“It’s my pain”: Educators’ Identity (Re) Construction Through Work with Student Child Sexual Abuse Survivors

Abstract

As frontline figures in the identification of and intervention in child sexual abuse (CSA), educators’ personal histories influence how they enact this role and respond to student disclosures. Despite the extensive study of CSA and scholarship regarding the role of educators’ life histories, research exploring the experiences of educators who have themselves undergone CSA is absent. The current study seeks to reveal an insider view of K-12 educators from diverse socio-cultural groups residing in Israel who are CSA survivors, examining the meanings they attribute to their experiences while contending with the CSA cases of their students. Each of the 12 educators participated in three interviews for a total of 36 semi-structured life-narrative interviews. Upon employing a qualitative constructivist paradigm, three themes emerged from analysis of the educators’ narratives, describing a process of identity reconstruction: (a) navigating between identities rooted in CSA trauma and professional life; (b) healing through educational work with student CSA survivors; and (c) identity transformation, from CSA survivor to child advocate. This represents a departure from previous research in which educators feel altered, isolated, and overwhelmed by professional encounters with CSA. Instead, the study participants portrayed a hybrid position of simultaneous vulnerability and resilience, as experiences of painful identification and re-traumatization were intertwined with their reforged identity as student protectors and a realistic understanding of this role and their own capabilities. The findings highlight the importance of accounting for educators’ experiences of CSA as formative narratives that mold their educational work and goals, as well as the role of the student-educator interactions in the processes of healing and resilience construction, not only for students but also for educators.

Keywords

narratives educators identity construction child sexual abuse (CSA)coping

Introduction

Educators are central to the detection, reporting, and prevention of child sexual abuse (CSA) (Efrati & Ateret Gewirtz-Meydan, 2023;

Sigad et al., 2024), and their values, beliefs, and life experiences significantly influence how they perform this responsibility. Indeed, educators, like the greater population, may carry with them their own traumatic pasts, including experiences of CSA. Gaining an understanding of this intersection of circumstances can shed light on the ways that CSA is approached in schools. However, scarce research has been dedicated to the experiences of educators who have experienced CSA. To fill this gap and better understand the nature and implications of CSA, the current study seeks to gain access to the inside perspective of educators working in K-12 schools in Israel who are CSA survivors and the meanings they attribute to their experiences while contending with CSA cases in their daily work.

Educators as Survivors of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) and CSA

Individuals with lived experiences of trauma, including CSA, comprise a disproportionate percentage of professionals in clinical fields, with direct implications for their practice and risk for vicarious trauma (Esaki & Larkin, 2013; Hubel et al., 2020; Keesler, 2018; Sullivan et al., 2025). In the specific case of childcare professionals, (Lee et al., 2017), child service providers (Esaki & Larkin, 2013), social workers, and early childhood educators (Hubel et al., 2020), adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) have been found to be higher than among the general public, yet limited research has been dedicated to these professionals’ coping and meaning attribution in relation to their personal histories (Metzler et al., 2017). Among educators, such investigations have focused on workplace challenges and teacher retention (e.g., Vallés & Clarà, 2023). Nevertheless, previous research has highlighted the significant role ACEs play in such educators’ current professional experiences (Sigad, 2023a), with CSA serving as a prominent example.

Relatedly, Rancher and Moreland (2023) found that histories of adverse experiences in childhood among educators and childcare professionals corresponded with lower resilience and less satisfactory teacher-student interactions. ACEs have also been correlated with a classroom climate of lower emotional and social quality (Hubel et al., 2020) and higher work stress (Lee et al., 2017). In contrast, Hiles Howard et al. (2015) found that a history of ACEs among child welfare professionals in the foster system was correlated with lower burnout rates, higher compassion satisfaction, and higher professional quality of life, and was not related to secondary traumatic stress. Survivors of sexual violence have been found to engage in helping actions which can function as a form of healing, leading to identity reconstruction and improved social integration (Gueta et al., 2021).

Educators Coping with Student CSA

In considering how educators who are CSA survivors contend with this phenomenon when they encounter it among their students, it is important to take into account their perceived broader role and responsibilities. Given the close, regular contact with children inherent to their profession, educators are often among the first to observe the psychosocial and behavioral signs that may indicate abuse (Sigad, 2023a; Townsend & Haviland, 2016). CSA survivors have also emphasized the impact of educators’ responses to their disclosure on their own coping (Sigad et al. 2024).

Despite research highlighting the importance of educators’ learning to identify signs of CSA and apply the relevant policies for disclosure and reporting (Dinehart & Kenny, 2015), a lack of training and knowledge persists (e.g., Goldschmidt-Gjerløw, 2019). In some contexts, as well, the social construction of educators’ professional responsibilities does not promote and may even discourage their intervention in cases of child abuse (Davidov et al., 2017; Sigad, Lusky-Weisrose, et al., 2023; Tener et al., 2022). There is also a lack of sufficient social and professional support for coping with the psychological consequences of CSA disclosure for both the survivors and educators involved (Sigad et al., 2016). Finally, it is important to note that the rate of disclosure to educators is relatively low (Manay & Collin-Vézina, 2021). Indeed, research in Israel (Lev-Wiesel et al., 2014) found that less than 40% of children were willing to disclose to a teacher or counselor, with most children preferring to disclose to a parent or friends (Eisikovits & Lev-Wiesel, 2014; Lev-Wiesel et al., 2014).

