Dec 16, 2020 | Volume 10 - Issue 4
Rebecca Scherer, Regina Moro, Tara Jungersen, Leslie Contos, Thomas A. Field
Initiating and sustaining a counselor education and supervision doctoral program requires navigating institutions of higher education, which are complex systems. Using qualitative analysis, we explored 15 counselor educators’ experiences collaborating with university administrators to gain support for beginning and sustaining counselor education and supervision doctoral programs. Results indicate the need to understand political elements, economical aspects, and the identity of the proposed program. Limitations and areas for future research are presented.
Keywords: counselor education and supervision, doctoral, university administrators, counselor educators, support
The Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs’ (CACREP) 2009 CACREP Standards (2008) included a new requirement for core faculty in both entry-level (i.e., master’s) and doctoral programs. This requirement endured in the 2016 CACREP Standards (2015). Although West et al. (1995) predicted the necessity of growth of CACREP-accredited doctoral-level counselor education programs in the mid-1990s, it was not until 2013 that core faculty in all CACREP-accredited programs were required to possess doctorates in counselor education and supervision (CES; or be grandfathered in from previous employment experience; CACREP, 2008). Master’s-level programs that are seeking new CACREP accreditation, as well as existing programs that are seeking to maintain accreditation, must therefore hire faculty with doctorates in CES. This requirement has created a need for greater numbers of doctoral graduates in counselor education, and institutions with master’s-level programs may be seeking to establish new doctoral-level programs to meet this need.
The creation of a doctoral program requires intricate navigation of complex systems of administration, accreditation, funding, laws, facilities, infrastructure, and politics. Additionally, universities have different requirements and levels of approval for new program development (S. Fernandez, personal communication, November 27, 2017). Counselor educators proposing a CES doctoral program must have an understanding of the complexity of the specific university (e.g., its organization, the history of university support for doctoral programs, the mission of the institution, the needs of the surrounding community, and the resources required for program development and implementation). Furthermore, counselor educators must have a firm grasp of accreditation standards for both the university’s regional accreditation bodies (e.g., Commission on Colleges of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools), as well as specialty CES accreditation through CACREP.
Structure of Universities
The hierarchical structure of universities varies from institution to institution. In this section, we provide a general outline of how universities are structured to help counselor educators who are interested in proposing a CES doctoral program. This information is very important when considering how to advocate for a doctoral program because of the many organizational layers and levels associated with an institution.
Typically, counseling programs are housed in a department, college, or school of the university (e.g., College of Education). The program is led by a program head, coordinator, or department chair. This person reports to the dean of the college. The dean reports to the provost or chancellor or chief executive officer. The president of the university then supersedes this level.
It is important for faculty members to assess the priorities of their institution for academic, student, and financial affairs. For example, a small private college in an urban area may have a mission to train adult learners and to provide access to education through lower admissions standards and flexible pathways to degree completion. In contrast, a large, public, research-intensive university may have a mission to support exceptional research and secure external grant contracts, and to raise college rankings through metrics such as low acceptance rates (The Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education, 2019). Based on administrative experience with doctoral program creation, structural information must be taken into consideration when advocating to administrators on behalf of CES doctoral program development.
Successful Initiation of Doctoral Programs
In the higher education literature, there are a few publications on the creation of doctoral programs. Researchers have proposed that doctoral programs can be successfully initiated in the context of three circumstances: (a) top-down initiation, (b) filling a need in the local area, or (c) focusing on new delivery methods (Brooks et al., 2002; Haas et al., 2011; Slater & Martinez, 2000). In regard to top-down initiation, some authors have proposed that doctoral programs are likely to be launched if the initial idea comes from the provost or president of the university. Slater and Martinez (2000) described the process of successful initiation of a doctoral program in a small institution in Texas. They reported that the president suggested the idea to the dean, with later onboarding of faculty members.
Doctoral programs also seem to be initiated successfully if a need exists for such a program in the local area (Brooks et al., 2002; Haas et al., 2011). Haas and colleagues (2011) emphasized the importance of faculty members and administrators assessing program fit within the region. In both the Brooks et al. (2002) and Haas et al. (2011) studies, the importance of current delivery modalities in successfully recruiting support for a doctoral program, including the use of online delivery and interdisciplinary studies, was presented.
Rationale and Purpose
At the time of writing, no studies could be identified in the CES literature regarding how to successfully gain administrative support for starting a doctoral program in CES. Another manuscript in this special issue (Field et al., 2020) illustrates a potential pipeline problem in counselor education, in particular the need for more CES doctoral programs in the North Atlantic and Western regions of the country. CES faculty members who are contemplating starting a CES doctoral program currently have little guidance on how to gain support for starting a program. In addition, no studies could be located regarding how to successfully sustain an existing doctoral program in CES. The purpose of this study was to collect and analyze qualitative data to address the research question guiding this study: Which strategies are helpful in gaining initial and ongoing support from administrators for a CES doctoral program, and how successful are those?
Method
This study was conducted as part of a larger basic qualitative study sampling counselor educators. The purpose of the larger qualitative study was to identify perceptions of doctoral-level counselor educators regarding four major issues pertinent to doctoral counselor education: (a) components of high-quality programs, (b) strategies to recruit and retain underrepresented students, (c) strategies for successful dissertation advising, and (d) strategies for working with administrators. In order to explore these four major issues, four research teams were assembled, one of which included the authors of this manuscript. All four coding teams worked together to select these four issues, as it was felt that these issues were most pressing for faculty who were seeking to establish new doctoral CES programs and that little information and guidance existed in these areas. In-depth interviews were then conducted with doctoral-level counselor educators in CACREP-accredited programs to answer a series of research questions that addressed the issues above. Faculty from CACREP-accredited programs were selected because the focus of the larger project was to support faculty who intended to seek CACREP accreditation for new doctoral CES programs.
In the basic qualitative tradition, qualitative data were collected, coded, and categorized using the constant comparative method from grounded theory methodology (Corbin & Strauss, 2015; Merriam & Tisdell, 2016). Basic qualitative designs involve the collection and analysis of qualitative data for the purpose of answering research questions outside of other specialized qualitative focus areas (e.g., developing theory, understanding essence of lived experience, describing environmental observations). Because we were not seeking to develop theory, understand lived experience, or research any other specialized qualitative focus area with this study, and because the research question did not require a specialized approach to data analysis, the large research team selected the basic qualitative approach described above.
Each coding team designed interview questions to directly answer their specific research question. The research questions explored in this study were as follows: Which strategies are helpful in gaining initial and ongoing support from administrators when seeking to start a new doctoral program in CES, and how successful are those? The interview questions that were developed and used as the basis for data collection for this study were: 1) What guidance might you provide to faculty who want to start a new doctoral program in counseling, with regard to working with administrators and gaining buy-in? and 2) What guidance might you provide to faculty who want to sustain an existing doctoral program in counseling with regard to working with administrators and gaining ongoing support?
Participants
Participants met two inclusion criteria for entrance into the study: (a) current core faculty members in a doctoral CES program that was (b) accredited by CACREP. Email requests were sent to 85 CACREP-accredited programs; faculty from 34 programs responded (40% response rate). Interviews were conducted with 15 full-time faculty members at CACREP-accredited CES doctoral programs. Participants were each from separate and unique doctoral programs, with no program represented by more than one participant.
The 15 participants were selected one at a time, using a maximal variation sampling procedure to avoid premature saturation (Merriam & Tisdell, 2016). The authors used maximal variation to understand perspectives from faculty of diverse backgrounds who worked at different types of institutions. Participant selection was predicated on six criteria grounded in research data about factors that may impact perceptions about doctoral program delivery: (a) racial and ethnic self-identification (Cartwright et al., 2018); (b) gender self-identification (Hill et al., 2005); (c) length of time working in doctoral-level counselor education programs (Lambie et al., 2014; Magnuson et al., 2009); (d) Carnegie classification of university where the participant was currently working using The Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education database (Lambie et al., 2014); (e) region of the counselor education program where the participant was currently working (e.g., Field et al., 2020), using the regional classifications commonly applied in the counseling profession; and (f) delivery mode of the counselor education program where the participant was currently working, such as in-person or online (Smith et al., 2015). As an example of this procedure, the first two participants were selected because of variation in gender, years of experience, and Carnegie classification. The third and fourth participants were selected on the basis of differences from prior interviewees with regard to ethnicity and region. Interviews continued until data seemed to reach saturation and redundancy at 15 interviews.
Although unintended, participant characteristics closely approximated CACREP statistics for faculty characteristics. The demographics of counselor educators in the sample was 73.3% White (n = 11), with 73.3% (n = 11) of participants working at research-intensive (i.e., R1 and R2) institutions. The sample was highly experienced, with an average of 19.7 years (SD = 9.0 years) as a counseling faculty member, with a range of 4 to 34 years. More than half of the participants (n = 9) had spent their entire career in doctoral counselor education.
Procedure
The last author of this manuscript sought IRB approval. Once we received IRB approval, potential participants were contacted from 85 CACREP-accredited programs with doctoral-level graduate studies in CES. Fifteen faculty were interviewed based on maximal variation sampling described above. All but one participant (n = 14) was interviewed via the Zoom video conference platform, chosen because of its privacy settings (i.e., end-to-end encryption). Interviews were recorded using the built-in Zoom recording feature. One participant was interviewed in person at a national counseling conference. This interview was recorded using a Sony digital audio recorder.
Interview Protocol
Each videoconference interview was begun by collecting demographics and informed consent. Following the introductory phase, interviewees were asked eight questions that addressed the research questions of the larger study. Two of the questions were specific to this sub-research team. Interview questions were developed using Patton’s (2015) guidelines to inform question development. Specifically, the questions were open-ended, neutral, avoided “why” questioning, and asked one at a time. The questions were piloted with peer counselor educators prior to the start of the research project in order to get feedback on clarity and ease of answering. Participants received the questions by email before their scheduled interview. The participants were identified using alphabetical letters to blind participant identity to all members of the research team.
Each semi-structured interview lasted at least 60 minutes, during which participants responded to questions that were evenly distributed among the four research teams. Participants were therefore able to respond to interview questions with significant depth. Data did not appear saturated until 15 interviews had been conducted. Each research team was asked to review the transcripts developed from the 15 interviews to deduce whether adequate saturation had been achieved and until consensus was reached.
Transcription
All interview recordings were transcribed by graduate students. These students had no familiarity with the interviewees and were trained in how to transcribe verbatim. Once completed, each transcript was sent back to the interviewees to ensure accuracy. After all interviewees checked their document, the sections of the transcripts with the questions related to each team were copied and pasted into a document organized by the participants’ alphabetical identifiers. Each team was responsible for coding and analyzing the responses to their respective questions from the interviews.
Coding and Analysis
The first, second, third, and fourth authors served as coding team members. The fifth author conducted the interviews as part of the larger study and assisted with writing sections of the methodology only. The demographics of the coding team were as follows. Team member ages ranged from mid-30s to 40s. All four identified as White cisgender females. Two of the coding team members were employed as full-time counselor educators, one identified as an administrator and counselor educator, and one coding team member was completing doctoral training as a counselor educator. Two participants had worked in doctoral counselor education programs, and two had not. We have served on both sides of the faculty–administrator relationship. These differences in backgrounds allowed for both etic and emic positioning pertinent to the topic of working with administrators to start and sustain doctoral programs in CES.
Because of the nature of both insider (emic) and outsider (etic) perspectives, the authors used a memo system when coding the manuscripts. This memo system involved three components. First, we created a blank memo every time a transcript was coded. Second, each time an interviewee’s transcribed response provoked some response within one of us, we raised it to the group and reflected on our individual experience. This response was documented in a memo. Third, one of us took notes to bracket any biases that might have been present. Identified biases often stemmed from our own experiences as faculty members talking to administrators, our service in an administrative role, or our own personal experiences developing doctoral programs. This occurred during joint coding team meetings and individual coding meetings once the open coding had been solidified into a set of codes. The memos were kept in a shared, encrypted, electronic folder for later review.
The following steps were followed by the coding team in the current study to ensure trustworthiness of analysis. The four coding team members jointly coded the first three participant transcripts to gain consensus. Following this open coding process, the second author condensed the open codes for the next phase of analysis. The coding team members then reached consensus on the condensed codes. Following agreement, we used the condensed codes to continue the coding process for the next two transcripts in joint coding meetings. This process allowed for discussion to assist with consistent understanding of the codes across the team. Following the joint open coding of the fifth transcript, the remaining 10 transcripts were assigned to one of us for open coding to be completed independently. After the open coding process was completed, the fourth author proposed a framework of the emerging themes. She examined the open codes and considered discussions that emerged throughout the team process to identify the emergent themes from the data. Open codes were only included in the analysis if they emerged in at least four transcripts, which resulted in the removal of three codes from the final results. All team members reached consensus for the themes that were originally identified by the fourth author.
Results
The data analysis process resulted in three emergent themes regarding strategies for gaining initial and ongoing support from administrators for CES doctoral programs and the level of success of those strategies. The three themes were political landscape, economic landscape, and identity landscape. Each theme had five associated subthemes. Each theme and subtheme are discussed in more detail below, and brief participant quotes are inserted to highlight the experiences of the participants in their own words for the purpose of thick description (Merriam & Tisdell, 2016).
Political Landscape
Considering the political landscape appeared to be a crucial strategy for recruiting administrative support when having conversations with administrators about CES doctoral programs. Participants described the importance of understanding the context of conversations with administrators within the larger political system of higher education institutions. The subthemes represented factors that influenced political decisions.
Political Endeavor: “Watching Your Politics”
Participants reported that conversations with administrators were highly political in nature and having these conversations was a form of political endeavor. One example of political endeavor was to ensure that other academic units and programs were in support of a CES doctoral program. As one participant stated, “First make sure that you’ve got your politics in order, so social work agrees with you and psychology agrees with you. So, you’ve got support of any competitor on campus.” If other academic units or programs are opposed to a CES doctoral program, it may result in administrators being cautious about supporting the program because of fears that they may be caught in the middle of a turf battle.
Gaining administrative support seemed to be predicated on the ability to “strategically build relationships” with administrators, as one participant put it. One participant commented on the complexity of developing these relationships with administrators. This participant believed that faculty needed to strike a balance of being flexible and adaptive to the administrators’ agenda and “order of the day,” while also retaining one’s “own ideology and belief systems.” Building relationships with administrators also seemed to involve avoiding unnecessary conflict that may reduce administrator support for faculty ideas. One participant cautioned that “watching your politics” and “keeping your mouth shut when you know you shouldn’t be speaking up against key administrators” was important during conversations with administrators to avoid unnecessary conflict that could “hurt your own doc program.” Learning this form of engagement seemed to be a struggle for some participants. One participant stated that they “don’t know how to navigate those conversations effectively” and felt “saddened and frustrated” as a result.
Status, Prestige, and Recognition: “A Huge Feather in One’s Cap”
Participants conveyed that CES faculty could gain administrative support through the strategy of arguing how a doctoral program could enhance status, prestige, and recognition for an institution. One participant commented that “all university presidents want doctoral programs. They want them because of the prestige.” This participant elaborated that faculty should therefore “show them how doctoral programs bring recognition, how it raises you in the rankings, and all of those kinds of things.” Some participants noted that the degree to which administrators cared about enhanced status, prestige, and recognition depended on the type of institution. For example, administrators who work at an institution that is less concerned with college rankings may be unpersuaded by the potential for enhanced status and recognition.
