.” Ultimately, participants felt “extremely let down” (Zara), “incredibly alone” (Racheli), and “worthless” (Melinda; Esther) as a result of informal disclosure responses.

Discussion

A valuable contribution of this study relates to numerous participants feeling actively harmed and revictimised by the ways in which they were responded to, thereby highlighting the inadequacy of widely used terms such as “unsupportive” and “negative” disclosure responses. Despite the SRQ-S having greater capacity for nuance than its predecessor, it does not frame responses as potentially revictimising. Similarly, Ahrens (2006) refers to being told to remain silent as “inappropriate support” in the context of sexual assault, but this study highlights the harmful nature of being silenced by limiting the extent to which victim-survivors could acknowledge and “process” victimisation, especially without internalising harmful responses such as doubt, minimisation, and blame. The nature of victimisation may also be a determinant of the degree of harm experienced via responses. For instance, silencing victim-survivors of ongoing victimisation, either implicitly or explicitly, can also enable the continuation of victimisation (e.g. by preventing intervention in cases of CSA).

Although prior literature has established the revictimising impact of formal disclosure processes (see Jordan, 2015), it is crucial to recognise the harmful and revictimising effects of disclosing and discussing victimisation with friends, family, and partners especially for minoritised victim-survivors. Whilst prior research often uses SV myths to explain unsupportive responses, this study contends that these myths intersect with societally engrained discriminatory and prejudicial attitudes, resulting in particularly harmful responses for minoritised victim-survivors. The SRQ-/S refers to stigmatising and infantilising responses but positions these as negative “turning against” reactions rather than harmful discriminatory reactions. For instance, some religious and/or ethnic minority victim-survivors experienced disclosure respondents using their culture, religion, and/or ethnicity to explain victimisation, drawing on misguided and harmful stereotypes to do so. Similarly, disclosure respondents appeared to draw on ableist narratives when responding to disabled/neurodivergent victim-survivors, resulting in amplified infantilisation and revictimisation. This aligns with Jackson et al.’s (2017) research, wherein stigmatising attitudes towards LGBTQ+ communities were apparent in disclosure responses. Furthermore, disabled/neurodivergent victim-survivors were particularly affected by these narratives intersecting with disclosure myths pertaining to demeanour, resulting in not being believed and/or taken seriously (see Rivera-Cuadrado, 2021).

In order to adequately understand revictimisation, the complex nature of informal disclosure must also be taken into consideration. As indicated by Bloomfield-Utting and Skinner (2025), victim-survivors may engage in various conversations regarding victimisation and impact over the life-course, meaning that victim-survivors are at risk of further harm and revictimisation over the life-course. Additionally, this study also suggests that responses changing over time provided augmented opportunity for revictimisation as victim-survivor support needs become viewed as less urgent based on misconceptions surrounding the impact of SV, and trauma more generally, echoing Rivera-Cuadrado’s (2021) research with disclosure respondents. It is also crucial to consider the relationship between informal disclosure respondents and victim-survivors, compared with formal disclosure respondents. Whilst formal disclosure respondents are often considered the gateway to “traditional” justice outcomes (Jordan, 2015), informal disclosure respondents were often central to victim-survivor’s everyday life in terms of friendships, work, family, romantic relationships, and community, thereby possibly representing greater capacity for harm. It also appears that specific informal disclosure respondents have a greater capacity to revictimise victim-survivors. Previous research has considered this in terms of relationship category (e.g. mother, Ahrens et al., 2009) and perceived quality of relationship (Ahrens & Aldana, 2012), though these findings attest to greater complexity wherein expectations and victimisation context also appear to be important factors, as well as the perceived centrality of the respondent in the victim-survivors life. For instance, participants who were victimised by somebody known to them and their social network often expected others to cut ties with the perpetrator(s). Whilst not doing so was invariably harmful, participants who had experienced CSA and failure by parents to end contact with the perpetrator(s), reported that this was especially harmful given their expectations of parental roles and responsibilities (i.e. to protect their children), the long-term effect on their self-worth, and the impact on their relationship with their parents/family. Whilst expectations of the relationship could contribute to revictimisation, in some cases, these expectations mitigated the harm experienced via informal disclosure responses (e.g. in Racheli’s case), thereby painting a complex picture of responses and harm.

Implications and Conclusions

These findings underscore a critical need for proactive educational strategies to target prospective disclosure respondents to prevent further harm to victim-survivors via disclosure responses. Furthermore, a reactive approach is also needed to support revictimised victim-survivors; formal support services are crucial in this respect, though further research involving victim-survivors and practitioners is needed. In order to better understand and address potentially harmful responses and their impact, especially in relation to minoritised victim-survivors, a more inclusive approach to discussing, measuring, and combating SV and disclosure myths is imperative. This study demonstrates the potential harm and revictimisation that can be incurred via disclosing and discussing SV with friends, family, partners, and in community settings, thereby highlighting the inadequacy of classifying responses as “inappropriate” or “negative.” In some cases, these discussions can be equally, if not more traumatic than SV itself. Thus, revictimisation is not confined to formal disclosure/reporting, and this concept should be broadened accordingly. Given that victim-survivors are likely to engage in informal disclosures over the life course, the potentially “everyday” nature of disclosure equates to the potentially “everyday” nature of harm and revictimisation.