Sociocultural Context of CSA in Israel

Israel’s Mandatory Reporting Act of 1977 requires any person to report any reasonable suspicion of child abuse. The law explicitly references professionals working with children, including educators, indicating consequences for those who fail to fulfill this duty. The Ministry of Education also provides standardized guidelines for educators regarding CSA identification, disclosure, and intervention, including instructions for responding to a child’s disclosure (Director General’s Circular, 2008). Despite these existing laws and guidelines, research has found that Israeli educators lack awareness regarding identifying and addressing of CSA and their legal responsibility in relation to it (Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel, 2021).

In Israel, educators’ responses to CSA vary according to their socio-cultural group (Sigad, Tener et al., 2023) and related socio-cultural-religious attitudes toward CSA intervention (e.g., Bar Gosen et al., 2024; Sigad, 2023b; Sigad, Shehadeh, et al., 2023; Sigad, Tener et al., 2023). This aligns with findings worldwide linking cultural influences with teachers’ failure to report CSA (Haboush & Alyan, 2013). Thus, it is important to consider the ethnic and religious diversity among educators in Israel who have experienced CSA and are currently facing cases of CSA among their students. The two largest groups in Israel are Jewish (approximately 73%) and Arab (approximately 21%) (Central Bureau of Statistics [CBS], 2023). Of the Jewish majority, 45% are secular, 41% are religious, and 14% are ultra-Orthodox (CBS, 2016). The Arab community includes Muslim (18%) and Druze (1.5%) subgroups (CBS, 2023), among others. The educators interviewed for this study come from two Jewish subgroups (secular and National Religious) and two Arab subgroups (Muslim and Druze).

There is research indicating that the Israeli cultural context encourages both overcoming vulnerability when faced with adversity and civic participation in support of the social good (Iancu, 2024; Lemish, 2003). Against this backdrop, various subgroups vary in their responses to CSA. Secular Jewish society in Israel largely holds to Western, child-centered approaches to child maltreatment, emphasizing educators’ agency, individuality, and autonomy (Sigad, Tener, et al., 2023). Secular Jewish educators have also indicated feelings of personal and professional isolation and a loss of belief in the safety and innocence of childhood when coping with CSA among their students (Sigad, Lusky-Weisrose, et al., 2023). In contrast, the National Religious Jewish community is characterized by an emphasis on traditional gender roles, including gender separation in schools (Hermann, 2014), as well as by the prioritization of modesty in speech and action and a desire to protect family cohesion and reputation (Sigad, 2023b). Research has found “circles of silence” regarding CSA in this community and a tendency to deny or minimize CSA. This includes discouraging survivors from speaking out and educators’ own self-silencing by suppressing their concerns; some have also described fears of community retribution. Even so, there is increasing recognition in the community of the need for culturally relevant sex education (Sigad, 2023b).

Arab Muslim society in Israel approaches the issue of CSA through the lens of cultural values such as interdependence, harmony, hierarchy, commitment to the extended family, and social cohesion (Dwairy, 2010). Family honor is generally maintained by women, who must uphold the codes and behaviors designated as righteous by the community (Armanet, 2018). Alongside this, sexuality in general is approached dichotomously, in that it is acceptable in the context of marriage but otherwise sinful (Abu-Baker, 2013). As such, women who experience sexual assault and incest face religious proscriptions against marriage and endure significant social consequences (Raufman, 2018). Additionally, they are seen as bringing shame and embarrassment to the family, thus hurting the family’s honor, leading to the “honor killing” of women within the community (Raufman, 2018; Zeedan & Luce, 2021). Teachers in the Arab Muslim community facing cases of CSA among their students have reported overwhelming fear and a feeling of being trapped between the perceived oppositional demands of their cultural and professional codes. On the one hand, they must protect the honor of those involved, including their own reputations; on the other hand, they endeavor to protect the rights and well-being of their students (Sigad & Tener, 2022).

The Druze community is influenced by the religion’s secrecy and the community’s emphasis on family honor, fostering a culture of silence around sexual matters, including sexual assault (Abu-Baker, 2013). In coping with CSA, Druze educators have struggled to navigate between their traditional norms and contemporary educational practices (Sigad, 2024). That said, Druze educators have also shown agency in coping with CSA among their students (Bar Gosen et al., 2024).

The Current Study

Knowledge remains limited about the experiences of educators who are CSA survivors working with pupils who have experienced CSA. This encounter occurs at a unique intersection between the educator’s own mental health, as affected by the discovery of their student’s trauma, and their involvement in the student’s subsequent coping. In light of the critical role educators play in addressing CSA, the present study aims to contribute to a deeper understanding of this issue. Given the complexity of the circumstances involved, a qualitative approach was chosen, allowing for a multidimensional investigation of the educators’ experiences and perceptions (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). The following research question guided the study: How do educators who are CSA survivors interpret and ascribe meaning to their current educational work with students who have undergone CSA?