Participants also encouraged CES faculty to strategically engage in actions that increase recognition for the program and university. Some potential strategies that may appeal to administrators include being “identified as an expert, and to go out and do public radio broadcasts and be featured in the newspaper. Be featured in national publications.” This recognition helps with both program and university visibility, which participants believed was important to administrators. Participants also shared that visibility can help to protect the program from losing administrative support. As one participant stated, “If you’re invisible in the eyes of the administrators, they’re not going to think of you if some opportunities are coming to the fore.” This participant further commented that administrators needed to be reminded of the doctoral program through continual visibility efforts, as administrators often operate from an “out of sight, out of mind” position.
Demonstration: “Wanting Empirical Evidence”
Participants identified the strategy of sharing evidence with administrators to support and sustain doctoral programs. As one participant stated, “Once you get to the doctoral level, then we’re talking about people wanting empirical evidence.” In the early stages of program formation, this evidence might be a comprehensive proposal that is supported by data. As one participant stated, faculty need to develop a “solid plan” and be “as prepared as possible” for conversations in which administrators will “ask a ton of questions.”
Once a program is formed, it seems crucial that programs continuously provide updates to administration about program successes to sustain administrative support. Participants identified several approaches to demonstrating the success of a program. Some participants indicated that it was important to keep administration informed about student successes that occurred during doctoral study. One participant reported that their program kept administration informed via email about “every little success of the doctoral program” and provided the following examples: “Every time somebody successfully defends a dissertation, every time somebody presents at a conference, every time somebody gets a job congratulated, the president knows about it.” Other participants believed that it was helpful to report program outcomes such as graduation rates and employment statistics, which requires faculty to maintain contact with alumni to understand where they are working after graduation. It therefore seems possible that administrators may differ in which types of evidence they value, requiring faculty to carefully consider which information their administration most values when sending them updates of program successes. As one participant stated, “I think the question is, what information do you need to feed to administration to be convincing?”
Scrutiny: “Internal Credibility Is Super Important”
Participants reported that program faculty should understand the different ways that administration will scrutinize the credibility of a doctoral program. One participant defined credibility as, “Do what you’re doing well.” Administrators might withdraw support for a program that is perceived as not producing quality graduates or has problems such as not graduating students. Administrator scrutiny of the program’s financial situation also appears to be an important consideration. Administrators who are concerned about the financial viability of the program may withdraw their support.
Timeline and Trajectory: “It’s a Long Journey”
Participants reported that political decisions, such as starting and sustaining academic programs, particularly doctoral programs, may be influenced by unique timelines and trajectories. Participants encouraged faculty to develop the strategy of thinking long-term about cultivating administrative support for a doctoral program. One participant emphasized the need to “work together” with administrators in a collaborative fashion and make compromises so that administrators will support the doctoral program throughout the “long haul” and “long journey” of the program.
The length of administrator tenure at the university is another factor that faculty are advised to consider. One participant stated that faculty tend to have longer tenure than administrators at their university. As a “lifer,” this participant saw “a lot of rotation in and out of leadership.” Administrator turnover can result in changes to administrative priorities and agendas, which can impact support for a CES doctoral program. This participant encouraged faculty to “be cognizant of the fact that winds change.”
Economic Landscape
Considering the economic landscape and economic realities of starting and sustaining a doctoral program was the second main overarching theme. Developing an understanding of the economic landscape is important context for faculty when preparing for discussions with administrators. Several subthemes comprise the economic landscape, each detailed below.
Financial Aspects: “It Takes a Lot of Money”
Of utmost importance when discussing starting and sustaining CES doctoral programs with administrators is understanding the financial resources required. Many participants spoke about the cost of CES doctoral programs for universities. Participants believed that a crucial strategy to gaining administrator support was being able to explain how programs can be at least revenue-neutral or even generate revenue for the university, as administrators are less likely to support a CES doctoral program that is a drain on financial resources.
Participants varied in their perceptions of whether CES doctoral programs could generate revenue for the university. The key distinction between these participants seemed to be whether they believed doctoral programs should charge students tuition or fully fund them. Some participants believed that “high-quality doc programs do not make money for institutions” because they should be fully funding doctoral students rather than generating tuition revenue. These participants proposed that faculty should instead be “thinking creatively about funding sources” and seeking alternative methods of offsetting the financial burden on the institution. Examples of identified alternate funding sources included grants and undergraduate teaching opportunities for doctoral students.
Others were aware of this prevailing belief that doctoral programs do not generate revenue and argued the opposite: “Most faculty, when they want to start a doctoral program, they repeat this thing that they hear, which is ‘doctoral programs cost money, they don’t make money.’ And that’s not true.” These participants proposed that student tuition should be used to fund doctoral programs. One participant argued that if tuition exceeded the cost of faculty salaries, the program was likely to be generating revenue. This participant believed that counseling programs could generate money because they were relatively inexpensive. Unlike hard science disciplines, CES doctoral programs do not require expensive lab equipment, and CES faculty salaries are “lower compared to other programs.”
Tangible Benefits to Ecosystem: “How Do We Help?”
Participants discussed that administrator support for a doctoral program can be bolstered through demonstrations of how the program is supporting the local community. One participant shared that their program provides data to administrators about the number of hours of free counseling that the program provides to the community, which in turn helps the dean to gain the provost’s support for the program. Such data can help administrators when they conduct a cost–benefit analysis for whether to start a new program or sustain an existing program. Likewise, another participant encouraged faculty to take an “ecological view” and consider “how do we help . . . the surrounding communities?”
Need for Resources: “Pit Bulls in a Fighting Ring”
Participants discussed the need to address the competition for resources when attempting to gain administrator support. Participants mentioned the scarcity of resources that included faculty positions (i.e., lines) and physical building space. This scarcity resulted in programs needing to compete for resources. One participant stated, “I think we’re all going to be like pit bulls in a fighting ring over resources at this point.” Another participant shared a similar statement: “Once we get outside of our building, it is very territorial. So, we have to basically anticipate resistance from other pockets in the university if we want a new program at the doctoral level.” This participant elaborated that the provost needs to be aware of these dynamics and that faculty should attempt to make a strong case for needing resources if they are in competition with other programs.
Competition for resources seemed to occur not only within a university’s departments but also between CES programs at different universities. Doctoral applicants appear to be increasingly making enrollment decisions based on tuition costs and graduate assistantships, which increases the pressure for programs to provide financial support packages. One participant reported that it is becoming less feasible to operate a doctoral program without “some form of stipend or assistantship” because “if you don’t, there’s too many other programs that do.” This participant elaborated that administrators must support the program with assistantships and concluded, “I wouldn’t try to start a program without it.”
Some participants discussed strategies to maximize resources across the college or school in which the program exists, such as with college-wide methodology courses. Such strategies seemed particularly important when adapting to the pressure of accepting more students to make the program revenue-neutral. One participant suggested that such resource sharing was “of utmost importance… in the early beginnings of programs.”
Faculty and Program Responsibilities
Faculty have more complex responsibilities when operating a doctoral program compared with a master’s program, such as attending conferences with students and engaging in the larger campus community. As one participant stated, “It’s also being at events, interacting with administrators, making sure when walking around campus or buildings that they know who you are and that they can connect with what you’re doing.” Participants explored the economic aspects of the responsibilities that individual faculty members and the larger program have when responsible for the doctoral education of counseling students: “At our institution, you don’t get a lot of credit per se, or release time or extra pay for all of the work it takes to mentor doctoral students.” This credit that is or is not allocated to doctoral education impacts faculty members’ well-being. Another participant cautioned faculty to be aware of “faculty burnout” that accompanies tensions around adequately funding faculty positions: “If you shrink, and you still maintain the same number of students, there is simply not enough time, not enough emotional capacity, to do the good work.” Another participant shared that their doctoral programs felt like “hell on wheels” because “we ended up with a program that had more than 100 students with two real tenured faculty running the program.”
Influence of University: “Know the Size and Culture”
This subtheme represented faculty considerations of the larger university system context where the counseling program is situated. As one participant summarized, “part of it is looking at the context of the program in the university.” Participants particularly referenced size as an influencing factor. As one participant stated, “Know the size and culture of your institution.” University size influenced participants’ access to decision-makers: “We’re so small that I could literally walk out of my office and two minutes later I can be in the provost’s office. I can ask a question. They’re very approachable, and so I don’t feel intimidated.” Understanding the institution’s mission and its funding priorities is crucial to forging successful alliances with administrators regarding whether to start and sustain a CES doctoral program. Understanding where a CES doctoral program fits within the institution’s academic structure therefore helps faculty to effectively communicate with administrators, and consistently reviewing this can help inform ongoing dialogues with administrators.
Identity Landscape
The overarching identity landscape theme represents how programs both understand their internal identity regarding doctoral education, as well as the external identity factors that contribute to the program. Each subtheme is detailed below with participant quotes.
Operationalize and Define Commitment: “Faculty Have to Buy In”
Gaining faculty buy-in prior to conversations with administrators and gaining approval for a doctoral program was a consistent message relayed by participants. One participant reflected, “Everybody has to be on board and has to buy in to the concept that the mission can’t be the mission of one person.” Another participant recommended that faculty leadership (e.g., program directors) need to operationalize this commitment through intentional dialogues with faculty. This participant stated that “the evidence for faculty buy-in isn’t always there until you probe.” They elaborated that faculty leadership can facilitate discussions around the following questions: “Are you willing to do X, are you willing to do Y?” and “If we start a doctoral program, do you feel like you have the skills you’ll need or do you fear that you’re going to be left behind?” Such conversations appeared important to developing a unified collective commitment to the doctoral program, which was critically important when challenges arose. Other participants reflected on personal buy-in and encouraged self-reflection in this regard: “Things to consider including one’s own personal meaning making.” Participants reflected that doctoral education was significantly different than master’s-level education and required a different level of commitment. Administrators are unlikely to support a doctoral program if the faculty are divided in their commitment to the program.
Understanding Differences: “Know What Your Program Is Worth”
Participants spoke about the need for faculty to possess knowledge about multiple aspects of doctoral education when conveying information to administrators. Faculty should be familiar with the differences between master’s and doctoral education, between doctorates in other disciplines within the university, and among doctoral programs at different universities in the state. This information assists faculty “to really know what your program is worth and to be able to explain it.” For example, faculty should make administrators aware of how doctoral education can enhance master’s-level training rather than result in master’s students being “ignored” and treated as “second class citizens.”
Participants indicated that administrators may not be familiar with the counseling profession and thus may need education. Participants reported the need for “educating your administrative colleagues about what counselor ed is, what they do, how we train.” Another participant stated that “even at the dean level, they don’t know what the heck a mental health counselor is. Not a clue.” Consistent with this, administrators may also need information about other aspects of the profession, such as the value of specialized accreditation. One participant reported, “I think that we can do a better job of telling our admin the pros of CACREP versus the cons.” Education about CACREP accreditation was important because of the costs associated with accreditation fees and hiring core faculty to meet the CACREP doctoral standards.
Quality in Programs: “High-Quality Output”
Participants reflected on the importance of program quality as a reflection of the programs’ overall identity. Program outputs seemed to be a particularly important measure of program quality. Some participants, particularly those at research-intensive universities, emphasized the importance of research-related outputs such as “grants, high-quality output, and visibility.” Across participants, employment rates were a particularly important measure of program quality, especially employment in academic and administrative jobs post-graduation. Participants reported that such metrics were useful as a “selling point” to administrators, especially if needs existed for doctoral-level graduates in the local area. As one participant stated, “Some of those outcomes become really important to administrators, and I think that we need to be good at putting those outcomes in front of them.”
Participants also shared concerns with program quality. These concerns often centered on admitting more students than can be adequately mentored through the dissertation process. One participant was “concerned about doc programs that bring in cohorts of 20 and churn them out” because they feared that “big doc programs” are “just course-based models without a whole lot happening outside of that. . . . And, you know, I worry about dissertation mentoring.”
Program accreditation was explored as an influencing factor in program quality that ultimately influences the overall program identity through reputation. One participant stated, “We built the program around the accreditation standards and took those standards very seriously.” Another participant explored how the accreditation process can influence administrators’ opinions of the program: “If we had bombed that visit, from the president to the vice president on down, we would have looked really bad.”
Advancing the Institutional Mission: “It Has to Match”
Study participants commented on the importance of the identity of the doctoral program connecting to the mission of the larger institution. One participant encouraged faculty to consider the institutional mission when communicating with administrators: “When we advocate for programs, we need to understand the mission of the institution.” This participant reported that administrators in a university that values community service may be in favor of doctoral programs that “create more service providers for the local community.” Another participant stated that “it has to match the university’s mission. I hear that more and more and more.” This participant acknowledged that a proposed doctoral program would only receive administrative support if it “fits with the strategic plan of the university.” Participants indicated that the program should align not only with the institutional mission but also with the mission of the college or school where the program is housed.
Stakeholder Dynamics: “Making the Administrators Happy”
Participants discussed the variety of stakeholders that faculty should consider when developing a CES doctoral program. Such stakeholders include the students being educated, faculty in the program, administrators who make decisions about the program, and employers of future program graduates. Participants reflected that each stakeholder group can contribute meaningfully to the identity of the program.
At times, a stakeholder group’s contributions and agendas may be at odds with those of another stakeholder group. This is particularly problematic when tensions exist between a stakeholder group and administrators. For example, faculty may prefer a smaller program than administrators. One participant stated that “one of the things that I’ve fought with faculty about my whole life, has been that [faculty] want small classes and they want few students.” This participant added that administrators tend to close smaller programs when pressured to cull the number of doctoral programs at an institution, and thus smaller size represents a potential threat to the program: “Any time an administrator is going to cut a program or deny resources to a program, they do it with the program with the least number of students in it. It’s just the absolute way it’s done.” This participant proposed that faculty stakeholders must therefore understand the dynamics of higher education administration when advocating, as “making the administrators happy with the numbers” is an important priority.
Discussion
In this study, we conducted a qualitative analysis of interviews with 15 experts in the field to examine the research question. We identified participant-reported strategies for gaining initial and ongoing support from administrators for a CES doctoral program. The overarching themes of political, economic, and identity landscapes emerged from the data, alongside associated strategies necessary for gaining support. Navigation of complex university systems, including accreditation, finances, legal concerns, infrastructure, and politics, seem to be required for successful initial administrator approval of a CES doctoral program. Awareness of institutional mission and history, purpose, community needs, fiscal realities, and the university’s organizational chart also can facilitate approval and successful program sustenance.
Implications for CES Faculty
The findings from this study may be utilized by existing master’s degree counseling program faculty who want to create a CES doctoral program. Faculty should embark on a data-driven process to inform administrators of tangible benefits across multiple systems and articulate the financial resources necessary for long-term success. As new CES doctoral programs are proposed, faculty should ensure that university administrators are aware of the relative worth of counselors and counselor educators, particularly in contrast to other mental health disciplines that may exist on campus. They may need to document the tangible benefits that CES programs bring to the university that are in alignment with the university’s mission and strategic plan. In 2013, Adkison-Bradley noted, “As universities change and grow, academic programs are often required to justify their request for resources or asked to explain how they uniquely contribute to the overall mission of the college and surrounding communities” (p. 48). Faculty could benefit from open dialogue with administrators and mentors about what it costs the institution to have a doctoral program compared to what revenue and resources a doctoral program can generate. CES faculty also can provide data to explain how accreditation requirements that may appear expensive to administrators (e.g., 1:6 faculty–student ratios in practica; 1:12 faculty–student ratios) do benefit students, clients, and communities, including protection of “broad public interests” (Urofsky, 2013, p. 13).
