Rethinking Sexual Trauma: Neha Bhat's Journey Through Art and Therapy

Neha Bhat

Clinical arts-based Sexual Trauma Psychotherapist & Author

Director of India’s First Sexual Trauma Healer’s Collective

Neha Bhat is a licensed sex and trauma therapist, also known for her groundbreaking book on healing from sexual trauma, ‘Unashamed,’ and the insightful mind behind @indiansextherapist on Instagram. She began her career as a theater and lighting designer, working as an arts-based practitioner in the theater industry primarily in Bangalore and Mumbai, India. Her work was deeply embodied, centered on helping others create artistic expressions through their own bodies. During this time, she noticed that people increasingly confided in her, often about deeply personal matters related to sexuality. This informal role as a listener and guide gradually led her toward a career in therapeutic work.

She transitioned into teaching children with special needs and spent several years as an arts therapist at a school. Her path then took a significant turn when she was hired by the Maharashtra prison system, where she went on to lead arts-based therapeutic initiatives across prisons for nearly six years. In collaboration with multiple organizations, she worked extensively with incarcerated women, including survivors of sexual assault as well as those who had perpetrated abuse.

Q. You’ve worked across diverse therapeutic spaces. When you look back at your early days, what ideas did you bring as a fresh graduate just starting out in the field?

I began my career as a theatre and lighting designer, specializing in arts-based design within the theatre industry. I was working very much with the body, and I was helping other people create pieces of art for themselves. This work took place in Bangalore as well as Mumbai, India.

I started having a lot of people come to me and tell me things, and somehow it often ended up being about sexuality. This is when I moved into teaching children with special needs, and I worked as an arts therapist at a school for many years. Later, I was hired by the Maharashtra prison system, where I headed arts-based programs across Maharashtra prisons for a long period of time, about six years. During this time, I was working with a couple of organizations and doing arts-based therapy within prison systems. I worked with incarcerated women who were survivors of sexual assault, as well as individuals who had perpetrated assault.

I came into the field of therapy from a very lived, humanistic perspective. As a fresh graduate, I somehow resisted the binary polarization that was already creeping into the field at the time, that if you are a survivor, you must be approached only through a trauma-focused lens, and if you are a perpetrator, you are seen only as an oppressor. I challenged this binary of oppressor versus oppressed.

In fact, I worked in the Theatre of the Oppressed with Augusto Boal’s son, Julian Boal, and I questioned aspects of this binary ideology as well. Much trauma research shows that many people who survive sexual assault or trauma may also perpetrate assault, and vice versa. When we look into trauma histories, we learn that many people who perpetrate harm have also experienced sexual trauma firsthand. This cycle of sexual abuse is something I brought strongly into the field, encouraging us to view these issues as connected rather than disconnected.

Q. What were some of the ideas about therapy you’ve had to unlearn?

I completed my first master’s degree in India and then pursued a second master’s degree in the United States. My first master’s was in Buddhist Art Therapy, and my second was in Sexual Trauma–InformedArt Therapy. Both times, I was under what I now see as a kind of grand delusion that all therapy programs were depth-focused and that all counselors were receiving the same kind of training. I later had to unlearn this assumption and recognize that there is a wide variety of approaches that people label as therapy and psychotherapy.

Within these approaches, I also noticed that many therapists and counselors were not doing their own inner work. In fact, many did not even value the depth aspect of the work. There was a strong emphasis on superficial solution seeking, moving quickly from one problem to another, as if therapy could be reduced to tips and tricks. This had become the prevailing flavor of the field at the time, around sixteen to eighteen years ago. I found this quite unsettling and had to actively learn and unlearn the fact that many practitioners were not approaching the work from a depth-oriented perspective.

I Can’t be Both: Of Splitting My Being Open

Neha’s Narrative: She reflected on the challenges and responsibilities inherent in her work, particularly during the height of the #MeToo movement. “There is shame and guilt in being an art therapist who wants to serve this specific dual identity of clientele at the peak of the #metoo movement, where survivors are still being actively disbelieved. How can I facilitate the holding of both identities in my clients? How can I hold them accountable without shutting these stories down? How can I see the ways I have harmed and been harmed?”

Despite these challenges, she finds hope in the potential for transformation. She believes in “the power of survivors being able to regain control over their lives, and also, in the power of survivor-perpetrators who want to change to be able to transform themselves.” Ultimately, she holds a firm conviction that ending the epidemic of sexual violence will require addressing its root causes: transforming perpetrators and dismantling rape culture as a whole.

Q. You work at a powerful intersection of arts-based therapy and sexual trauma healing. How did that combination emerge for you? Was it intentional, or something that revealed itself over time through your work?