Methods

This study employed a constructivist paradigm, focusing on how individuals understand their realities (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). The narrative methodological approach, situated within this paradigm, was used to observe the participants’ realities by highlighting their lived experiences (Burns et al., 2022). Narrative inquiry allowed for the examination of personal memories, thus providing a means to examine how the educators perceived and structured past events (Wyman, 2003) within their social and cultural contexts (Pinnegar & Daynes, 2007). As such, the current study examined educators’ narratives of how their lived experiences as CSA survivors played a role in their professional lives (Day et al., 2007) when contending with the CSA of their students and how they assigned meaning to their experiences of CSA in this context (Craig, 2007).

Participants

This study was part of a broader research project examining the life story narratives of 30 educators who had experienced various ACEs and who worked with children of early childhood through high school age. The adverse conditions that the research participants were subject to in their childhoods fell into five categories: (a) poverty; (b) experiencing or witnessing violence; (c) CSA; (d) parents with diminished functioning; and (e) learning disabilities. For this research, “childhood” is defined as the life stage prior to reaching 18 years of age.

The current study was based on three in-depth, open, life-story focused interviews apiece with the participants. Multiple interviews were conducted with each participant in order to build more trusting relationships with them and ultimately achieve a deeper exploration of their full life stories as they narrate them (Read, 2018). All 12 participants were primary and secondary educators who had experienced CSA (36 interviews total), including eight teachers, two informal education mentors/coordinators, one school principal, and one school counselor. The participants had diverse socio-cultural backgrounds, including seven Arab educators (three Muslim Arab, four Druze Arab) and five Jewish educators (two National Religious, one traditionally religious, and two secular). Their average age was 33.4, with educational work experience ranging from 2 to 15 years. Reflecting the makeup of the education field in Israel, which is characterized by a gender imbalance (CBS, 2018), the study participants were all women.

A purposeful criterion sample was employed to ensure rich and relevant data (Patton, 2015), alongside snowball sampling to identify additional participants (Patton, 2015). Participants were recruited from their local communities according to the study criteria listed above regarding age, professional experience, and adverse childhood experience. Initial contact was made through phone calls to verify eligibility, explain the study’s purpose, and obtain informed consent. Data collection continued until theoretical saturation was reached (Patton, 2015).

Procedures

The first three interviews were conducted by the lead author with three different participants. During these initial interviews, the educators were encouraged to share their narratives while focusing on the CSA they had faced and how these experiences related to their current educational roles. Insights gleaned from the analysis of these interviews led to the creation of a semi-structured narrative interview guide (Anderson & Kirkpatrick, 2016) based on the life story approach (Atkinson, 1998), encompassing four categories: the experience of CSA, relationships with significant individuals, professional life, and personal life in adulthood.

The subsequent semi-structured narrative interviews lasted 50 to 90 min and sought to capture a holistic perspective of the participants’ lived experiences and contexts. These interviews were conducted by a research team of five M.Ed. graduate students, comprising two Arab students (one Druze and one Muslim Bedouin) and three Jewish students (one National Religious and two secular). These interviews were conducted as part of a seminar on risk and resilience among children and educators. The students received comprehensive training in narrative interviewing techniques and were themselves teachers of children who suffered ACEs. As part of their M.Ed. coursework, they studied the fields of child abuse, neglect and CSA and participated in introspective workshops that aimed to support their well-being both in their everyday professional lives and in their work as researchers of sensitive topics.

Data Analysis

The narrative thematic analysis was conducted by the authors to uncover recurring themes and patterns (Butina, 2015), focusing on the meanings constructed by the participants regarding their experiences of CSA (particularly in relation to their work as educators). Analysis of the thoughts and emotions expressed in the participants’ narratives revealed a comprehensive and unified understanding of both CSA and its relevance to their identities as educators (Riessman, 2008). This analysis was data-driven and inductive, free from preconceived notions or external influences (Bamberg, 2020).

The researchers used reflexive thematic analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2019) in order to identify the narratives of the participants. Initially, they repeatedly reviewed the interviews in order to familiarize themselves with the data in an in-depth manner. This was followed by an open coding process conducted separately by the researchers via Dedoose software (Patton, 2015). As they each identified segments perceived as essential to the educators’ narratives (Roulston, 2010), these fundamental units were each provided with a relevant code (Butina, 2015), and all the codes were consolidated in a shared codebook (Patton, 2015). From these codes emerged the significant themes, which encapsulated the main narratives arising from the interviews (Butina, 2015). This process was concluded when theoretical saturation was reached, and no new codes emerged. Only themes that provided significant insights into the educators’ navigation between their experience of CSA and their educational role were chosen for inclusion, following which the researchers returned to the interviews to enhance the detail and nuance of their portrayal (Sarfo et al., 2021).

Rigor and Trustworthiness

To ensure credibility and rigor, the researchers maintained a detailed audit trail, documenting the research process and preserving all analyses alongside the corresponding data (Lincoln & Guba, 1985; Morse, 2015). In addition, Jewish and Arab participants were selected to review their interview transcripts and revise their responses (Morse, 2015). The researchers met weekly to discuss the research process, confer about the data analysis and emerging codes and themes, and refine the analysis process (Nowell et al., 2017). In addition, the culturally diverse M.Ed. students who conducted the interviews offered their perspectives in order to enhance the study’s cultural accuracy and contextual relevance. The authors also consulted with specialists in childhood adversity, education, and educator well-being for expert guidance (Henry, 2015).