Faculty must engage in systemic thought that goes beyond the program and department. Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) ecological systems model provides a useful model for program faculty to understand. This model includes four main systems in which individuals exist—microsystem, mesosystem, exosystem, and macrosystem, with each system growing in size and complexity. Faculty without this perspective risk experiencing their department in a bubble and may not realize how their smaller microsystem (i.e., program, department) fits within the larger macrosystem of the university. The political landscape can become entangled in the developing exosystem where these systems overlap. This exosystem includes considerations for the college’s or school’s strategic priorities where the doctoral program is located. Faculty also should consider larger systemic interactions, such as the doctoral program’s relationship with the local community, with other master’s and doctoral programs in the state, and with other doctoral programs nationally.
The 2016 CACREP Standards (2015) require doctoral education to focus on leadership. However, the standards require this education to be in relation to counselor education programs and in professional organizations, not specifically in institutions of higher education as larger systems. It is unknown how or if students receive formal education about how to navigate university systems, as it is not typically included in CES doctoral program curricula. However, in our own personal experiences as faculty members and doctoral students, we have found that this knowledge seems to be acquired through observation, experience, and on-the-job mentoring. Unfortunately, this learning may occur when new and junior faculty are under pressure to establish themselves for tenure and promotion. Senior faculty, including those nearing retirement, are likely to possess this systemic knowledge and understanding. This knowledge could be conveyed via formal or informal mentoring programs; however, junior faculty in counselor education programs report a lack of mentoring experiences (Borders et al., 2011). The lack of mentoring could be from a variety of reasons, as junior faculty members may be intimidated by senior faculty (Savage et al., 2004), or senior faculty may lack the commitment to put forth the long-term effort to gain support for a new CES doctoral program.
Faculty must be willing to invest in learning about the processes involved in doctoral program creation—to listen, be respectful, and exercise patience for the time required for program approval, funding, and development. The results of this study indicate that program generation is a political process, and junior faculty must be aware of their environment. Faculty have different levels of input and leadership at different institutions, such as with different forms of shared governance (Crellin, 2010). Faculty who do not understand political savviness, the role of fiscal constraints, and the historical precedents for doctoral program initiation may struggle more than those who understand the lens by which individual institutional decisions are made.
Implications for University Administrators
University administrators could utilize the results of this study to understand how to work with faculty who are requesting the initiation of a new doctoral program. Administrators could consider establishing dedicated time and orientation to new and junior faculty to assist them in conceptualizing how faculty requests are prioritized within the institution, perhaps via a formal mentoring program (Savage et al., 2004). For example, if the university’s current vision is to respond to the lack of STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) graduates in the local job market, counseling faculty could better manage their expectations about the estimated timeline of new degree program creation while aligning their new CES doctoral degree proposal to a more attainable target date. Communication about the timeline of decisions and the patience involved in systemic change (e.g., state legislature involvement) could also benefit the faculty perspective. Opportunities for learning about the organization are a crucial ingredient in organizational change (Boyce, 2003).
Although it is the responsibility of deans and department chairs to communicate the university’s vision and strategic plan, administrators should also trust the CES faculty’s distinct knowledge of the field and dynamic accreditation standards. Faculty are uniquely qualified to anticipate shifts in the profession that could impact their programs. From our experience, CES faculty who serve as internship clinical supervisors may also possess unique knowledge of the needs of the surrounding communities through their supervisees’ reports of client needs.
It is suggested that administrators include a university organizational chart in new faculty orientation or in the faculty handbook so that faculty can be aware of the hierarchy within the university. The orientation should include a clear explanation of how the particular institution prioritizes agendas and provide a history of the institution, with specific examples of prior program creation in the face of competing needs (e.g., missions, financial). Faculty can then understand how the university invests in its future.
Limitations and Suggestions for Future Research
Several limitations exist with qualitative research in general, and with this unique project specifically. In general, qualitative research is limited by researcher bias, interviewer bias, interviewee bias, and participant demographics (Corbin & Strauss, 2015). To control for potential bias during the analysis process, the coding team used several strategies to enhance trustworthiness, including recruiting coding team members who had identities as both CES faculty and administrators, bracketing biases throughout coding, using consensus to resolve discrepancies in coding, and using memos to document decisions. Future studies could seek to triangulate the data from this study to determine whether the findings are transferable to the perspectives of other faculty in CES doctoral programs.
The focus of this particular research study was to explore faculty perspectives regarding how to gain administrative support for initiating and sustaining CES doctoral programs. As such, the perspectives of administrators were not surveyed regarding how to gain administrative support for CES doctoral programs (beyond those counselor educator faculty participants who have served in administrative roles). Future studies, perhaps in the form of quantitative research, could include these perspectives to determine whether the perspectives of CES doctoral faculty are consistent or divergent with administrator experiences regarding how to work effectively with administrators.
We sought to understand strategies for successfully gaining initial and ongoing administrative support for a CES doctoral program. This exploration included both participants who had recently started new programs and those who had long worked in CES doctoral programs. However, an analysis of thematic differences between participants who had and had not spearheaded the creation of a CES doctoral program was not conducted. Future research could explore whether strategies varied for those who had recently started a CES doctoral program versus those who had not. In addition, data were not organized and analyzed by differences in participants’ institution type (i.e., private or public), because it was outside the scope of the research question. Finally, the study focused solely on faculty at CACREP-accredited institutions. It is unknown whether the perspectives of participants in this study would be consistent with faculty at non–CACREP-accredited institutions.
Conclusion
The counseling profession continues its efforts to address the pipeline shortage of doctoral-level CES faculty to meet CACREP accreditation requirements. To meet this need, some master’s-level programs are seeking to start CES doctoral programs. The findings from this study may be useful to CES faculty when planning a strategic approach for collaboration with administrators regarding the initiation of new CES doctoral programs. This strategic approach will involve exploring political elements, economical components, and the identity of the proposed program. The findings of this study indicate these areas of knowledge promote a more comprehensive planning process to help prepare for working with administrators on the creation of a doctoral program.
Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.
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Rebecca Scherer, PhD, NCC, ACS, CPC, is an assistant professor at St. Bonaventure University. Regina Moro, PhD, NCC, BC-TMH, LPC, LMHC, LCAS, is an associate professor at Boise State University. Tara Jungersen, PhD, NCC, CCMHC, LMHC, is an associate professor and department chair at Nova Southeastern University. Leslie Contos, NCC, CCMHC, LCPC, is a doctoral candidate at Governors State University. Thomas A. Field, PhD, NCC, CCMHC, ACS, LPC, LMHC, is an assistant professor at the Boston University School of Medicine. Correspondence may be addressed to Rebecca Scherer, B43 Plassman Hall, 3261 West State Road, St. Bonaventure, NY 14778, rscherer@sbu.edu.
Mar 9, 2020 | Volume 10 - Issue 1
Ryan M. Cook, Laura E. Welfare, Connie T. Jones
This study examined the incidence of intentional nondisclosure by postgraduate, prelicensed counselors receiving supervision as they pursue licensure, which has not been previously examined. Examining the responses of 107 prelicensed counselors, we found that 95.3% reported withholding some degree of information from their supervisors, and 53.3% completely withheld a concern from their supervisors. Participants completely withheld supervision-related incidents (e.g., negative reactions to supervisor, questioning supervisor’s competency) more frequently than they withheld client-related incidents (e.g., clinical mistakes, personal issues). We offer strategies for prelicensed counselors, supervisors, counselor educators, and counselor credentialing bodies to reduce intentional nondisclosure. These strategies include creating a collaborative environment, developing supervision contracts, and attending to power differentials in supervision.
Keywords: intentional nondisclosure, clinical supervision, prelicensed counselors, supervisors, counselor educators
Counselors who desire licensure as full, independent professional counselors must complete a postgraduate supervised field experience (Henriksen et al., 2019). The primary purpose of postgraduate supervision is to ensure that prelicensed counselors provide counseling services that are in accordance with legal, ethical, and professional standards as they begin their professional careers (Borders et al., 2011; Magnuson et al., 2000). Unlike university-based supervision, to which prelicensed counselors are more accustomed (Magnuson et al., 2000), postgraduate supervision requires prelicensed counselors to regularly self-direct their supervision experience. That is, in postgraduate supervision, prelicensed counselors are called to more autonomously self-identify their clinical concerns and developmental needs, and to convey this information to their supervisors (Cook & Sackett, 2018).
Although supervisees’ self-reports can enrich the supervision process (Noelle, 2002), relying on prelicensed counselors to self-select information to share with their supervisor may be problematic (Ladany et al., 1996). While supervision is intended to facilitate supervisees’ professional development, there also is an evaluative component inherent in the supervisory relationship (Borders et al., 2011). The supervisor’s evaluations of the supervisee’s clinical performance are tied to their professional progress (i.e., obtaining full, independent licensure; Magnuson et al., 2000). As such, it benefits supervisees to present themselves in a manner that will yield positive evaluations from their supervisors and to withhold information that could result in their supervisors developing a negative perception of their clinical competencies (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018; Ladany et al., 1996).
Supervisees withholding information from their supervisors is a well-established phenomenon in supervision literature (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018; Gibson, et al., 2019; Hess et al., 2008; Ladany et al., 1996). Termed supervisee nondisclosure, researchers have shown that the frequency of supervisee nondisclosure in clinical supervision is high—ranging from 60% to 97.2% (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018; Ladany et al., 1996; Mehr et al., 2010). But these studies were based on samples of counselors-in-training (CITs) or trainees in allied professions such as psychology. To date, only one qualitative study has examined the phenomenon of nondisclosure in a sample of postgraduate supervisees. Sweeney and Creaner (2014) found that counseling psychology graduates in Ireland (N = 6), like supervisees in mental health training programs (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018; Ladany et al., 1996), commonly withhold information from their supervisors.
What seems most problematic are the instances in which a supervisee identifies a concern or perceives an issue and decides to withhold it from their supervisors anyway (Cook & Welfare, 2018; Yourman & Farber, 1996). These instances are known as supervisee intentional nondisclosure. Ladany and colleagues (1996) suggested that the information being intentionally withheld by supervisees is likely to be the most important information to their clinical and professional development. As such, supervisees who withhold information may inadvertently undermine their own professional growth.
Supervision scholars (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018; Gibson et al., 2019; Hess et al., 2008; Ladany et al., 1996) have found that the types of information withheld by supervisees can be broadly categorized into supervision-related incidents (e.g., negative reactions to a supervisor, evaluation concerns, fears of correcting a supervisor, concerns about the process of supervision) and client-related incidents (e.g., clinical mistakes, general reactions to clients, concerns about lack of professional competencies). The reasons for these intentional nondisclosures most often point to issues in the supervisory relationship (e.g., supervisory working alliance; Cook & Welfare, 2018; Hess et al., 2008), supervisee personality traits (e.g., attachment styles; Cook & Welfare, 2018), and supervisor–supervisee power differentials (e.g., fear of negative evaluation concerns, desire to present oneself favorably to the supervisor; Hess et al., 2008; Ladany et al., 1996). In total, the types of information being intentionally withheld by supervisees, as well as the reasons for their nondisclosures, reflect issues that are inherent in a hierarchal and evaluative relationship such as the supervisory relationship (Hess et al., 2008; Mehr et al., 2010; Sweeney & Creaner, 2014).
Prelicensed counselors, like CITs and supervisees from allied professions, experience similarly high stakes in clinical supervision. However, as described in detail below, postgraduate supervision differs from university-based supervision (Magnuson et al., 2000), and prelicensed counselors are more advanced in their professional development as compared to CITs (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003). For these reasons, the salient issues that prelicensed counselors are hesitant or unwilling to discuss with their supervisors might differ from those of CITs. Relatedly, the degree to which they fail to disclose information might also differ. Thus, in our investigation we examined the types of information being withheld in postgraduate supervision by 107 prelicensed counselors and the degree to which they were unwilling to discuss their concerns with their supervisors.
Postgraduate Supervision for Licensure
Postgraduate supervision is required for counselors who desire licensure as full and independent professional counselors in all 50 states in the United States as well as Guam, Puerto Rico, and the District of Columbia. The specific requirements of postgraduate supervision differ in each licensing jurisdiction (e.g., frequency of supervision, hours of required supervision; Henriksen et al., 2019). Although prelicensed counselors often are more self-aware of their client needs and developmental concerns than CITs (Loganbill et al., 1982; Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003; Stoltenberg & McNeill, 2010), prelicensed counselors also are facing new challenges as counselors such as managing more complex caseloads (Freadling & Foss-Kelly, 2014) and possibly questioning their own clinical competencies (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003). Thus, a supervised field experience is critical to helping prelicensed counselors transition from CITs to professional counselors (Henriksen et al., 2019).
As compared to university-based supervision, there are unique features of postgraduate supervision for prelicensed counselors (Magnuson et al., 2000). Namely, prelicensed counselors engaged in postgraduate supervision are tasked to self-direct their supervision experience (Cook & Sackett, 2018) more than they were during university-based supervision. For example, prelicensed counselors may have less access to their supervisors than they did during their graduate training. Henriksen et al. (2019) conducted a content analysis of supervision requirements for postgraduate supervision. Based on their findings, no jurisdiction required supervisors and supervisees engaging in postgraduate supervision to meet at a frequency that equaled the Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs’ (CACREP) required averages of an hour of individual supervision or 1.5 hours of group supervision per week. It is important to note that it is certainly possible for prelicensed counselors to meet with their supervisors more than is required, but these standards provide a useful benchmark. Prelicensed counselors also may have fewer opportunities than CITs for their clinical work to be directly observed by their supervisors (Magnuson et al., 2000), which could perpetuate the supervisors’ reliance on supervisees’ self-report in supervision (Cook & Sackett, 2018) and unintentionally encourage supervisee nondisclosure (Ladany et al., 1996). For example, Fall and Sutton (2004) found that prelicensed counselors used self-report in their supervision sessions 80% of the time. Comparatively, other methods to monitor supervisees’ work, such as direct observation of a counseling session, audio and video recording, or live supervision, were used far less often (each used 10% of the time).
In addition, the interpersonal dynamics between supervisor and supervisee in postgraduate supervision may differ from those experienced during university-based supervision. Unlike the development-oriented process of university-based supervision, Magnuson et al. (2000) poignantly described postgraduate supervision as a “business relationship” (p. 177). Some prelicensed counselors pay for supervision from someone who does not work at their place of employment, while other prelicensed counselors work with a supervisor at their place of employment (Magnuson et al., 2000). In the latter situation, the supervisors providing clinical supervision also can be evaluating the prelicensed counselor as an administrative supervisor. Although the dual roles may be logistically advantageous for agencies, having combined clinical and administrative supervision could be problematic (Borders et al., 2011; Magnuson et al., 2000). In sum, as compared to university-based supervision, the businesslike nature of postgraduate supervision as well as the heavy reliance on prelicensed counselors to self-direct their supervision experience can change how these counselors utilize intentional nondisclosure in postgraduate supervision.
