In a required course for my Marriage and Family Therapy program, I was instructed to write a “comprehensive sexual autobiography.” The assignment: detail my earliest sexual memories, masturbation history, past and present sexual experiences, and future fantasies— with a plan to act on them. I was told to upload it to a third-party platform for grading. No confidentiality guarantee. No opt-out.
When I asked for an alternative, the department chair said no. She explained the course was designed to “inoculate” us into sexual content and that my discomfort was a clinical liability I would “assuredly transmit to clients.” In other words, my boundary wasn’t respected. It was pathologized.
Later, I was shown a video tour of a BDSM sex dungeon in class. A woman was gagged, flogged, and wrapped in plastic. No warning. No clinical relevance. When the lights came up, the professor smiled and asked if we wanted to try it. I walked out.
This wasn’t an outlier. It was the result of a deeper belief system driving therapy education: critical theory.
Human relationships are viewed primarily through power dynamics, particularly race, gender, and sexuality. Within this framework, traditional values like monogamy, modesty, privacy, even objectivity, are seen as tools of oppression. The role of the therapist is no longer to witness and support, but to deconstruct. Our job, increasingly, is to help clients “unlearn” norms shaped by whiteness, cisheteronormativity, or patriarchy.
So it’s not just that my request for privacy was denied. It’s that privacy itself is viewed with suspicion—an artifact of oppressive structures. The same logic is used to justify race-based self-flagellation in the classroom, mandatory pronoun rituals, and the uncritical affirmation of gender transitions in children. All of it stems from a belief that neutrality is harm, and dissent is pathology.
But when clients sense they must conform to the therapist’s worldview to receive care, we’ve lost the foundation of therapy altogether.
This isn’t liberation. It’s ideological control masquerading as compassion. And it has no place in the healing professions.
Naomi, your experience reveals something profoundly unsettling—not just about one course, but about the direction of therapist training itself.
A “comprehensive sexual autobiography” requiring students to detail their earliest sexual memories, masturbation history, sexual experiences, and future fantasies—with a plan to act on them—goes far beyond introspection. It imposes disclosure, and worse, performance. That it was mandatory, with no opt-out, and submitted to a third-party platform with no guarantee of confidentiality, only heightens the coercion.
This isn't just invasive. It blurs the very boundaries therapists are trained to respect.
The ethical hypocrisy is glaring:
- In therapy, consent must be clear, ongoing, and revocable.
- In this program, students had no meaningful way to refuse.
- Therapists are taught to guard client privacy—yet students were denied their own.
Requiring future action plans on sexual fantasies isn’t reflective practice. It’s institutionalized pressure to conform to a vision of sexuality framed as essential to therapeutic maturity.
Your account exposes a disturbing trend: therapy programs asking students to violate the very principles they’re being trained to uphold. Thank you for calling it out. It deserves far more scrutiny.
Bravo to you for standing up to this wickedness, Naomi! It was your grad school that was being oppressive, not your beliefs. God help us...