The findings present quotations from the participants to substantiate the researchers’ interpretations, a method that allows the reader to assess the validity of the study’s conclusions (Patton, 2015). Each quote is rendered together with the participants’ contextual details, followed by the researchers’ analysis of the use of language, implications, and connection to the overall theme being described (Patton, 2015).

Ethics

Ethical approval for the study was obtained from the researchers’ academic institution’s ethics committee. Before conducting the interviews, the interviewers informed participants about the study’s objectives, the voluntary nature of their participation, and the measures taken to ensure their confidentiality. Participants were also advised that mental health support services would be available both during and after the interviews if needed. Informed consent was obtained through signed forms, with participants counseled that they could ask to skip any question or withdraw from the study at any point without repercussions. After each interview, participants were provided with the contact information of the researchers and mental health professionals for additional support if required. During the transcription process, all identifying information was removed to protect the participants’ anonymity, and all participants were given pseudonyms.

Due to the sensitive nature of the research topic as well as the involvement of M.Ed. students in the research process, special ethical considerations were integrated into the research design (Silverio et al., 2022). All the interviewers underwent intensive training on interviewing in the context of sensitive topics, including workshops on managing emotional responses and responding ethically to participant distress. The training also emphasized awareness of power dynamics, positionality and the interviewer’s role in minimizing any sense of pressure or obligation to share. To ensure the emotional safety of both participants and interviewers, the lead researcher implemented a supervision structure that included debriefing sessions following the interviews, where interviewers could process their experiences and receive guidance (Karcher et al., 2024; Silverio et al., 2022). These sessions also served as a mechanism for ensuring adherence to ethical standards and for addressing any emotional challenges that arose. Interviewers were instructed not to share therapeutic opinions during the interviews and to refer participants to support professionals when necessary. Finally, the interviewers were instructed not to disclose any identifying information about participants, even to the other researchers who took part in the project, in order to protect confidentiality and reduce the potential for unintentional breaches.

Researcher Positionality

Given the sensitive and deeply personal nature of this study, we acknowledge the importance of reflexivity on the researcher’s positionality in the research process (Fenge et al., 2019). To this end, we note that both authors of this article identify as secular Jewish educators. In addition, the main author has a long history of scholarly engagement with issues of child abuse, educator experiences, and resilience. As noted, to enrich its interpretive depth and cultural sensitivity, the study utilized interviewers from diverse backgrounds (e.g., Arab Druze, Muslim and religious Jewish). This allowed for greater cultural and linguistic accessibility during the interview process and helped the researchers to remain attentive to nuances that may otherwise have been overlooked. Regular discussions were conducted during the interviewing and analysis process in order to support a reflective approach to the research process, considering the research positionality in the context of the researchers’ cultural and experiential perspectives (Holmes, 2020).

Findings

Among the educators in the present study, the act of contending with the CSA of their pupils while being CSA survivors themselves gave rise to the powerful experience of seeing their past selves reflected in these students. This led to a process of identity reconstruction, in which they went from seeing themselves as victims to feeling themselves become the protectors of their charges, contributing greatly to their sense of worth and well-being. Three themes emerged from the analysis: (a) navigating between identities rooted in CSA trauma and professional life; (b) healing through educational work with student CSA survivors; and (c) identity transformation, from CSA survivor to child advocate. These themes represented the majority of the participants’ narratives.

“I saw myself in the child”: Navigating between Identities Rooted in CSA Trauma and Professional Life

This theme described the educators’ identity negotiation and the emotional toll that arose from encountering their past trauma in their work with students who were also CSA survivors. The majority of the educators navigated a dual identity, seeing themselves as both trauma survivors and competent professional educators, with the encounter with CSA among their students bringing these two roles into contact. Among a majority of the participants, reactions existed on a continuum ranging from separation between their personal CSA stories and those of their students to close identification with their students. While most participants experienced a strong emotional reaction, some were overwhelmed, with a portion experiencing the complete enmeshment of their CSA experiences with those of their students, characterized by difficulty discerning between the two.

Among those who were able to detach themselves from their students’ stories was Noa, a 53-year-old National Religious principal in a school for youth facing adverse circumstances who was, as a child, sexually abused weekly for years by a close family member. She described the abuse as shattering her sense of being and her understanding of the world, as the family member was the most significant person in her life. Noa tried to stop the abuse, but it continued until she cut off contact with her family. Like the majority of the participants, Noa described the difficulty of navigating between professional expectations and the sense of emotional upheaval she felt when she saw her own story reflected in her students. However, Noa consciously separated between the two:

I currently work with at-risk youth. Over the years, I’ve met my life story over and over again in various versions. So many times, I’ve desperately wanted to tell the girls, when they begin to open up and share with me, “I’ve been there. The exact same thing happened to me.” But I must hold myself back and detach from the sense of identification I feel with them.

Noa’s urge to share her past with her students arose out of a desire to support them. Yet, she elected to keep her story private and emotionally distance herself from their experiences, possibly to ease her coping as well as to maintain professional boundaries.