The degree to which prelicensed counselors are willing to disclose information to their supervisors has implications for clinical supervisors as well. Clinical supervisors assume legal responsibility for the quality of services rendered to their supervisees’ clients (Magnuson et al. 2000). With the dependence on prelicensed counselors to self-report information in clinical supervision (Fall & Sutton, 2004) and the potential absence of regular direct observation (Gray & Erickson, 2013; Magnuson et al., 2000), supervisors are reliant on prelicensed counselors to accurately recall details of their counseling work and to honestly discuss their developmental needs. If prelicensed counselors, like CITs, were to feel unsure about presenting themselves honestly to their supervisors, their decision could unintentionally undermine the work of their clinical supervisors, who have a legal duty to their supervisees and the supervisees’ clients (Magnuson et al., 2000).
No study has examined what prelicensed counselors perceive as salient in their clinical supervision experience and the degree to which they are willing to discuss concerns with their supervisors. Postgraduate supervision is critically important to a counselor’s developmental growth (Henriksen et al., 2019). Prelicensed counselors are mandated to receive clinical supervision (Henriksen et al., 2019), which means that supervisee intentional nondisclosure is a relevant issue. As such, an investigation of supervisee intentional nondisclosure in a sample of postgraduate, prelicensed counselors is needed. Therefore, the aim of our study was to examine prelicensed counselors’ self-reported incidents of intentional nondisclosure in clinical supervision. Specifically, our investigation was guided by two research questions: (a) What is the frequency of intentional nondisclosure in clinical supervision as reported by prelicensed counselors, and (b) Which concerns do prelicensed counselors find most difficult to discuss with clinical supervisors?
Method
Participants and Procedures
Participants in the current study were prelicensed counselors pursuing full, independent licensure as professional counselors. We aimed to recruit a nationally representative sample, so we obtained mailing addresses for persons pursuing licensure in two states in each of the five Association for Counselor Education and Supervision (ACES) regions. Specifically, we solicited participation from prelicensed counselors in Arkansas, Colorado, Idaho, Iowa, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, Texas, Vermont, and Washington. We randomly selected up to 150 names from each state. After eliminating and replacing unverifiable mailing addresses, we identified 1,347 potential participants. We first received IRB approval and then solicited participation by mailing paper-and-pencil survey packets to the potential participants. We asked participants to anonymously respond about their current, licensed clinical supervisor. Participants returned the surveys to the authors using a prepaid envelope. Of the 1,347 mailed packets, 330 packets (24.5%) were “returned to sender” and never received by the potential participants. Of the remaining 1,017 packets distributed to potential participants, 109 survey packets were returned. However, two participants’ responses were incomplete and subsequently removed. The number of usable packets was 107, resulting in a response rate of 10.5%. This response rate, although low, is consistent with previous survey research employing a mailing recruitment strategy (Barden et al., 2017). Because data collection was anonymous, we are unable to identify the state of origin for participants included in our sample.
The age of participants ranged from 24 to 67 (M = 38.79, SD = 11.20). The majority of participants identified as White (83.2%), while eight participants identified as Hispanic (7.5%), five participants identified as African American/Black (4.7%), two participants identified as Asian (1.9%), two participants identified as Multiracial (1.9%), and one participant did not respond to this item (0.9%). Eighty-five participants identified as female (79.4%), 21 participants identified as male (19.6%), and one participant identified as non-binary (0.9%). The demographic characteristics of the participants in the current study are comparable to counseling professionals in general (CACREP, 2018). On average, the participants received 64.73 (SD = 29.79) minutes of clinical supervision per week. Finally, 56 participants were assigned a supervisor at their job (51.4%), 28 paid for supervision from someone who did not work at their employment site (26.4%), 17 chose a supervisor at their place of employment (15.9%), and six participants indicated other (5.6%; e.g., free supervision from someone outside their job).
Measures
Supervisee Nondisclosure Scale (SNDS)
The SNDS is an instrument designed to capture the degree to which participants disclosed or withheld information to their supervisors (Ellis & Colvin, 2016; Siembor, 2012). Siembor (2012) developed a pool of 30 items, informed by prior research on nondisclosure (Hess et al., 2008; Ladany et al., 1996). Participants indicate their level of disclosure using a 7-point Likert scale with three defined levels: (1 = fully disclosed, 4 = sometimes disclosed, 7 = decided not to disclose). Higher scores indicate higher levels of nondisclosure. Participants are given the option to select not applicable for items describing incidents that have not occurred during their supervision experiences. The items include information related to the supervision experience (e.g., “Negative reactions that I had about my supervisor’s behavior or attitudes”) and items related to the supervisee’s clinical work (e.g., “Clinical mistakes that I did make”). Abbreviated item stems for all 30 SNDS items are presented in Table 1. The internal reliability of all 30 items was strong (α = .88, n = 107) and consistent with prior research (α = .84; McKibben et al., 2018).
Demographic Survey
We created a survey to collect self-report demographic data for both the supervisee and supervisor (e.g., gender, race). We also asked participants to share about the details of their supervision experience (e.g., time in supervision, administrative versus clinical supervision, selecting a supervisor).
Results
Across all 30 SNDS items, 95.3% of the participants reported some degree of intentional nondisclosure (i.e., partially or fully withheld) for at least one item. The number of incidents of intentional nondisclosure endorsed by participants ranged from 0 to 26 (M = 10.68; SD = 6.62). Also, 53.3% indicated that they fully withheld information from their clinical supervisor for at least one item. The range of incidents completely withheld by participants was 0 to 14 (M = 1.73, SD = 2.6). This finding suggests that intentional nondisclosure by prelicensed counselors in clinical supervision is quite common.
The Frequency of Intentional Nondisclosure in Clinical Supervision
To address the first research question, we examined the frequency of participants who responded that they utilized intentional nondisclosure on each item (i.e., what percent withheld information?). To do so, we analyzed the self-reported responses on each item using the four groups: not applicable, fully disclosed, sometimes disclosed, and decided not to disclose (see Table 1). For each item, participant responses of not applicable were categorized in the not applicable group, responses of 1 were categorized in the fully disclosed group, responses of 2 to 6 were categorized in the sometimes disclosed group, and responses of 7 were categorized in the decided not to disclose group. The incidence of partial or complete nondisclosure per item ranged from 69.2% (“disagreement with one’s supervisor”) to 1.9% (“supervisor attraction issue”), and the average incidence across the items was 35.6% (SD = 15.8%). After “disagreement with one’s supervisor,” the items with the highest incidence rates were “negative reaction to supervisors’ behavior or attitudes” (66.3%), “perceived that my supervisor is wrong” (60.7%), “personal issue” (49.6%), and “personally identifying with a client” (e.g., countertransference; 48.6%). In addition to revealing what supervisees chose to withhold, the results indicated issues that did not emerge in supervision and those that emerged but were fully disclosed. For example, items frequently marked not applicable were “supervisor attraction issue” (97.2%), “client attraction issue” (86.9%), “unsafe in supervision” (86.0%), and “supervisors’ attire and/or appearance” (84.1%). In contrast, “client information” and “clinical mistake” came up often and were fully disclosed.
Table 1
Incidence of Intentional Nondisclosure by Prelicensed Counselors in Clinical Supervision for State Licensure as Professional Counselors
| Incident of Potential Intentional Nondisclosure |
N |
M (SD) |
Not Applicable
n (%) |
Fully Disclosed
n (%) |
Sometimes Disclosed
n (%) |
Decided Not to Disclose
n (%)a |
| Negative reaction to supervisors’ behavior or attitudes SRI |
106 |
3.49 (2.71) |
29 (27.1%) |
6 (5.6%) |
47 (43.9%) |
24 (22.4%) |
| Supervisors’ competence SRI |
107 |
2.16 (2.87) |
63 (58.9%) |
2 (1.9%) |
24 (22.4%) |
18 (16.8%) |
| Needs not being met in supervision SRI |
107 |
2.22 (2.83) |
60 (56.1%) |
4 (3.7%) |
27 (25.2%) |
16 (15.0%) |
| Supervisors’ display of stereotypes or bias SRI |
106 |
1.85 (2.54) |
63 (58.0%) |
2 (1.9%) |
30 (28.0%) |
11 (10.3%) |
| Supervisors’ attire and/or appearance SRI |
106 |
0.99 (2.37) |
90 (84.1%) |
0 (0.0%) |
6 (5.6%) |
10 (9.3%) |
| Consult with peer and/or another supervisor SRI |
105 |
1.62 (2.19) |
45 (42.1%) |
26 (24.3%) |
24 (22.4%) |
10 (9.3%) |
| Supervision process concerns SRI |
107 |
1.85 (2.42) |
56 (52.3%) |
9 (8.4%) |
33 (30.8%) |
9 (8.4%) |
| Power differentials SRI |
106 |
1.25 (2.35) |
76 (71.0%) |
6 (5.6%) |
15 (14.0%) |
9 (8.4%) |
| Focus of supervision SRI |
107 |
1.86 (2.50) |
58 (54.2%) |
9 (8.4%) |
32 (29.9%) |
8 (7.5%) |
| Unsafe in supervision SRI |
106 |
0.78 (2.09) |
92 (86.0%) |
0 (0.0%) |
6 (5.6%) |
8 (7.5%) |
Perceived that my supervisor
is wrong SRI |
106 |
2.78 (2.42) |
30 (28.0%) |
11 (10.3%) |
58 (54.2%) |
7 (6.5%) |
| Disagreement with one’s supervisor SRI |
106 |
2.92 (2.01) |
13 (12.1%) |
19 (17.8%) |
68 (63.6%) |
6 (5.6%) |
| Supervision format issues SRI |
106 |
1.79 (2.36) |
56 (52.3%) |
10 (9.3%) |
34 (31.8%) |
6 (5.6%) |
| Personal issue CRI |
107 |
2.22 (1.82) |
9 (8.4%) |
45 (42.1%) |
48 (44.9%) |
5 (4.7%) |
| Personally identify with client (e.g., countertransference) CRI |
106 |
2.08 (1.74) |
9 (8.4%) |
45 (42.1%) |
47 (43.9%) |
5 (4.7%) |
| Evaluation concern SRI |
106 |
1.75 (2.03) |
38 (35.5%) |
29 (27.1%) |
35 (32.7%) |
4 (3.7%) |
| Client attraction issue CRI |
106 |
0.43 (1.48) |
93 (86.9%) |
5 (4.7%) |
4 (3.7%) |
4 (3.7%) |
| Client attracted to counselor CRI |
107 |
0.70 (1.49) |
74 (69.2%) |
17 (15.9%) |
13 (12.1%) |
3 (2.8%) |
| Positive reaction to supervisor SRI |
107 |
1.87 (1.50) |
3 (2.8%) |
63 (58.9%) |
38 (35.5%) |
3 (2.8%) |
| Issues with colleague SRI |
107 |
1.68 (1.75) |
27 (25.2%) |
40 (37.4%) |
37 (34.6%) |
3 (2.8%) |
| Positive reaction to client CRI |
106 |
1.62 (1.47) |
11 (10.3%) |
59 (55.1%) |
33 (30.8%) |
3 (2.8%) |
| Feeling inadequate CRI |
105 |
2.09 (1.59) |
6 (5.6%) |
50 (46.7%) |
47 (43.9%) |
2 (1.9%) |
| Clinic setting concerns CRI |
107 |
1.88 (1.62) |
12 (11.2%) |
51 (47.7%) |
42 (39.3%) |
2 (1.9%) |
| Supervisor attraction issue SRI |
106 |
0.13 (0.96) |
104 (97.2%) |
0 (0.0%) |
0 (0.0%) |
2 (1.9%) |
| Unprofessional behavior with client CRI |
107 |
1.13 (1.75) |
62 (57.9%) |
15 (14.0%) |
27 (25.2%) |
2 (1.9%) |
| Future clinical mistake CRI |
107 |
1.89 (1.37) |
63 (58.9%) |
20 (18.7%) |
43 (40.2%) |
1 (0.9%) |
| Clinical mistake CRI |
106 |
1.65 (1.31) |
3 (2.8%) |
71 (66.4%) |
31 (29.0%) |
1 (0.9%) |
Unfavorable client–counselor
interaction CRI |
107 |
1.78 (1.88) |
41 (38.2%) |
17 (15.9%) |
48 (44.9%) |
1 (0.9%) |
| Client information CRI |
106 |
1.36 (1.15) |
8 (7.5%) |
77 (72.0%) |
20 (18.7%) |
1 (0.9%) |
| Negative reaction to client CRI |
107 |
1.79 (1.35) |
6 (5.6%) |
58 (54.2%) |
42 (39.3%) |
1 (0.9%) |
Note. Percentages may not equal 100% for each item because of rounding.
SRI = Supervision-Related Incident
CRI = Client-Related Incident
a = Items are ranked based on incidence of total nondisclosure (i.e., score of 7).
The Most Difficult to Discuss Items
In addition to the per-item incidence rates, we also calculated which concerns were most often totally withheld from supervisors. We hoped to understand what items participants might be completely unwilling to discuss in supervision. Interestingly, we ranked all 30 SNDS items by the number of participants who reported using total nondisclosure, and this revealed that the 13 items with the highest endorsement were all supervision-related incidents. There were 24 participants (22.4%) who reported completely withholding their negative reaction to their supervisors’ behavior or attitudes. Relatedly, 18 participants (16.8%) did not discuss their concerns about their supervisors’ competence, and 16 participants (15.0%) did not tell their supervisors that they believed they were not getting enough out of supervision. Regarding client-related incidents, the highest-rated total nondisclosure was personal issues related to work with clients, which was reported by five participants (4.7%). The full results regarding the most difficult to discuss items are presented in Table 1.
Discussion
Our study examined the incidence of intentional nondisclosure by prelicensed counselors receiving postgraduate supervision for licensure as professional counselors. We found that 95.3% of prelicensed counselors in this study reported they withheld some degree of information from their clinical supervisors. This was comparable to the rates of intentional nondisclosure by trainees from allied professions (Ladany et al., 1996; Mehr et al., 2010). On average, participants reported 10.68 of 30 (SD = 6.62) intentional nondisclosures in clinical supervision, which also is comparable to the 8.06 nondisclosures reported by psychology trainees in the study by Ladany et al. (1996), although we should acknowledge that Ladany et al. used a different measure to capture incidents of nondisclosure in their study. Like allied professions, intentional nondisclosure by postgraduate, prelicensed counselors appears to be routine in clinical supervision. Further, we surmise that even though postgraduate, prelicensed counselors are more developmentally advanced than CITs (e.g., self-aware, motivated; Stoltenberg & McNeill, 2010), in a hierarchical and evaluative relationship such as clinical supervision, they too will withhold information. This suggests that prelicensed counselors, who are empowered to self-direct their postgraduate supervision experience, are doing just that—they are self-directing their supervision experience, including editing or concealing concerns about their clients and supervision experience from their supervisors. As such, supervisors who are reliant on supervisee self-report may not be getting a full picture of supervisee concerns or needs. This finding reveals implications for prelicensed counselors and supervisors alike. Delving further into the types of incidents being withheld in postgraduate supervision, as well as the frequency of these incidents, can help tell a more complete story of supervisee intentional nondisclosure by prelicensed counselors.