I was fortunate to meet two wonderful supervisors in the US, Ms. Beth Entiskin and Dr. Savneet Talwar, who were particularly interested in decolonial perspectives (moving beyond traditional Western psychological binaries to find more inclusive ways of healing). They both strongly supported me in moving beyond binary frameworks. At the time, between 2016 and 2019, I was working at a rape crisis center in Chicago. I noticed that many people seeking healing for sexual trauma in the US were not used to working with the body. They were primarily expecting talk therapy. We had an arts therapy center at Rape Victim Advocates, which was called Resilience at the time, where we were able to offer a significant amount of somatic work (incorporating body-based awareness and healing) from a very gentle, trauma-informed lens.

I also observed that, because of the wide range of life experiences I brought into the field, I naturally took to this approach. I value the fact that in art therapy, pain can be concretized (turning abstract emotional suffering into physical objects or images) and sublimated; attachment objects can be created; and themes such as transference and countertransference can be worked through very concretely using art. Specifically for survivors of sexual trauma and sexual assault, this offered a powerful way of making what is often considered taboo far more workable.

Q. Most training programs teach technique and ethics, but very few prepare people for the grey zones. What do you wish someone had told you about navigating those complexities?

I think training programs are doing a significant disservice by not teaching the grey zones. In fact, much of psychotherapy and psychology has become driven by ideology first, rather than by the depth of human experience. That depth comes from many of our therapeutic ancestors, Carl Rogers, Natalie Rogers, Freud, and Jung, of course, but also from more esoteric thinkers, who have increasingly been dismissed to make space for technique and ethics alone.

Ethics, in particular, has become very one-dimensional, often reduced to issues of power, where power is understood only through an oppressor–oppressed framework. As a result, the field has become increasingly driven by buzzwords. While I personally had a great deal of support in navigating these complexities, I wish others had been offered the same level of support, rather than being asked to fit neatly into one box or the other.

Q. How do you hold space for the parts of therapy that feel uncertain, like when theory doesn’t fit or when ethical lines blur?

My life philosophy is about embracing the grey, about the spaces that don’t fit neatly into categories. Sex, by its nature, is an act between two people, two energies, two systems, or two entities trying to find a way to fit together. That connection can last a moment or a lifetime. You can even have a sexual experience with an object and still be trying to connect, trying to bring yourself to it and bring it to yourself.

By nature, sex therapy lives in the grey and creates space for it. I’ve done several things around this philosophy. I run a private practice, but I stopped seeing one-on-one clients in depth about five years ago, even though my practice remained full. In cultures like India, Mexico, China, and Southeast Asia, psycho-spiritual cultures, there’s naturally more space for the grey. People here don’t automatically operate in black-and-white terms. I recommend watching Paromita Vohra’s film on consent, The Dance of Consent. Much of sex work and sex-based theory isn’t black and white; it’s deep and nuanced.

In my work, I focus on long-term clients, guiding them through life journeys using arts-based, depth-focused approaches. We explore paintings, draw, paint, dance, and move together, making space for the grey through the body. I also run three- and seven-day healing retreats, where people can deeply explore the greys of sex and art through creative practices. Additionally, I write for social media pages (managed by my team), consistently challenging binary thinking.

Q. What are some professional or personal boundaries you’ve learned to set as a therapist?

I don’t talk about my profession at parties, especially at Indian parties, because most people then expect me to solve their problems on the spot and assume that this is what therapy is about. Because of that, I don’t go into depth about what I do. Instead, I give people my social media accounts and ask them to check them out. I very consciously turn myself off when I am outside my studio.

I also love the idea of expanding psychotherapy as a public conversation. When people want to have deep conversations with me, I invite them to do so on stage, through film, or in panel discussions in long-form contexts rather than short-form exchanges. This is also why voice notes feel more appropriate than writing, as writing can cut off some of the spontaneity and depth that comes through in the voice.

So those are some of my boundaries. I will not simply answer one-off questions, and I will not reduce my profession or the greyness of my work into something simplistic. At the same time, I limit how much I give outside the therapy room. I also do not speak about my own love life, dating, or sexual history unless it is directly related to sexual trauma and shared for a very specific reason. Otherwise, I do not reveal these aspects of my life on social media or to my clients.

Q. Fatigue and compassion burnout are often unspoken realities of early practice. How can novice therapists recognize when they’re approaching that edge?

It is actually a business answer rather than an individual one. I feel that training programs do not teach us how to translate therapy into a practical business service. If early-career therapists were taught how to set up sustainable businesses for themselves, they might be better able to take care of themselves and remain in this profession over the long term.

One significant pattern I have noticed in my supervisees is the need for quick answers. This often comes from a desire to escape discomfort, especially when fatigue has built up. There is a belief that once an answer is found, the problem in therapy will be solved, only for people to later realize that these patterns never truly go away. They continue to return, and we simply learn how to navigate them.