All of the study participants struggled when they encountered CSA cases that reminded them of their own experiences, with some finding themselves emotionally overwhelmed. For example, Safa, a 39-year-old Arab Muslim elementary school teacher and mother of two, experienced CSA perpetrated by a neighbor who was a close family friend. When considering whether to disclose to her parents, she told them a fictitious story of someone else’s rape. Her parents’ reaction was to blame the victim, claiming, “There is no girl who is raped, only girls who invite rape,” and to predict the girl’s murder by her family. This prevented Safa from disclosing her assault and shaped in turn, her efforts to assist a student who disclosed CSA years later:

After several such meetings with her, she said, “I’m a bad girl [. . .] My cousin grabs me and does whatever he wants to me [sexually]. When I asked him why he did this and told him that I didn’t like it, he answered: ‘Because you are a bad girl, and that is what you deserve.’” [. . .] I then remembered the conversation that I had with my mother. [. . .] I sat with myself and attempted to separate between my own case and the case of the girl, to think what I could do to help the girl. [. . .] I decided I would try to stand up for the girl as much as possible. [. . .] On the one hand, I couldn’t tell anyone, and on the other, I was committed to the girl. I felt responsible for her well-being, and I strongly identified with her. I made sure I was always watching over her, as much as possible.

Safa experienced overwhelming empathy and identification with her student. This affinity generated emotional distress and left her ambivalent as to how to act. Like Noa, she attempted to separate her own case from that of her student, but she was ultimately unable to do so. Thus, she was trapped by a fear that her potential intervention would not only put the child at risk, but that her own past would be revealed. She elected to take a stand to support her student, but this resolution was tempered with disbelief in her own agency; informed by her past experiences, she was aware of the possible continued risk for the girl.

Finally, some educators experienced the enmeshment of their own CSA experiences and those of their students. For example, Fatma, a 37-year-old Arab homeroom and computer teacher, was assaulted as a teenager by a classmate during a school field trip. Fatma disclosed her experience to her mother, who reacted violently, shouting at Fatma to tell no one or her older brothers would kill both Fatma and her mother. Fatma was shocked by her mother’s reaction, particularly the fact that her mother only asked whether she was still a virgin and whether anyone else knew. At first, Fatma was not allowed to return to school, and then was only allowed to do so under the supervision of her cousin. This was also the beginning of her being physically abused at home by her family. Her mother’s reaction led Fatma to blame herself for the assault, a shame she described carrying to the present day. Fatma saw her experience mirrored in her student, whose CSA disclosure led to silencing by the family, school and community. This intensified her own trauma, as if she was experiencing her assault for a second time, in addition to the extreme guilt she felt over her inability to protect her pupil:

I felt like I was nothing. That I am not different from a chalkboard in the school, or the chair, maybe they are more useful to that girl than me. I felt that I was an object, and I don’t deserve to be her teacher.

The anger, helplessness and guilt Fatma described repeatedly arose in the participants’ narratives. Her words suggested that she saw herself in the child, feeling the child’s own anger at the community that failed her. She also felt stripped of her professional and even human identity, impotent to make any meaningful change. Fatma not only lost her sense of being a responsible teacher but likened herself to an inanimate object in her guilt for not protecting the child as she saw fit.

In their repeated identification with their students, it was apparent that the educators’ CSA accompanied them into adulthood, shaping how they saw the world. These identification experiences were emotionally distressing and challenged the participants as they navigated professional and social expectations regarding their role in addressing the abuse of their students.

“I understand who I am and how strong I am”: Healing Through Educational Work With Student CSA Survivors

Alongside the painful identification they experienced, the majority of the participants also highlighted the hope of healing they found in their professional work as caring educators. For example, Tzofia, a 33-year-old special education homeroom teacher from a traditional Sephardi Jewish background, grew up in abject poverty. Her mother suffered from mental illness, and her father struggled with alcoholism and physically abused her, her siblings and her mother. Tzofia disclosed experiencing a violent rape by an older man as a teenager, blaming herself for seeking “a father figure” and naming the rape as the source of her struggle with depression and eating disorders. Tzofia described being unable to disconnect her history of CSA, family violence, and poverty from her educational work:

I have a student in my class who is very quiet; a good girl who doesn’t really stand out [. . .] I try to be there for her [. . .] because it feels like no one else is. I want to provide her with something she doesn’t seem to find anywhere else. [. . .] I’m trying to shield her from harsh life experiences—not so successfully, but I’m trying, and that’s what matters to me. I’m also slowly realizing that I can’t save the world. It’s very hard to address everyone’s needs, but [. . .] I deeply understand her need for warmth, love, and support. [. . .] This interaction is meaningful to me because, through her, I can recognize the voids I experienced and try to give her what I believe she needs.

Thus, Tzofia experienced personal healing through her chosen goal of trying to care for a student whose experiences she recognized as comparable to what Tzofia herself endured in childhood. She found value in the hope that she could be the one to aid her student and grew in confidence through the realization that her painful experiences had given her the knowledge to address the needs of one child. While she noted that this was not equivalent to “saving the world” and completely overcoming the damage inflicted by abuse, she also recognized how meaningful her actions could be to the world contained within that one child, just as such care would have been meaningful to the child she once was.