Overall, we found that participants were more willing to discuss commonly occurring client-related incidents than they were to disclose supervision-related incidents. However, the participants still reported hesitancy in disclosing many of their client-related concerns. This is evidenced by participants identifying client-related issues as salient issues to their supervision experience, and although they withheld some degree of this information from their clinical supervisors, they did not completely withhold the information. Although prior research has found that supervisees are less apprehensive to discuss client-related issues with their clinical supervisors (Ladany et al., 1996; Mehr et al., 2010; Yourman & Farber, 1996), there may be unique differences for prelicensed counselors that help to explain the findings from the current study. Notably, it is possible that as theorized (Loganbill et al., 1982; Stoltenberg & McNeill, 2010), prelicensed counselors are better able to self-monitor their own needs. As prelicensed counselors gain more clinical experience, they are able to autonomously address their client-related concerns (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003) and do not need to fully elaborate on their client-related concerns to their supervisors. However, when prompted by a survey such as this one, they recognize that there is more information to share about the incident (i.e., some degree of nondisclosure). Also, given the limited time in supervision for licensure, prelicensed counselors appear to need to prioritize specific information about their clinical work and seek guidance about their most pressing clinical needs (Cook & Sackett, 2018). Thus, at times they are unable to fully discuss the intricacies of their client caseloads.
We also found that prelicensed counselors are most hesitant and sometimes unwilling to discuss supervision-related concerns with their clinical supervisors. In the current study, the most common nondisclosures included disagreements with one’s supervisor, negative perceptions of one’s supervisor, and believing one’s supervisor was wrong, all directly pertaining to the supervisor. High levels of nondisclosure in relation to these types of incidents have been reported in prior research with psychology trainees (Mehr et al., 2010). Prelicensed counselors are likely to have started to develop their own counseling style (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003), which may or may not align with their supervisors’ approach to counseling. As such, it is likely that supervisees sometimes disagree with their supervisors or believe that their supervisor handled a situation poorly (Magnuson et al., 2002). It is possible that supervisees’ concerns about voicing dissent to their supervisors could reflect a weak or insecure supervisory relationship, which has been found to be a significant predictor of nondisclosure (Cook & Welfare, 2018; Mehr et al., 2010).
A little more than half of the participants (53.3%) reported that they completely withheld information from their supervisors. That is, these participants recognized something as being salient in their clinical supervision but refrained from disclosing any information about their concern with their supervisor. Perhaps most startling, the top 13 items (out of 30 items total) were all supervision-related incidents and some of these incidents occurred with staggering frequency. For example, a number of participants completely withheld their negative reactions to their supervisor’s behavior or attitudes (22.4%), never disclosed that they questioned their supervisor’s competence (16.8%), and declined to discuss that their needs were not being met in supervision (15.0%). These findings underscore the inherent power imbalance between supervisees and supervisors (Cook, McKibben, & Wind, 2018; De Stefano et al., 2017; Ladany et al., 1996). Although prelicensed counselors perceive concerns about their supervisor or their supervision experience, they are unwilling to broach these topics with their evaluative supervisors (Gibson et al., 2019).
It is difficult to say why the participants in the current study felt unfulfilled by their supervision experience or wondered about their supervisors’ competencies. We must exercise judgment before assuming that the supervisors of the participants in the current study were providing substandard supervision (Ellis et al., 2014). However, it also seems important that supervisees perceive their postgraduate supervision experience as a meaningful one, given the stakes associated with clinical supervision (Magnuson et al., 2000). For example, many prelicensed counselors pay for supervision, which can be a substantial financial investment for new prelicensed counselors. Relatedly, in situations in which prelicensed counselors’ clinical supervisors also are their administrative supervisors, sustained employment may depend on the supervisor’s favorable review. Regardless, these findings highlight the importance of outlining clear expectations of clinical supervision for supervisees (Magnuson et al., 2002) and developing a quality supervisory relationship in order to mitigate supervisee nondisclosure (Cook & Welfare, 2018; Mehr et al., 2010). In sum, these findings offer insight into the experiences of prelicensed counselors in postgraduate supervision, which can yield lessons for prelicensed counselors, supervisors, counselor educators, and counselor credentialing bodies in order to mitigate the occurrence of intentional nondisclosure in the future.
Implications for Prelicensed Counselors
Prelicensed counselors need to take an active role in their postgraduate supervision experience. Learning to navigate the nuances of supervision in addition to learning to be a practicing counselor early in one’s career is a daunting task (Freadling & Foss-Kelly, 2014). Prelicensed counselors who are contemplating withholding information from their clinical supervisors should consider their ethical and professional responsibilities to clients (American Counseling Association, 2014). Counselors who are starting postgraduate supervision may find it helpful to consult resources to help acculturate them to the specifics of postgraduate supervision and to explore strategies other than nondisclosure for addressing their concerns in supervision (Cook & Sackett, 2018; Magnuson et al., 2000; Pearson 2001, 2004).
Also, prelicensed counselors should consider which of the incidents described herein could be most relevant to their postgraduate supervision experience. Specifically, our prelicensed counselor participants were most apprehensive to discuss supervision-related concerns with their clinical supervisors. Unlike clients, who have the freedom to choose a different counselor if they are dissatisfied with their counseling services, supervisees likely have limited options when it comes to changing supervisors (De Stefano et al., 2017). Many of the concerns expressed by our participants reflect the inherent power differential between supervisors and supervisees. As such, prelicensed counselors who are dissatisfied with their supervision experience can find it helpful to broach some of these commonly reported issues with their clinical supervisors (Cook, McKibben, & Wind, 2018). The Power Dynamics in Supervision Scale was designed to operationalize supervisees’ perceptions of power and to aid in the discussion of power dynamics in clinical supervision (Cook, McKibben, & Wind, 2018). Prelicensed counselors may find such an instrument a helpful way to invite these discussions in an objective and nonthreatening manner with their supervisors. Such discussion between supervisors and supervisees can make it easier for supervisees to disclose more honestly if that issue arises (Knox, 2015).
Finally, some participants perceived their supervision experience as substandard, while a few more participants reported feeling unsafe in supervision or recognized power differentials between themselves and their supervisors. Although uncommon, our study is not the first one in which supervisees in the counseling profession report substandard or harmful experiences (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018). Furthermore, no one should endure supervision that they perceive to be inadequate or harmful (Ellis et al., 2014). Supervisees can find it helpful to consult with a trusted colleague or another supervisor. For more egregious issues, prelicensed counselors may seek help from a professional association ethics consultant or a representative from their state licensing board (Cook, Welfare, & Romero, 2018). For those supervisees who are paying for supervision (26.4% in the current study), finding another supervisor may be the most viable solution.
Implications for Supervisors, Counselor Educators, and Counselor Credentialing Bodies
Addressing supervisee intentional nondisclosure must be a priority for clinical supervisors who are providing postgraduate supervision. If supervisors are to rely on supervisee self-report (Fall & Sutton, 2004), it will benefit supervisors to create a safe and open supervision environment that invites supervisee disclosure (Cook & Welfare, 2018; Gibson et al., 2019; Mehr et al., 2010). Encouragingly, prelicensed counselors appear more apt to discuss client-related incidents than supervision-related incidents; however, it also seems that clinical supervisors are not getting the full picture of their supervisees’ clinical work because there is some degree of nondisclosure. Notably, prelicensed counselors reported hesitancy in fully discussing their personal issues related to their work with clients, clinical mistakes, and reactions to clients. As prelicensed counselors continue their professional development, they can desire to try new interventions in their counseling work or have novel insights into how their personal experiences are impacting their clinical work (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003). Understandably, they might be apprehensive about discussing these issues with their evaluative supervisors. Supervisors will find it helpful to facilitate a discussion with their supervisees about the lifelong journey of being a professional counselor (Rønnestad & Skovholt, 2003) and the normality of sometimes feeling stuck in one’s clinical work with clients (Cook & Sackett, 2018) or going through stages of feeling stagnation, confusion, and integration, as discussed in the foundational model of Loganbill et al. (1982).
Prelicensed counselors’ unwillingness to discuss their supervision-related concerns, particularly those incidents that are commonly occurring such as negative impressions of one’s supervisor, negative reactions to a supervisor’s competence, and the belief that one’s needs are not being met in clinical supervision, seems to be most problematic. There are infrequently occurring issues that supervisees are completely unwilling to discuss (e.g., romantic attraction to one’s supervisor) that can lead to ruptures in the supervisory relationship (Nelson et al., 2008). Prior research suggests that supervisees who possess a favorable impression of their supervisory relationship are less likely to withhold information from their supervisors (Cook & Welfare, 2018; Gibson et al., 2019; Mehr et al., 2010). As such, supervisors need to take steps during formation of the supervisory relationship and throughout the supervision experience to create a safe and open environment that invites supervisee disclosure. Supervisors will find it helpful to specifically attend to the issues identified in our study such as how to professionally address disagreements between supervisors and supervisees, and to discuss supervisees’ personal expectations of clinical supervision.
Counselor educators can play a critical role in helping CITs learn strategies to navigate postgraduate supervision and understand the concept of intentional nondisclosure. For example, counselor educators can better prepare CITs for some of the nuanced differences of postgraduate supervision (Magnuson et al., 2002) versus the supervision they receive in their training programs. Counselor education programs can share resources (Cook & Sackett, 2018; Magnuson et al., 2002; Pearson, 2001, 2004) with CITs before they graduate to teach them about postgraduate supervision and help them learn about the experiences of prelicensed counselors. Further, counselor educators can teach CITs to be their own advocates in postgraduate supervision because they will be expected to self-direct their supervision experience (Magnuson et al., 2000). Advocacy in this context can include teaching soon-to-be graduates the importance of utilizing supervision contracts and training them to prepare their own supervision contracts to use with their postgraduate supervisors. These supervision contracts should outline key information to conducting adequate supervision (Ellis et al., 2014), including but not limited to (a) the frequency of clinical supervision (e.g., weekly individual or triadic supervision sessions), (b) the modalities to be utilized in supervision (e.g., self-report, audio or video recording), (c) the relevant ethical and professional guidelines that will guide the supervision experience, and (d) the roles and responsibilities for both the supervisor and supervisee. Preparing these documents prior to graduation can ensure that supervisees are well-informed of their rights as supervisees (Munson, 2002) and help easily identify signs of substandard postgraduate supervision (Ellis et al., 2014).
Counselor educators might also share the findings from this study with their CITs and facilitate a discussion about the concerns identified by the participants. Educating CITs on the concept of intentional nondisclosure is important, as it can aid CITs in identifying what influences their own intentional nondisclosure. With greater self-awareness, they may be able to identify the temptation if it ever presents itself. Counselor educators also can teach CITs about the potential harm to clients when supervisees choose to engage in intentional nondisclosure. For example, if supervisees purposefully withhold about the triggers they experience when working with a client, they run the risk of not providing effective counseling services and, even worse, harming the client (Hess et al., 2008; Ladany et al., 1996).
Finally, given that our study was the first study to examine supervisee intentional nondisclosure in a sample of prelicensed counselors, it is important to offer recommendations for state licensure boards and nationwide credentialing bodies that may improve the supervision experience for supervisees and supervisors. These prelicensed counselors withheld specific supervision-related concerns, including the belief that their expectations of clinical supervision were not being met and that they disapproved of their supervisors’ behaviors. Unlike university-based supervision in which supervision requirements and supervisors’ training and credentials (e.g., time in supervision, required supervision training, direct observation) are clearly outlined by accreditation bodies (CACREP, 2015), the supervision requirements for those pursuing state licensure vary from state to state (Field et al., 2019; Gray & Erickson, 2013; Henriksen et al., 2019). Some scholars have questioned if the supervision being provided is minimally adequate, or if supervisors are aware that they are providing inadequate or harmful supervision (Ellis et al., 2014). It is unclear how many supervisors in our study had received clinical supervision training or were providing supervision in accordance with professional standards (i.e., Borders et al., 2011). For example, only six of the 10 states that we sampled had licensure board requirements for clinical supervisors to have completed supervision training (Field et al., 2019), and none required a supervision credential such as the Approved Clinical Supervisor (issued by the National Board for Certified Counselors). It is important for all state licensure boards to require supervision training in order to best position supervisors to provide quality supervision. Relatedly, Field et al. (2019) found that only 47.1% of states require supervisors to complete a supervision contract or supervision philosophy prior to conducting postgraduate supervision. At a minimum, all licensure jurisdictions should require these documents as a part of the application packet for prelicensed counselors when they register their supervisor with their licensing board. By requiring these documents, state licensure boards and credentialing bodies can encourage a dialogue between supervisors and supervisees about some of the concerns identified in our study.
Limitations and Opportunities for Future Research
Like in all studies, there are limitations that need discussion. We aimed to collect data from a nationally representative sample; however, our findings could have been impacted by the varying licensure regulations in each state. As such, future research could benefit from a retest of the incidence of nondisclosure by prelicensed counselors in other states. Relatedly, although our response rate was consistent with prior counseling research that collected data via mailings (Barden et al., 2017), future researchers could explore other data collection methods (e.g., electronic survey) to increase participants’ responsiveness. Also, it is possible that the topic of nondisclosure was acutely salient to the persons who chose to participate in the current study, which could have influenced our findings. Future scholars are urged to examine more demonstrable factors of the supervisory relationship that may help to explain intentional nondisclosure by prelicensed counselors such as the incidents of inadequate and harmful supervision, which appear to influence supervisees’ willingness to disclose in supervision. Finally, future researchers should explore if nondisclosure occurs less frequently in supervision dyads that regularly use one of a number of supervisory relationship inventories (Tangen & Borders, 2016) to assess the perceived quality of their supervisory relationship.
Conclusion
In sum, postgraduate supervision has important implications for prelicensed counselors and supervisors alike. Thus, it behooves both prelicensed counselors and clinical supervisors to mitigate supervisee intentional nondisclosure. The findings presented in this study provide insight into the type of information being withheld by supervisees and the degree to which they are hesitant to discuss certain concerns. Clinical supervisors who hope to create an environment that promotes supervisee disclosure will benefit from specifically targeting some of the issues identified herein.
Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
This research was funded by the Southern
Association for Counselor Education and Supervision.
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Stoltenberg, C. D., & McNeill, B. W. (2010). IDM supervision: An integrated developmental model for supervising counselors & therapists (3rd ed.). Routledge.
Sweeney, J., & Creaner, M. (2014). What’s not being said? Recollections of nondisclosure in clinical supervision while in training. British Journal of Guidance & Counselling, 42, 211–224. https://doi.org/10.1080/03069885.2013.872223
Tangen, J. L., & Borders, L. D. (2016). The supervisory relationship: A conceptual and psychometric review of measures. Counselor Education and Supervision, 55, 159–181. https://doi.org/10.1002/ceas.12043
Yourman, D. B., & Farber, B. A. (1996). Nondisclosure and distortion in psychotherapy supervision. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research, Practice, Training, 33, 567–575. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-3204.33.4.567
Ryan M. Cook, PhD, ACS, LPC, is an assistant professor at the University of Alabama. Laura E. Welfare, PhD, NCC, ACS, LPC, is an associate professor at Virginia Tech. Connie T. Jones, PhD, NCC, ACS, LPCA, LCAS, is an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Correspondence can be addressed to Ryan Cook, 310 Graves Hall, Box 870231, Tuscaloosa, AL 35487, rmcook@ua.edu.
Nov 24, 2019 | Volume 9 - Issue 4
Bethany A. Lanier, Jamie S. Carney
The purpose of this study was to gain an understanding of the relationship between vicarious trauma (VT) symptoms and subthreshold post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms among practicing counselors. The researchers determined the frequency of VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms experienced among practicing counselors and common contributing factors that participants felt contributed to the development of VT symptoms. Implications are presented for counselor educators to determine how they best can prepare students.