When I notice patience beginning to dip and a desire for a quick way out of a problem, I see this as a sign that a counselor or therapist may be losing the capacity to sit with discomfort and ambiguity.

Q. Training programs teach different ways in which you can take care of yourself as a therapist. And they are the typical ones like journaling or personal counselling. What are some of the lesser-known self-care rituals therapists can engage in that you have heard of or personally use?

For me, dance is a powerful practice. Walking, nature-based immersions, and even Vipassana retreats, like ten days of silence, are also important. The older you get as a therapist, the more stories you witness and the more your body holds truths for others. It becomes essential to help your body work through that.

I’m deeply psycho-spiritual and drawn to different religions. I often take myself to varied spiritual and religious experiences, temples, churches, mosques where women are allowed, and other sacred spaces around the world. I travel a lot for work, and wherever I go, I make a point to ground myself in the faith system of that land before arriving.

This practice rejuvenates me and provides a culturally grounded context for the experiences of the people in that place. It helps me avoid positioning myself in opposition to a culture, a community, or someone’s family because I’ve already acknowledged and honored the spirit of that land. I also do a lot of internal work to ensure that what I bring through my body is truly mine and not absorbed from my clients or their experiences.

Q. As therapy becomes more visible and “Instagrammable,” what do you think new therapists risk losing sight of? How can new therapists find the right balance of professionalism and the pressure to express their voice publicly?

This is actually why I started my own healing program training younger therapists, doctors, and anyone working with people in healthcare. The goal is to help them understand the deeper aspects of the therapy profession. Yes, professionalism and the pressure to express your voice publicly exist, but I don’t see it as pressure in a personal sense. These are systems you can engage with when they serve you and step back when they don’t. You make the system work for you. Many newer therapists get lost, which is very common. Early career envy and competitiveness are normal; they can motivate you to set standards and do well, but social media exaggerates these feelings. Online, it’s easy to create false impressions: anyone can fake a client story, a number, or even an entire journey. This creates a psychological distortion.

What I tell younger therapists is: first, find what truly calls to you. Forget your brand name, your website, or what looks impressive online. What do you genuinely enjoy working with? Are you drawn to arts therapies? Do you want to work with children, new mothers, or people with Alzheimer’s? When I ask this, many are dumbfounded because they’ve been focused on branding and external validation instead of their own calling.

Focus on what excites you. Immerse yourself in it. Master it. The other steps, branding, building a studio, or teaching, will naturally come later. I caution against following other therapists on Instagram too closely, especially early in your career, because it can distort your sense of reality. Commit to your own path first, and only after five or six years, once you’ve established your voice, should you navigate market pressures or branding.

Too often, people skip these foundational steps, moving straight from counseling programs to group workshops or trying to quickly establish a business. Supervisors may seem slow because of generational differences, but the key is to honor the learning process: take your time, build your depth, and let your voice grow organically.

Q. Over the years, how has your understanding of “helping” changed? Could you share a line, image, or piece of writing that captures what therapy means to you today?

I often share a quote by Miriam Hasna that deeply resonates with me: “Healing or helping is not about doing something for someone, but actually connecting someone to their own voice in your presence.”

Q. Many young therapists look up to you. What advice would you give them about finding their voice and niche in the mental health space? Finally, what would you like every emerging therapist to know?

I’m against pedestals. I don’t believe in putting anyone on a pedestal, because the moment you look up to someone, you also become capable of looking down on them. It’s a geometrical problem, really. Ofcourse, we need guides, supervisors, and mentors. We find inspiration in people who are like us, and that’s perfectly fine. But I always tell emerging or young therapists that if you feel a resonance with me, it’s likely because a part of you has already expressed itself in what you see, or a part of you wants to. Connect to that part. Identify what you like about me in yourself and what you don’t like, and that becomes a great equalizer. It’s both the core of projection and the core of understanding existence. As an existentially focused, psycho-spiritual arts therapist, I value having a humble and sober perspective on reality. That’s something I wish every emerging therapist would hold.

Advice - Regarding finding your voice and your niche: in the first five years of your career, don’t just stick to a brand, an image, or a single specialty. Think of it like discovering your favorite ice cream flavor; you try many flavors. You don’t settle for vanilla just because it’s convenient. You put yourself in uncomfortable positions, try blackcurrant or other flavors you might have previously dismissed, and see what resonates.

Try many things until you feel an internal resonance, something that makes your body feel alive. For me, that moment happened when I worked with sexuality in therapy, guiding someone to connect to their own inner sexual experience. That’s when I knew: this is what true resonance feels like, and this is what I want to dedicate my life to.

But it took years of exploring different jobs and programs and meeting many people. I never pressured myself to fit into one box, and that freedom of exploration is what allowed me to truly find my path.