Aisha, a 36-year-old Bedouin Muslim elementary school teacher, was married off by her parents before the age of 18. Soon after the marriage, her husband began physically and verbally abusing her. This culminated in her husband raping her in a violent assault. Immediately after the rape, Aisha ran away to her parents’ home and disclosed the assault to her mother. In response, her mother mocked her, stating that she was “retarded” and that a husband could not rape his wife. Following this reaction from her mother, Aisha returned to her husband apologetically and experienced shame and guilt regarding the incident until she began her studies. Aisha described the way that her educational professionalization and the way she felt valued in her work helped her cope with her CSA and rejection by her family:

When I started my studies, it was very difficult for me in the beginning, but I started seeing the reflection of what I learned, the strengths I had within me, and how hard I worked to find them. [. . .] During that time, I also began working with young children, and I noticed that I possessed strengths that people could see in me [. . .] I started to feel that people loved what I was doing as much as I loved doing it. I began to feel that the love I received from people helped me cope with my pain and set it aside because I learned to prioritize, even in my emotions. [. . .] External resources [helped me] many times, my relationships with the children, my success. This took me to special and calm places. Many times, I managed to have a good period of time and not remember my abuse.

Aisha’s chosen profession gave her the opportunity to process her trauma in a space she experienced as safe and loving. Her work made her feel valuable in the eyes of her family and community, an experience that was unfamiliar to her.

Samira, a 27-year-old Druze coordinator for youth experiencing adversity, described “a very, very difficult childhood” involving CSA perpetrated by a relative, beginning in elementary school and continuing for over 10 years. When she was older and understood the implications of his actions, she began protesting more vocally, which led him to threaten her. Samira started to engage in risky behavior, including abusive romantic relationships with older men and self-harm. She disclosed the CSA, self-harming behavior and suicidal ideation to her school counselor, who had noticed the marks on her body. In response, the counselor told her: “This is not the time [to commit suicide], you need to matriculate and then do whatever you want.” Following this reaction, Samira attempted suicide at her school. Samira first experienced healing when she decided to begin her bachelor’s studies: “The degree empowered me, and that’s what gave me value in life.” The academic knowledge she gained galvanized her on her journey:

It’s something in my gut that pushed me toward this profession, and only through it did I grow, and only through it did I understand who I am and how strong I am. How much I can give. It wasn’t easy for me. It’s not easy to cope with, not easy to read about painful things, not easy to witness pain. In the end, it’s my pain. It’s my pain on the pages. Education was a choice that literally saved my life. It simply saved me.

While Samira’s words indicated another narrative of painful identification with the trauma of her students, she simultaneously described her profession as a life-saving decision that allowed her to understand her own character in a positive light.

Thus, while the educators struggled with the close identification between their experiences and those of their students, they also found healing within their profession, which provided a space to process their trauma. This healing was further strengthened by their sense that they had arrived in a better place, somewhere they were valued and appreciated by their communities.

“I was a girl at risk, and today I’m someone else”: Identity Transformation, From CSA Survivor to Child Advocate

Despite their painful identification with their students, all but one of the educators linked their professional roles, and the healing they experienced within them, with the reconstruction of a new and empowered identity that balanced their vulnerability with professional expectations and gave them the ability and authority to protect their students. Through this process, they transformed in their sense of self from survivors to advocates. Samira shared her change in identity through her work:

I was a girl at risk, and today, I’m someone else. Today, I’m someone who supports people at risk, who supports at-risk boys and girls, who stands by them and is their go-to person, and that’s incredibly powerful in my work now. [. . .] You do something so small, like a simple conversation, and it transforms them—it turns them 360 degrees, makes them happier, and stops their tears. That’s what does it for me; it really does. To me, it’s an incredible sense of fulfillment. [. . .] Saving someone from distress—that’s my success.

Samira found power in her unique knowledge and ability to support the youth she worked with. The meaning she attributed to her painful past shifted as she transitioned from identifying as someone at risk due to CSA to someone with the ability to help others.

Amira, a 29-year-old Druze school counselor, experienced continuous CSA by a close family member from a young age. Amira described the abuse as progressing from unwanted sexual touches that she did not understand to a violent attempted rape. After graduating high school, she decided “to go study something that would do [her] good.” Amira “met [her]self” repeatedly during her studies and work, which she described as granting her a new identity as a “wounded carer”:

My work and the children I care for make me feel like a source of support and care. They see me as a professional, as the best caregiver in the world, as someone who can deal with all kinds of pain. But they don’t know that all of this stems from the trauma I experienced. I can say about myself that my struggles only made me stronger. [. . .]

Amira described a new, transformed sense of self, moving from a childhood filled with fear, depression and pain to an adulthood where she experienced a sense of power. Her words painted a picture of herself as a superhero with a deep sense of mission: a commitment to protecting children from experiencing similar situations to her own CSA.

As part of her healing process, Noa, too, explained that she realized she must share her story in detail, despite the negative reactions she received from the community:

It’s important to me that this be part of my story. There’s a clear voice saying, “Present it more gently, more hidden, sanitized, that way we’ll be able to digest it, it will be easier for us.” But I won’t do that. [. . .] I won’t do it because that’s not the story. Most cases of harm don’t come from a stranger in a dark alley—they come from someone familiar: a grandfather, an uncle, a father, a family friend, or a brother. [. . .] If we raise awareness, if we recognize the signs, and if our children learn to recognize the signs, maybe that will be what stops the harm.