Keywords: vicarious trauma, subthreshold post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD, practicing counselors, counselor educators
Most counselors will likely work with clients addressing trauma (Sommer, 2008; Trippany, White Kress, & Wilcoxon, 2004). Thus, it is important for professional counselors to have an understanding of the dynamics of trauma and interventions to use with clients. Additionally, counselors should be educated on the impact that working with clients can potentially have on them, both personally and professionally. For instance, counselors who work with clients addressing trauma might themselves experience emotional and psychological symptoms, or vicarious trauma (VT). VT has been defined as a disruption in schemas and worldview because of chronic empathic engagement with clients. It is often accompanied by symptoms similar to those of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which occur as a result of secondary exposure to traumatic material that can result in a cognitive shift in the way the therapist experiences self, others, and the world (Jordan, 2010; Michalopoulos & Aparicio, 2012). Although estimates differ, it has been reported that as many as 50% of counselors are at risk of developing VT (National Child Traumatic Stress Network, 2011).
Counseling requires an immense amount of empathetic acceptance on the part of the counselor, which increases the counselor’s vulnerability to taking on their clients’ traumatic experiences (Finklestein, Stein, Greene, Bronstein, & Solomon, 2015). Empathic acceptance and increased vulnerability on the part of the counselor may increase the counselor’s likelihood of developing VT symptoms (Sommer, 2008). VT can have a detrimental effect on all aspects of the counseling process, including both the counselor’s professional and personal life. Practicing counselors experiencing VT have been found to leave the profession early and may also experience emotional and physical disorders, suicidal ideation, strained relationships, increased or continuous burnout, anger, and possible substance abuse (Bergman, Kline, Feeny, & Zoellner, 2015; Keim, Olguin, Marley, & Thieman, 2008). VT is highly detrimental to the counseling process and the care provided to clients. A counselor experiencing VT is more likely to make clinical errors, and VT can negatively impact the counseling relationship (Trippany et al., 2004). The negative implications associated with VT make it imperative that counselors and those who work with them (e.g., supervisors and counselor educators) understand all the factors that lead to the development of VT. This can include recognizing factors that decrease vulnerability, assessing VT, and intervening (Sommer, 2008). One of the initial components to this process is understanding how VT and related symptoms of subthreshold PTSD develop and the variables or experiences that can contribute to higher levels of vulnerability to VT symptoms. Subthreshold PTSD has been defined as the presence of clinically significant PTSD symptoms that fall short of the full Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders PTSD diagnostic criteria (Bergman et al., 2015).
VT and Subthreshold PTSD
As noted, VT can have a detrimental impact on all aspects of the counseling process. A counselor experiencing VT can report many of the symptoms associated with both VT and subthreshold PTSD. VT and subthreshold PTSD have been identified as closely related phenomena. Many counselors who experience VT also meet the criteria for subthreshold PTSD and share similar symptoms (Keim et al., 2008). Counselors who experience VT are in essence experiencing post-traumatic stress symptoms in response to hearing and processing the trauma experienced by their clients (Bercier & Maynard, 2015). Common similar symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD include experiencing recurring intrusive thoughts about clients or work, numbing of feelings, hypervigilance or increased anxiety, and a decrease in empathy (Howlett & Collins, 2014; Michalopoulos & Aparicio, 2012; Nelson, 2016).
Although there are limitations in the research on the variables that correspond to the development of VT and subthreshold PTSD among counselors, as well as the factors that address these vulnerabilities, the research has highlighted some areas of concern. Understanding these areas is a critical component of addressing the development, assessment, and intervention for VT and subthreshold PTSD, especially for supervisors and counselor educators who train and work with these counselors. One of these variables is years of experience. Although all practicing counselors are at risk for VT and subthreshold PTSD, novice counselors are at an especially elevated risk (Michalopoulos & Aparicio, 2012; Parker & Henfield, 2012). Novice counselors tend to have limited experience with trauma and often have limited training relevant to working with trauma (Newell & MacNeil, 2010; Parker & Henfield, 2012). Further, novice counselors might have trouble establishing boundaries during the early stages of professional identify development, which can contribute to an increase in vulnerability for developing VT and subthreshold PTSD (Howlett & Collins, 2014). Moreover, beginning counselors’ training and personal experiences may not have adequately prepared them for working with individuals dealing with trauma, so in turn they might not have received training on how to address trauma with their clients or identify the development of VT in themselves (Jordan, 2010; Mailloux, 2014; Trippany et al., 2004). It has been recommended that such training should include the key features of trauma, warning signs and symptoms, and strategies to prevent the development of VT and subthreshold PTSD (Newell & MacNeil, 2010).
An essential element of training counselors on strategies to prevent or address the development of VT and subthreshold PTSD includes increasing awareness of the workplace dynamics that may increase vulnerability. Counselors spend a sizeable amount of their time ensuring that others take care of themselves while potentially neglecting their own personal self-care (Whitfield & Kanter, 2014). Neglecting self-care has been found to correspond to an increased rate for developing the negative effects of VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms (Mailloux, 2014). In an effort to decrease VT and subthreshold PTSD practicing counselors must ensure they are incorporating various types of self-care on a regular basis. Counselors can incorporate self-care activities, such as adequate sleep, social interaction, exercise, a healthy diet, reading, and journaling, into their routine, but all too often practicing counselors let these activities slip (Jordan, 2010; Nelson, 2016).
Related to self-care is helping counselors to understand the importance of seeking support from peers and supervisors. Collaboration and consultation with peers and supervisors at the workplace are vital to minimize the adverse effects of VT and subthreshold PTSD (Jordan, 2010). To address possible VT and subthreshold PTSD, practicing counselors require support from colleagues in relation to case conceptualization and identification of impairment (Newell & MacNeil, 2010; Parker & Henfield, 2012; Whitfield & Kanter, 2014). Additionally, counselors should seek supervision specific to trauma to ensure they are not developing VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms (Whitfield & Kanter, 2014). One of the concerns, however, is that for many counselors working at counseling sites with high caseloads related to trauma, there are often low levels of clinical supervision (O’Neill, 2010). These sites also can link to another variable that corresponds to higher levels of VT: the caseload of the counselor. For example, counselors with large caseloads are at increased risk of developing VT or subthreshold PTSD because the counselor may not be able to spend adequate amounts of time on each case and might overextend their time addressing case needs (Whitfield & Kanter, 2014). In addition, counselors with caseloads that deal primarily with trauma are at an increased risk of developing VT and subthreshold PTSD, especially if they have limited clinical experience (Bercier & Maynard, 2015; Newell & MacNeil, 2010; Trippany et al., 2004). Recognizing and understanding the contributors to VT and subthreshold PTSD are essential for counselor educators and supervisors to be aware of as they prepare new counselors to enter the field.
Counselor Educator and Supervisor Implications
When looking at the risk factors associated with VT and subthreshold PTSD, it is clear that a critical component to decrease risk is the training and support provided to counselors. Thus, it is imperative that counselor educators and supervisors be aware of the symptoms and factors that impact the development of VT and subthreshold PTSD. Keim et al. (2008) found that 12% of counselors-in-training (CITs) qualified for a PTSD diagnosis, highlighting the fact that counselor educators and supervisors need to be aware of and educate counselors to recognize the symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD. The Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs (CACREP; 2015) reinforces the importance of this training by specifically requiring that programs educate CITs on trauma-related counseling skills and also engage students in methods to assess and address VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms in themselves as practicing counselors. To meet this goal, counselor educators and supervisors must more fully understand the causes of VT and subthreshold PTSD (Keim et al., 2008).
This study was developed to assess the frequency of VT and subthreshold symptoms among practicing counselors. This included variables that correspond to the development of these symptoms. The data can contribute to our understanding of VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among counselors and provide a framework for working with counselors during supervision and in preparing CITs.
Method
Sample
Two hundred and twenty current practicing counselors completed the nationwide survey. Of the 220 participants, 219 participants reported gender; 23 (10.3%) respondents identified as male and 196 (87.9%) respondents identified as female. Of the participants, 217 (98.6%) reported they were over 19 years of age (range 23–65, M = 39). Two hundred and fifteen respondents indicated holding a master’s degree (97.8%). Thus, exclusion criteria removed five respondents from the data set for not meeting degree requirements—participants must have completed a master’s degree in counseling (i.e., school counseling, clinical mental health counseling, rehabilitation counseling, family and marriage counseling). Current work setting was reported by 207 of the respondents; 137 (62.3%) identified as school counselors, 24 (10.9%) reported working in a community mental health center, 17 (7.7%) reported working in a higher education center, 16 (7.35%) reported working in a private practice, and 13 (5.9%) reported “other,” which included settings such as employee assistance programs and crisis centers.
Six respondents (2.7%) reported less than one year of cumulative counseling experience, 50 (22.7%) reported 1–3 years of cumulative counseling experience, 31 (14.1%) reported 4–5 years of cumulative counseling experience, 47 (21.4%) reported 6–10 years of cumulative counseling experience, and 72 (32.7%) reported 10 years or more of cumulative counseling experience. Of the 220 respondents, 12 (5.5%) did not report how many years they have been in their current position, 8 (3.6%) reported being in their current position less than one year, 103 (10.9%) reported 1–3 years, 31 (14.1%) reported 4–5 years, 30 (13.6%) reported 6–10 years, and 36 (16.4%) reported being in their current position 10 or more years.
Instruments
Participants were asked to complete a brief demographic questionnaire and two surveys, the PTSD Checklist for the DSM-5 (PCL-5), developed by Blevins, Weathers, Davis, Witte, and Domino (2015), and the Secondary Trauma Stress Scale (STSS), developed by Bride, Robinson, Yegidis, and Figley (2004). The demographic questionnaire sought to understand the impact that years of experience, number of contributing factors, and preventive measures have on VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. Participants in this study also completed a series of measures assessing the rate of VT among practicing counselors, the number of participants who meet the criteria for subthreshold PTSD, and the impact of the types and number of professional supports on practicing counselors.
Demographic measure. A basic demographic survey was developed and utilized to collect data on each respondent’s age, gender, current position, years of counseling experience, primary type of clientele served, and any licenses and credentials. Text entry was utilized to understand the type and number of professional supports respondents identified: supervision, peer support, years of experience, training specific to trauma, caseload size, and self-care implementation. The demographic survey collected basic information related to the participants’ counseling experience and background to gain an understanding of who chose to participate in the study. Further, the information gained was used to assist in developing implications for counselor educators and supervisors in preparing CITs to recognize VT symptoms and identify the types of professional supports needed.
PTSD Checklist for the DSM-5 (PCL-5). The PCL-5 is a revision of the PTSD Checklist (PCL) that specifically assesses self-report measures of PTSD symptoms as outlined in the DSM-5 (Blevins et al., 2015). The PCL is one of the most widely used measures of PTSD symptoms, and the revised PCL-5 is the only instrument that specifically measures criteria defined in the DSM-5 (Blevins et al., 2015). The PCL-5 is a 20-item survey that corresponds to the 20 PTSD symptoms in the DSM-5 (Bovin et al., 2016). Respondents are asked to rank, from 0–4, how much they have been bothered by the presented symptom within the last month (Bovin et al., 2016). Sample topics include: having difficulty sleeping; feeling jumpy or easily startled; and avoiding memories, thoughts, or feelings related to the stressful event. In a validation study of the PCL-5, Blevins et al. (2015) found high internal consistency (.94), and the measure fell within the recommended range of inter-item correlation of .15 to .50. Test-retest reliability was r = .82 with a 95% confidence interval [.71, .89], and paired t-tests were significant (p < .01) for the PCL-5 between two test validations (Blevins et al., 2015). Cronbach’s alpha for this study indicated high internal consistency (.96) and test-retest reliability of r = .84.
Secondary Trauma Stress Scale (STSS). The STSS, developed by Bride et al. (2004), was used to understand the number of VT symptoms among practicing counselors as well as to determine the relationship between VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among practicing counselors. The STSS is a 17-item self-report measure designed to assess helping professionals who may have experienced secondary traumatic stress and the frequency of intrusion, avoidance, and arousal symptoms (Bride et al., 2004; Ting, Jacobson, Sanders, Bride, & Harrington, 2005).
The STSS asks that respondents endorse how frequently an item was true for them in the past 7 days (Bride et al., 2004). Responses range from 1 to 5 in Likert form (1 = never and 5 = very often). Psychometric data for the STSS indicates very good internal consistency reliability with coefficient alpha levels of .93 for the total STSS scale, .80 for the Intrusion subscale, .87 for the Avoidance subscale, and .83 for the Arousal subscale (Bride et al., 2004). Ting et al. (2005) determined in their validation study of the STSS that internal consistency reliability for the 17 total STSS items was very high (.94) and was moderately high for the Intrusion subscale (.79), the Avoidance subscale (.85), and the Arousal subscale (.87), and all three factors were highly correlated with each other (intrusion–avoidance, r = .96; intrusion–arousal, r = .96; avoidance–arousal, r = 1.0), as indicated by a confirmatory factor analysis. Cronbach’s alpha for this study confirmed Ting et al.’s findings, as internal consistency reliability for the 17 total STSS items was very high (.94) and was moderately high for the Intrusion subscale (.80), the Avoidance subscale (.86), and the Arousal subscale (.89). Statements on the Intrusion subscale inquire about respondents’ intrusion symptomology on a Likert scale with statements such as “My heart started pounding when I thought about my work with clients” and “I had disturbing dreams about my work with clients.” The Avoidance subscale asks respondents to respond on a Likert scale to statements such as “I felt emotionally numb” and “I had little interest in being around others.” The final subscale, Arousal, asks respondents to respond on a Likert scale to statements such as “I had trouble sleeping” and “I expected something bad to happen.”
Procedures
Upon Institutional Review Board approval, participants were recruited via email through listserv solicitation that included the Alabama Counseling Association, the American School Counselor Association, the American Counseling Association, and CESNET. Participants were provided a link to an informed consent document and the research surveys in Qualtrics. Participation was restricted to practicing mental health or school counselors who had a master’s degree in counseling and had been a practicing counselor for at least 6 months at the time of the survey.
Design and Statistical Analyses
The purpose of this quantitative study was to investigate the frequency of VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms experienced by practicing counselors. This included the relationship of VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms with years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports utilized by practicing counselors. Descriptive analysis was used to determine what symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD practicing counselors experience. A linear regression was used to determine the relationship between VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. Linear regressions were utilized to determine the relationship years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and professional supports have with VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among practicing counselors.
Results
Symptoms of VT and Subthreshold PTSD Experienced by Practicing Counselors
Descriptive statistics based on participants’ responses indicated symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD are being experienced by practicing counselors. On the STSS, all symptoms were experienced to some degree by 49.5% of the participants. Symptoms were rated significant if they scored higher than “never” on the STSS, meaning they had experienced the symptom to some degree within the past 7 days.
The most common symptom of VT experienced by participants was thinking about work with clients when not intending to do so (85.5%), as measured by the STSS. Additional symptoms of VT experienced commonly by participants included feeling emotionally numb (80.5%), becoming easily annoyed (79.1%), having difficulty concentrating (75.5%), and feeling discouraged about their future (75.5%). Experiencing disturbing dreams about their clients (49.5%) and feeling jumpy (56.4%) were the least common symptoms experienced by participants, but 49.5% of the participants experienced these symptoms. Table 1 outlines the VT symptoms of participants as measured by the STSS in descending order.