Indeed, it was by sharing these difficult details and living with the social consequences that Noa took on the role of protector, someone who could offer hope to those caught in their own struggle:

If it were only about me, maybe it would be harder to expose myself and to live with the price that my family and I pay. But for me, this is about saving lives. If there’s someone out there right now, trapped in that deep, dark pit, unable to climb out—and this happens every time I [share my story]—someone reaches out to me, and through my story, she suddenly realizes that my journey, my smiling family, my children, and my marriage, could also be hers—then I want her [sic] to know that it’s possible.

Noa believed that although she might not be able to stop CSA from occurring, her tale could help stop the continued trauma that accompanied the abuse.

Ultimately, the narratives related by the participants portrayed the transformation that occurred between their initial traumatic experiences of CSA and their encounters with similar experiences among their students. Although this mirroring process involved an upheaval, as the participants identified with their students and were affected by the knowledge of their abuse, they simultaneously described a narrative of healing through their educational work, which allowed them to construct a new identity rooted in the protection of their students.

Discussion

The study reveals that educators who have experienced CSA in the past may be retraumatized, and yet may simultaneously find significant healing, through their work with students facing similar ordeals in the present. The educators in the current study described how, while it was emotionally challenging to accompany students on their healing journeys, it also offered them moments of reflection, affirmation, and a regained sense of agency. Although their past trauma remained central to their identity, it became interwoven with their professional identity in ways that fostered growth and purpose. By supporting their students, and particularly through their self-proclaimed goal to serve as students’ protectors, they were able to transform their trauma into a source of meaning, reconstructing their identity around a sense of empowerment.

These narratives complicate the usual frameworks used to describe trauma in the classroom. Previous studies have highlighted that educators dealing with students’ CSA often experience a profound shift of worldview, leading to feelings of vulnerability and helplessness. Exposure to child abuse cases may be perceived as exposure to “toxic knowledge,” altering educators’ self-perception and professional identity construction (Sigad et al., 2016). Similarly, this experience can erode educators’ belief in a just and safe world (Sigad, Lusky-Weisrose, et al., 2023). In a reversal of this dynamic, the educators in this study developed a nuanced worldview even before their professional engagement with CSA. Their sense of reality was already complex and hard-earned; they did not see the world as benevolent, yet neither did they believe it to be hopeless. Hence, it was realism, rather than disillusionment, that became the foundation upon which their work rested.

Previous research further indicates that educators dealing with students’ CSA often feel isolated, as their altered worldview distances them from their colleagues and broader community (Sigad, Lusky-Weisrose, et al., 2023). In contrast, while the experience of CSA and rejection by their communities led many of the participants to feel isolated during childhood, they later found a sense of belonging within educational environments. Their shared experiences with trauma allowed them to connect deeply with their students, and the care they received from their colleagues transformed potential isolation into community and support.

Crucially, the participants’ personal connection with the issue of CSA compelled them to take a proactive approach to helping their students and thus to effectively navigate institutional challenges. For many educators, the overwhelming sense of responsibility to shield students from harm leads to stress and even burnout (Sigad et al., 2016); conversely, the participants in the current study perceived this responsibility as empowering. Since their personal experiences with CSA cultivated a realistic understanding of their role and capabilities, they did not (unlike educators in previous research) feel helpless or take on an unrealistic position of over-protection (Sigad, Tener, et al., 2023). Instead, the participants accepted, albeit with sadness, that they could not save every child and sought instead to make a meaningful difference for some. This grounded perspective allowed them to find purpose in their work without succumbing to the pressures of an unrealistic all-powerful savior identity. In so doing, they reconstructed their senses of self, transforming from victim to capable and empowered guardian, a figure of importance to the educational community. This sense of internal value may have acted as a protective and healing factor in the face of their re-traumatization.

Cultural Contexts and Educator Experiences

Previous research underscores that cultural contexts significantly shape educators’ perceptions and actions when dealing with CSA cases. For instance, a previous study revealed how Arab educators may experience a conflict between their professional responsibilities and cultural norms, leading to feelings of entrapment and isolation (Sigad & Tener, 2022). In contrast, the Jewish, Druze and Muslim educators in the current study noted a different kind of entrapment not located solely in the present, but rooted in their childhood experiences of being silenced, disbelieved, or villainized by their families and communities. The traumatization of these experiences re-emerged when they encountered similar patterns of denial or resistance in their professional lives via their students. In fact, the participants’ sense of self-transformation seemed to extend into the past, seeking to free both themselves and their students from the constraints of their cultural contexts. Thus, the educators did not simply navigate the conflict between their educational role and cultural expectations; they actively redefined their roles in opposition to the silencing and painful norms they themselves experienced as children.

Reconstructing Identity Through Practice

Where other studies highlight how educators experience either vulnerability or resilience when encountering CSA among their students (Sigad, Tener, et al., 2023), in the current article, both were found to coexist (Masten, 2014). The participants’ narratives portrayed a hybrid position of simultaneous vulnerability and healing, as the challenging process of managing their emotional experiences was brought to bear in their educational work. Navigating the external demands of their profession and culture alongside the internal demands of coping, they attained agency through their efforts to protect, empower, and validate students whose pain they were positioned to deeply, compassionately and empathetically understand. Thus, while the participants described painful experiences of identification with their students, these encounters were multidimensional. A dual process occurred in which the difficult emotional encounter was paired with the undertaking of professional responsibility, creating an ongoing feedback loop: Personal identification led to a greater investment in professional practice, which led in turn to a breakthrough in personal healing, which intensified the professional commitment, and so on. This cyclical interaction resulted in progressively advanced stages of transformation, even as vulnerability and identification remained continuously present.

Theoretical Implications

This study contributes to emerging theories of vicarious resilience (Hernandez et al., 2007). Traditionally, vicarious trauma research has emphasized the risks of working closely with traumatized individuals (Lawson et al., 2019). However, this study suggests that helping others heal can also contribute to cycles of identity reconstruction and transformation and facilitate personal healing. We see that in relying on their own experiences to better support their students, the participants’ trauma was reframed in a more constructive light and even became the pillar of a positive self-conception as a guardian or helper. This newly constructed identity allowed participants to cultivate a sense of empowerment. Thus, as these educators demonstrate, shared trauma can generate empathy despite the re-traumatization involved, provided that meaning, boundaries, and support are present.

Applied to the broader global literature on helping professionals with histories of childhood adversity, these findings may contribute to the development of trauma-informed frameworks within the education, mental health, and child protection systems, and perhaps even to a more integrated understanding of trauma-informed engagement across professions. In the context of trauma-informed pedagogy (Brunzell et al., 2016) specifically, while trauma-informed practices usually focus on students, the narratives here suggest that educator histories must also be acknowledged. This is not to say that trauma disqualifies educators from teaching effectively, as the study suggests that it may even deepen their professional capacities when channeled constructively. Even so, as trauma creates a vulnerability that can deeply impact educators, the findings here indicate the need for further research in order to develop trauma-informed practices that account for educators’ own personal histories of adversity.

Practical Implications

Educator training programs, educational programs, and school interventions should recognize healing as part of the professional journey for some educators and seek to support those with personal trauma histories. For example, teacher education curricula, particularly in pre-service programs, should include modules on reflective practice and personal trauma awareness, as well as involve safe spaces for educators to explore how their own histories may interact with their professional roles. In addition, future trainings should aim to create bottom-up social and cultural interventions in the contexts of trauma histories.

Moreover, institutional structures such as regular supervision, peer support groups, and access to confidential mental health resources can serve as essential supports for educators. Regular check-ins, reflective team meetings, and debriefing sessions after crisis situations or student disclosures can also normalize emotional processing as part of the professional role.

Finally, understanding the cultural nuances highlighted in the findings and discussion is crucial for developing effective support systems for educators. These include tailoring culturally sensitive training and professional development programs to address the specific cultural contexts in which educators operate and the cultural barriers that may hinder effective intervention. Educational policies should aim to empower educators by providing clear guidelines and resources that align with both professional standards and cultural considerations.

Limitations

Several limitations of the study must be acknowledged. First, the study was based on a small, purposive sample of twelve educators who felt comfortable sharing their personal stories. As such, the sample does not include educators who may not have reached a place in their personal or professional lives where they felt able to share such narratives, and who may not share a similar experience of healing and transformation through their work. This introduces a potential selection bias, as participants may have been more resilient or invested in making meaning from their trauma than the broader population. It is possible that others with similar histories might experience greater emotional distress in coping with CSA among their students, which this study does not capture.

Second, although cultural context was discussed and integrated into the findings, particularly in terms of how participants interpreted their trauma and professional role, the sample was restricted in its cultural, religious, and institutional diversity. This limits the transferability of the findings to other national, cultural, or educational contexts, particularly those with different approaches to trauma, professional boundaries, or child protection frameworks. For example, the Israeli sociocultural backdrop, with its emphasis on civic engagement (Lemish, 2003), may influence how teachers see their role in CSA cases, including in terms of integrating their own trauma into a helping role. As such, future research should delve further into the intersection between cultural contexts, personal trauma, and professional engagement, including regarding cultures not included in the sample.

It is also important to note that the study included only women participants. Future research should consider the role of gender in the narratives of educators who have experienced CSA and are currently working with students who experienced CSA, particularly with men educators.

Despite these limitations, the study provides a rare and needed window into the lived experiences of educators who are CSA survivors and who work with students who have experienced CSA. Their voices help illuminate the transformative potential of educational work and open new directions for trauma-informed pedagogy and educator training.

Footnotes

ORCID iDs

Laura I. Sigad

Jordan Shaibe

Funding

The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by the Research & Evaluation Authority, Oranim College of Education

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The authors declared no potential conflicts of interests with respect to the authorship and/or publication of this article.

Author Biographies

Laura I. Sigad, PhD, is the Academic Director and Developer of International Programs in the M.Ed. Program in Inclusive Education at Oranim College of Education, Israel. As an educational anthropologist, her work explores how educators experience and navigate the emotional, ethical, and professional demands of addressing violence, trauma, and vulnerability within educational systems. Her research focuses on child maltreatment and neglect, and the lived experiences and professional responsibilities of educators responding to child sexual abuse and other forms of interpersonal harm. Her scholarship contributes to understanding how educational and child protection systems can respond to violence while also supporting those who care for and advocate on behalf of vulnerable children.

Jordan Shaibe is a PhD student at the School of Social Work at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, studying participatory welfare processes. Jordan has worked with families with children at risk as well as educators and social workers as a teacher, counselor and researcher, and her fields of interest include children at risk, educator well-being, democratic processes, and participatory research.

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