Table 1
STSS Symptom Distribution
| Items in Descending Order |
n (%) |
| I thought about my work with clients when I didn’t intend to. |
188 (85.5%) |
| I felt emotionally numb. |
177 (80.5%) |
| I was easily annoyed. |
174 (79.1%) |
| I felt discouraged about the future. |
166 (75.5%) |
| I had trouble concentrating. |
166 (75.5%) |
| I had trouble sleeping. |
165 (75.0%) |
| I wanted to avoid working with some clients. |
162 (73.6%) |
| I was less active than usual. |
156 (70.9%) |
| Reminders of my work with clients upset me. |
155 (70.5%) |
| My heart started pounding when I thought about my work with clients. |
155 (70.5%) |
| I had little interest in being around others. |
149 (67.6%) |
| It seemed as if I was reliving the trauma(s) experienced by my client(s). |
133 (60.5%) |
| I expected something bad to happen. |
132 (60.0%) |
| I avoided people, places, or things that reminded me of my work with clients. |
126 (57.3%) |
| I noticed gaps in my memory about client sessions. |
126 (57.3%) |
| I felt jumpy. |
124 (56.4%) |
| I had disturbing dreams about my work with clients. |
109 (49.5%) |
Participant responses to the PCL-5, utilized to measure subthreshold PTSD symptoms, suggested practicing counselors are experiencing subthreshold PTSD symptoms. Symptoms were rated as significant if they scored higher than “not at all,” indicating they had experienced the symptom to some degree within the past month. The most common symptom reported to have been experienced by all participants (100%) was repeated, disturbing, or unwarranted memories of the stressful experience. Other symptoms that were reported to have been experienced commonly by practicing counselors included having trouble falling or staying asleep (71.4%), having difficulty concentrating (70.9%), feeling distant or cut off from other people (68.2%), and feeling very upset when something reminded them of the stressful experience (66.8%). Taking too many risks or doing things that could cause personal harm (36.8%); feeling or acting as if the stressful experience were actually happening again (42.7%); and experiencing repeated, disturbing dreams of the stressful experience (49.1%) were experienced least commonly by participants. Table 2 outlines the VT symptoms of participants as measured by the PCL-5 in descending order.
Table 2
PCL-5 Symptom Distribution
| Items in Descending Order |
n (%) |
| Repeated, disturbing, and unwanted memories of the stressful experience? |
220 (100%) |
| Trouble falling or staying asleep? |
157 (71.4%) |
| Having difficulty concentrating? |
156 (70.9%) |
| Feeling distant or cut off from other people? |
150 (68.2%) |
| Feeling very upset when something reminded you of the stressful experience? |
147 (66.8%) |
| Irritable behavior, angry outbursts, or acting aggressively? |
139 (63.2%) |
| Avoiding memories, thoughts, or feelings related to the stressful experience? |
139 (63.2%) |
| Having strong negative feelings such as fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame? |
134 (60.9%) |
Having strong physical reactions when something reminded you of the stressful experience
(for example, heart pounding, trouble breathing, sweating)? |
130 (59.1%) |
| Avoiding external reminders of the stressful experience (for example, people, places, conversations, activities, objects, or situations)? |
127 (57.7%) |
| Being “superalert” or watchful or on guard? |
125 (56.8%) |
| Having strong negative beliefs about yourself, other people, or the world (for example, having thoughts such as: I am bad, there is something seriously wrong with me, no one can be trusted, the world is completely dangerous)? |
125 (56.8%) |
| Loss of interest in activities that you used to enjoy? |
123 (55.9%) |
| Blaming yourself or someone else for the stressful experience or what happened after it? |
121 (55.0%) |
| Trouble experiencing positive feelings (for example, being unable to feel happiness or have loving feelings for people close to you)? |
119 (54.1%) |
| Feeling jumpy or easily startled? |
116 (52.7%) |
| Trouble remembering important parts of the stressful experience? |
113 (51.4%) |
| Repeated, disturbing dreams of the stressful experience? |
108 (49.1%) |
Suddenly feeling or acting as if the stressful experience were actually happening again
(as if you were actually back there reliving it)? |
94 (42.7%) |
| Taking too many risks or doing things that could cause you harm? |
81 (36.8%) |
Relationship Between VT Symptoms and Subthreshold PTSD Symptoms
Linear regression models determined the relationship between VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among practicing counselors. In a backward regression, the PCL-5, measuring subthreshold PTSD symptoms, was entered as the dependent variable, and the subscales of the STSS, measuring VT symptoms, were entered as the independent variables. Results indicated that the more VT symptoms were experienced by practicing counselors, the more subthreshold PTSD symptoms were experienced. There was a significant relationship between results from the PCL-5 and all three STSS subscales. The relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and the Intrusion subscale was significant (r = .676, p < .001). There also was a significant relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and avoidance symptoms (r = .759, p < .001), and between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and arousal symptoms (r = .790, p < .001). Avoidance VT symptoms and arousal VT symptoms were the most predictive variables associated with developing subthreshold PTSD symptoms as evidenced in the restricted model regression summary. In the backward regression model, the Intrusion subscale of the STSS was eliminated as the least significant variable, which indicates the more arousal and avoidance symptoms were experienced as VT, the more subthreshold PTSD symptoms were experienced by the practicing counselors. In the full regression model (R2 Full = .656, F = 103.4, p < .001), results suggested a significant relationship, indicating that the more VT symptoms were experienced by practicing counselors, the more subthreshold PTSD symptoms were experienced. Through the restricted regression model (R2 Restricted = .655, F = 155.75, p < .001) and the F change test, results indicated that the restricted model is not worse than the full model because the observed F (.00000892; p = .647) does not exceed the critical F (df = 1,163), which is 3.94.
Relationship Among Demographics and Type of Professional Supports Among Practicing Counselors on VT
A backward linear regression model was utilized to determine the relationship between VT symptoms and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and type of professional supports among practicing counselors. There were two significant relationships within this regression in the restricted model of the regression. There was a significant negative correlation between VT symptoms and having a manageable caseload, indicating the more manageable caseload the counselor has, the fewer VT symptoms they have. In addition, there was a significant negative correlation between VT symptoms and having adequate supervision, indicating the more supervision received, the fewer VT symptoms experienced. Overall, the two variables (caseload and supervision) correlate with the dependent variable, VT symptoms (r = .273, R2 = .074). This overall correlation is unlikely due to chance (F = 8.159, p < .001). The F change test indicated the observed F (2.008; p = .158) does not exceed the critical F (df = 1, 202), which is 3.89. The semi-partial correlation between caseload and VT symptoms was -.173, while the semi-partial correlation between supervision and VT symptoms was -.150. The semi-partial correlation indicates the uniqueness of the relationship. The squared semi-partial correlation for supervision was (-.173)2 = .029, and the squared semi-partial correlation for caseload was (-.150)2 = .02., *p < .05.
Relationship Between Demographics and Type of Professional Supports Among Practicing Counselors on Subthreshold PTSD Symptoms
A backward linear regression model was utilized to determine the relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports among practicing counselors. With subthreshold PTSD symptoms as the dependent variable and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and type of professional supports as the independent variables, a backward linear regression was run to understand the relationship between the variables in the restricted model of the regression. Results indicated a significant relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and those counselors who work primarily with adolescents or with sexual assault/domestic violence survivors. Overall, the two variables (adolescents and sexual assault/domestic violence) correlate with our dependent variable, subthreshold PTSD symptoms (r = .242, R2 = .059). This overall correlation is unlikely due to chance (F = 5.080, p = .007). The F change test indicated the observed F (2.255; p = .135) does not exceed the critical F (df = 1,162), which is 3.94. The semi-partial correlation between adolescents and subthreshold PTSD symptoms was .159, while the semi-partial correlation between sexual assault/domestic violence and subthreshold PTSD symptoms was .187. The semi-partial correlation indicates the uniqueness of the relationship. The squared semi-partial correlation for adolescents was (.159)2 = .025, and the squared semi-partial correlation for sexual assault/domestic violence was (.187)2 = .03. This data indicates that work setting and the type of clientele served by the counselor can influence risk for developing subthreshold PTSD symptoms.
Limitations
One limitation for this study was the high percentage of participating school counselors (62.3%). This could have possibly skewed results as the type of clientele that the practicing counselors primarily worked with exhibited the most influence on symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD (i.e., adolescents). Additionally, this large percentage of school counselors could make the implications suggested in this study not as applicable for counselors in higher education settings.
An additional limitation of this study was the lack of demographics available to identify if counselors were in a rural setting or urban setting. Although the implications suggested are applicable to all counselors, demographic location could serve as an additional barrier to implementing the professional supports suggested.
Discussion
The purpose of this study was to develop an understanding of the frequency and characteristics of VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among practicing counselors, which was answered by the first research question. The most common VT symptom experienced by participants (85.5%) was thinking about their work with clients when they did not intend to outside of work. This finding is significant for counselor educators and supervisors as it indicates that VT symptoms are being experienced by the majority of the counselors in this study. All VT symptoms, as measured by the STSS, were experienced by 49.5% of the participants, indicating all 17 VT symptoms measured had been experienced to some degree by the counselors that participated in this study. This study adds to the current literature reported by Bride (2007) that 50% of child welfare counselors experience traumatic stress symptoms within the severe range. In addition, Cornille and Meyers (1999) reported 37% of their sample of child protection service workers reported clinical levels of emotional distress associated with secondary trauma, and Conrad and Kellar-Guenther (2006) reported 50% of child protection workers suffered “high” to “very high” levels of compassion fatigue.
In addition to measuring VT symptoms, the first research question was developed to acquire an understanding of the frequency of subthreshold PTSD symptoms experienced by counselors. Subthreshold PTSD symptoms were measured by the PCL-5 and results suggest practicing counselors are experiencing subthreshold PTSD symptoms. Of the 20 items in the PCL-5, all but three were experienced by at least 50% of the participants. All 220 (100%) of participants reported experiencing repeated, disturbing, and unwanted memories of the stressful experience. This finding is similar to that found by the STSS in that over 85% of participants had unwanted thoughts about experiences with clients outside of work. Furthermore, over 70% of participants reported having trouble sleeping and having difficulty concentrating in both the STSS and PCL-5 as symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD. Understanding the symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD experienced by participants was important, as previous studies have indicated that those who experience VT symptoms also experience subthreshold PTSD symptoms (Jordan, 2010). Additionally, the literature has reported VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms as being one and the same (Finklestein et al., 2015).
The second research question was developed to gain an understanding of the relationship between VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. A linear backward regression with the PCL-5 measuring subthreshold PTSD symptoms was entered as the dependent variable, and the subscales of the STSS, measuring VT symptoms, were entered as the independent variables. Results from this regression model indicated that the more VT symptoms were experienced by practicing counselors, the more subthreshold PTSD symptoms were experienced. In the backward regression model, the Intrusion subscale of the STSS was eliminated as the least significant variable, which indicated that the more arousal and avoidance symptoms were experienced as VT, the more subthreshold PTSD symptoms were experienced by the practicing counselors, with the Intrusion scale not being significant. This finding is consistent with the extant literature that has reported VT symptoms being analogous to PTSD symptoms (Keim et al., 2008). Furthermore, this finding also is consistent with prior literature that reported counselors who experience VT symptoms also experience PTSD symptoms (Bercier & Maynard, 2015), as found in Bride’s (2007) study in which 34% of child welfare workers met the PTSD diagnostic criteria because of VT.
In an effort to answer the second research question, which was interested in the relationship between VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports, two backward linear regression models were established. The first linear regression model was interested in the relationship between VT symptoms and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports among practicing counselors. In this backward linear regression model, the STSS served as the dependent variable with years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports serving as the independent variables. Results indicate a significant relationship between VT symptoms and having a manageable caseload as well as between VT and utilizing supervision. A negative correlation between VT symptoms and having a manageable caseload indicates that the more manageable a counselor’s caseload, the less likely they were to experience VT symptoms. This finding is consistent with prior studies that indicate a manageable caseload as being a protective factor for counselors that can decrease their chance of developing both VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms (Trippany et al., 2004). Additionally, there was a negative correlation between supervision as a professional support and the development of VT symptoms among counselors. Adequate supervision has been identified as a protective factor against the development of VT (Harrison & Westwood, 2009). Both of these findings are important implications for counselor educators and supervisors as they can be initiated in the classroom while CITs are preparing for a career in the counseling profession.
The second linear regression model focused on the relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports among practicing counselors. In this backward linear regression model, the PCL-5 served as the dependent variable with years of experience, work setting and type of clientele, and the number and type of professional supports serving as the independent variables. Results indicated a significant relationship between subthreshold PTSD symptoms and counselors who primarily work with adolescents and sexual assault/domestic violence survivors. These findings are consistent with prior literature that has indicated sexual assault counselors report more VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. For instance, Bride (2007) reported 65% of domestic violence and sexual assault social workers reported at least one symptom of VT, while Lobel (1997) reported over 20 years ago that 70% of sexual assault counselors experienced VT. Additionally, Schauben and Frazier (1995) reported that counselors who work with a higher percentage of sexual assault survivors report more disrupted beliefs about themselves and others, more subthreshold PTSD symptoms, and more VT than counselors who see fewer sexual assault survivors.
Implications for Counselor Educators and Supervisors
The results of this study provide counselor educators and supervisors with information to prepare CITs to have an increased awareness of VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. This study established evidence that practicing counselors are experiencing numerous VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. In fact, this study found that all VT symptoms measured were experienced by 49.5% of the participants, and 17 of the 20 PTSD symptoms measured were experienced by all participants. Further, in an open-ended question in the brief demographic survey, participants provided the researcher with ideas they felt would increase awareness of VT and subthreshold PTSD and decrease VT and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. Over 40% of responses indicated a desire for more education on VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. With 49.5% of participants reporting VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms, it is evident that additional education is needed related to these symptoms among practicing counselors. Keim et al. (2008) suggested educational trainings and workshops be provided to CITs proactively to increase awareness of VT and subthreshold PTSD and to decrease VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms among practicing counselors. Counselor educators and supervisors can provide trainings on the signs and symptoms of VT and subthreshold PTSD experienced by counselors to raise awareness of these symptoms and ways to recognize and alleviate them before causing harm to the counselor or client.
This study denoted that counselors who work primarily with adolescents and sexual assault/domestic violence survivors are experiencing more subthreshold PTSD symptoms than counselors that do not work specifically with these populations. As counselor educators prepare CITs for practicum, internship, and employment as counselors, it is vital for counselor educators to acknowledge the unique challenges that may stem from working with adolescents and survivors of sexual assault/domestic violence. It is imperative that counselor educators and supervisors integrate specific educational material through coursework related to these populations to best prepare CITs. Evidence-based practices that are effective for counseling these populations should be implemented within counselor education programs, supervision, workshops, and trainings outside of the degree program (e.g., at conferences; Alpert & Paulson, 1990; Mailloux, 2014; Whitfield & Kanter, 2014).
Education on the significance of professional supports, such as adequate supervision and manageable caseloads, is fundamental for CITs to be prepared to lessen the hazard of developing VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. By providing sufficient supervision during practicum and internship, counselor educators and supervisors can prepare CITs for coping with VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms should they develop. In addition, through modeling appropriate supervision, CITs will comprehend the supervisory process and seek post-degree supervision.
Directions for Future Research
Future studies on VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms need to focus solely on clinical mental health counselors or school counselors to develop implications specific to counseling sites. Further research devoted to the development of workshops and trainings to educate counselors on VT and subthreshold PTSD is needed.
A future study that compares counselors in rural settings and urban settings will be important to understand barriers to coping with and addressing VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms. For example, in a rural setting, the counselor may not have adequate supervision and may be overloaded with cases, which can decrease the amount of self-care they are able to implement. It will be important for future research to explore what barriers to professional supports counselors face in these different demographic communities.
Because of this study’s finding that working primarily with adolescents and individuals who have experienced sexual assault or domestic violence increases counselors’ chances of experiencing VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms, a qualitative or mixed-methods study focused on VT among counselors working with these populations is desirable. In an effort to best prepare students who will work with these populations, an understanding of exactly which aspects of working with these clients increase VT symptoms and subthreshold PTSD symptoms is essential.
Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.
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Bethany A. Lanier, NCC, is an assistant professor at the University of West Georgia. Jamie S. Carney is a professor at Auburn University. Correspondence can be addressed to Bethany Lanier, 1601 Maple Street, Carrollton, GA 30116, blanier@westga.edu.
Sep 10, 2019 | Volume 9 - Issue 3
Eric M. Brown, Tim Grothaus
The literature is replete with research and references to racism experienced by Black faculty and students in counselor education. Although explorations of the mistrust in relationships between races is extant, empirical investigations into trusting cross-racial relationships in counselor education have been scarce. To address this void, the researchers conducted a phenomenological qualitative study with 10 Black doctoral counseling students concerning their experiences of cross-racial trust with White counselor educators and clinical supervisors who were mentors. Researchers identified three superordinate themes during data analysis: reasons for trust, reasons for mistrust, and benefits of cross-racial mentoring. The researchers also identified several themes and subthemes that delineated the interpersonal and intrapersonal factors that helped generate cross-racial trust, despite participants’ ubiquitous experiences of racism. The participants’ experiences are discussed, and implications are offered for enhancing trust in cross-racial relationships in mentoring, supervision, counseling, and training programs.
Keywords: cross-racial, trust, supervisors, mentors, counselor educators
The counseling profession purports to value racial inclusivity, cultural competence, and social justice (e.g., American Counseling Association [ACA], 2014; Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Education Programs [CACREP], 2015; Ratts, Singh, Nassar-McMillan, Butler, & McCullough, 2015). Yet, this vision remains unrealized. Black counselor educators and students report that White racism is pervasive (Baker & Moore, 2015; Brooks & Steen, 2010; Henfield, Woo, & Washington, 2013; Holcomb-McCoy & Addison-Bradley, 2005). Although empirical studies have documented the negative experiences of Black people within counselor education because of the prevalence of racism (Baker & Moore, 2015; Cartwright, Avent-Harris, Munsey, & Lloyd-Hazlett, 2018; Haskins et al., 2013; Henfield et al., 2013), research regarding positive interracial relationships, specifically involving successful Black–White mentoring connections, has been scarce (Fleig-Palmer & Schoorman, 2011; Leck & Orser, 2013). Our study sought to address this inequity and incongruence by using a strength-based lens to explore successful, trusting, cross-racial mentoring relationships.
Racism in Counselor Education
Baker and Moore’s (2015) qualitative study examined the experiences of 19 ethnic minority doctoral students in counselor education, 12 of whom were Black. The student participants voiced their frustrations with the pressures they felt to suppress their ethnic identity and to act in ways aligned with White cultural standards. Although Henfield et al.’s (2013) phenomenological study of 11 Black doctoral students found a desire for mentoring from faculty members, the students shared similar conclusions regarding their isolation and disconnection from the faculty in their programs. This appeared to mirror the experiences reported by Black faculty. Holcomb-McCoy and Addison-Bradley (2005) found Black counselor educators did not feel included as valuable assets by their White colleagues. Finally, a study of 11 Black doctoral counseling students by Henfield, Owens, and Witherspoon (2011) revealed that despite feeling marginalized, their participants used relational resources, such as peer support, race-based organizations, and personal and professional advisors, to promote their success. Together, these studies expose a pernicious incongruence between what the counseling profession champions and what Black students and faculty are experiencing. One promising means of ameliorating these concerns could be culturally responsive cross-racial mentoring, which may assist in bridging this gap (Alvarez, Blume, Cervantes, & Thomas, 2009). In particular, cross-racial mentoring has been viewed as an avenue to enhance the recruitment and retention of counselor education faculty of color (Borders et al., 2011; Butler, Evans, Brooks, Williams, & Bailey, 2013).
Cross-Racial Mentoring
Blackwell (1989) defined mentoring as “a process by which persons of superior rank, special achievements, and prestige instruct, counsel, guide, and facilitate the intellectual and/or career development of persons identified as protégés” (p. 9). Positive mentoring can be an asset and also an antidote to the bigotry and marginalization often experienced by students of color (Luedke, 2017; D. L. McCoy, Winkle-Wagner, & Luedke, 2015). Effective mentoring also can enhance students’ likelihood of academic and career success and professional growth, along with increasing self-efficacy, mental health, and social and cultural capital (Chadiha, Aranda, Biegel, & Chang, 2014; Chan, Yeh, & Krumboltz, 2015; Gaddis, 2012; Hurd & Zimmerman, 2014).
Although students of color often desire mentoring from ethnic minority faculty, there is a need for cross-racial mentoring because of the lack of faculty of color (Brooks & Steen, 2010; Ortiz-Walters & Gibson, 2005; Patton, 2009). Yet, some scholars (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2004) note that cultural mistrust may hinder the forming of these beneficial interracial relationships, thus denying many Black graduate students the professional and psychological benefits associated with mentoring.
Cross-Racial Trust and Mistrust
For successful mentoring, a trusting relationship appears to be vital (Chan et al., 2015; Chun, Litzky, Sosik, Bechtold, & Godshalk, 2010; Eller, Lev, & Feurer, 2014; Gaddis, 2012; D. L. McCoy et al., 2015; Merriweather & Morgan, 2013; Rademaker, Duffy, Wetzler, & Zaikina-Montgomery, 2016). Yet, in the United States, the largest gap in cross-racial trust is between Black and White people (S. S. Smith, 2010).
As a result of both the long history and current experiences of racism in America, cultural mistrust, or the mistrust of White people by ethnic minorities, may serve a psychologically adaptive function in affording self-protection (Bell & Tracey, 2006; Terrell & Terrell, 1981; Whaley, 2012). Black people rate highest in cultural mistrust of all major ethnic minority groups, which may be a result of the particular history of slavery and the oppressive practices that continue to this day. Although cultural mistrust can serve as a protective factor, Bell and Tracey (2006) found that Black patients with higher levels of cultural mistrust suffered psychologically. Another effect of high levels of mistrust may be a lack of desire for Black people to build alliances with White professionals of goodwill who can assist with their professional development (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2004). Although additional studies examining racism and its impact on the professional development of students of color are needed, the more conspicuous gap in the literature is with regard to cross-racial trust and positive cross-racial relationships.
With the disproportionate underrepresentation of Black faculty in counselor education, it is likely that some Black graduate students will need to connect with White mentors (Brooks & Steen, 2010; Haizlip, 2012). Although multiple studies have examined the challenges experienced by Black students in counselor education programs (Baker & Moore, 2015; Haskins et al., 2013; Henfield et al., 2013), there is a dearth of explorations of trust in the counseling literature, especially cross-racial trust. Our phenomenological study addresses this omission by investigating successful Black–White trusting mentoring relationships in counselor education.
The goal of our study was to examine Black doctoral counselor education students’ experiences of cross-racial trust with White mentors in the counseling profession. The results of this study may encourage Black students to consider seeking mentoring relationships with White individuals, given the relative shortage of racial minorities within the profession, and also help White people of goodwill to mentor and aid Black students in achieving their academic and professional goals.
Methodology
In order to explore and represent the lived experiences of Black students’ successful cross-racial mentoring relationships in the counseling profession, the first author conducted a qualitative study in the tradition of transcendental phenomenology with Black doctoral counseling students who had trusting relationships with White mentors in the profession (Moustakas, 1994). Phenomenological research focuses on the lived experiences of people, amplifying their voices as it seeks to ascertain the meanings they give to their experiences (Adams & van Manen, 2008). Through this lens, we examined the experiences of 10 Black doctoral counseling students who participated in at least one trusting cross-racial relationship with a White mentor.
Our study was guided by the following research question: What are the lived experiences of Black doctoral students who have participated in or are currently in trusting relationships with White mentors within the counseling profession?
Researcher Bias
Researcher bias may threaten the validity of qualitative research conclusions. All research team members bracketed their assumptions through recording their expectations before the interviews and via ongoing conversation throughout data analysis (Gearing, 2008). The primary researcher was a Black middle-class male doctoral counselor education student who conducted this study for his dissertation. His ethnicity and student status qualified him as an insider in relation to the participants (Tinker & Armstrong, 2008). His a priori assumption was that participants would be more inclined to trust White people who acknowledged present-day racial injustices. The research team included two doctoral counselor education students, a White female and a White male, who had each completed at least one doctoral-level qualitative research course. Both research team members believed Black students would trust White people who showed unconditional positive regard. A White male counselor educator with a record of published qualitative research served as the independent external auditor. The research team also utilized reflective journaling and consensus coding to manage and reduce researcher bias.
Participants
The purposive sample of participants was recruited from the lead researcher’s informal network of doctoral counselor education students and faculty (who recommended possible participants). Selection criteria included being a Black doctoral counselor education student who had one or more trusted White mentors within the counseling profession. Each participant was given the definition of mentoring used by the primary researcher (Blackwell, 1989). A total of 10 doctoral students in counselor education expressed interest, met the criteria, and were interviewed for our study. This falls within the range of three to 10 participants recommended by Creswell (2014).
Five participants identified both a White professor(s) and a clinical supervisor(s) they trusted. Three identified at least one professor, and two identified at least one supervisor. See Table 1 for demographic information regarding the participants and the role of their mentor.
Table 1
Participant Demographic Information
| Gender |
Age Range |
Ethnic
Undergrad
|
Research
Level PhD
Program
|
Area/Location
Raised
|
Socio-Economic
Status |
Parents’
Education
|
How Many
Mentors
|
Position of
Mentor
|
| Male |
20s |
HBCU |
2 |
Urban/
Northeast |
Working
Class |
FGG |
One for 3 years |
Professor |
| Male |
20s |
PWI |
|
City/
Southeast |
Working
Class |
FGG |
Five between
1–5 years |
Professors/
Supervisors |
| Male |
20s |
PWI |
3 |
Urban/
Midwest |
Working
Class |
CGG |
Two for 2
years |
Professor/
Supervisor |
| Male |
20s |
PWI |
1 |
Urban/
Midwest |
Working
Class |
CGG |
Two for
3–4 years |
Professor/
Supervisor |
| Female |
50s |
HBCU |
2 |
Suburban/
Mid-Atlantic |
Middle
Class |
FGG |
Two for 3 years
One for 10+ years |
Supervisors |
| Female |
20s |
PWI |
2 |
Urban/
Mid-Atlantic |
Middle
Class |
FGG |
Three for 2–3 years |
Supervisors |
| Female |
30s |
PWI |
|
Suburban/
Southeast |
Working
Class |
FGG |
One for 8 years |
Professor |
| Female |
20s |
PWI |
2 |
Suburban/
Mid-Atlantic |
Working
Class |
CGG |
Three for 1–2 years |
Supervisor/
Professor |
| Female |
20s |
PWI |
2 |
Appalachian/
Midwest |
Poor |
FGG |
One for 1 year |
Professor |
| Female |
30s |
MSI |
2 |
Suburban/
Southeast |
Working
Class |
FGG |
One for 10 years
One for 1 year |
Supervisor/
Professor |
| Note. |
CGG = Continuing Generation College Graduates |
MSI = Minority-Serving Institution |
|
FGG = First Generation College Graduates |
PWI = Predominately White Institution |
|
HBCU = Historically Black College/University |
|
Procedure
Subsequent to receiving IRB exempt approval from the authors’ college review board, the primary researcher sent an introduction letter explaining the study via email to counselor education faculty and doctoral students with whom he was familiar through professional networking. Once consent was obtained, the lead researcher sent the demographic questionnaire and the interview questions to participants 48 hours before their interviews in order to provide time to reflect about their experiences (James, 2014). The protocol was constructed by the authors based on pertinent literature related to trust and ethnic minority experiences and reviewed by a team of three counselor educators. The primary researcher then conducted semi-structured interviews focused on the participants’ experiences of cross-racial trust. Interview questions included: (a) Can you please describe experiences in your past that enabled you to trust a White person as a mentor? (b) What did you experience within this cross-racial relationship(s) that enabled you to trust this White mentor? and (c) Can you share the differences between the Whites you chose to trust and those that you trusted less? Initial interviews ranged from 30 to 60 minutes and were conducted by the primary researcher either face-to-face or via a secure connection on Adobe.
A professional transcriptionist confidentially transcribed each interview. Each participant received a copy of the transcript for member checking (Creswell, 2014). The lead researcher also conducted a follow-up interview to allow participants to add or revise anything that was said in the initial inquiry. Eight of the 10 doctoral students participated in follow-up interviews, which lasted between 10 and 20 minutes. The two participants who declined stated they had nothing further to add.
Data Analysis
The research team employed Moustakas’ (1994) data analysis process for each transcript, beginning with horizontalization, which included noting individual meaning units and holding them with equal importance. The team then engaged in reduction and elimination of meaning units based on redundancy, and also whether they were “necessary . . . for understanding the phenomena” (Moustakas, 1994, p. 120). The team members individually categorized remaining meaning units related to the phenomena and identified clusters and themes from the data. After independently analyzing transcripts, the research team met after the first two interviews to ensure fidelity in the coding process, and again after the eighth and 10th set of interview transcripts were coded. They came to a consensus regarding whether each code had sufficient support based on textural descriptions; then they created a final code book (Hays & Singh, 2012). The research team also engaged in a deviant case analysis to honor the diverse phenomena represented amongst participants. Next, the team utilized textural-structural descriptions from the transcripts to illustrate codes and themes identified in the data.
Trustworthiness refers to the accurate reflection of the participants’ voices and perspectives (Given & Saumure, 2008). In this study, trustworthiness attributes included credibility, confirmability, transferability, and dependability (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). In an effort to secure trustworthiness, the research team utilized Moustakas’ (1994) process of analysis, reflective journals, consensus coding, member checking, follow-up interviews, use of an external auditor, and providing thick descriptions of the research process and participants.
Results
The research team identified three superordinate themes from the data: reasons for trust, reasons for mistrust, and benefits of cross-racial mentoring.
Superordinate Theme One: Reasons for Trust
All 10 of the participants identified factors that fostered their willingness to engage in a cross-racial trusting relationship with White mentors, which provided the basis for this superordinate theme. We identified four themes from the participants’ data: past experiences, trusting by proxy, personal attributes, and the necessity of White people.
Past experiences. Data from nine participants supported this theme and its two subthemes: experiencing positive relations with White people and experiencing rejection from Black people.
Experiencing positive relations with White people. Half of the participants shared experiences illustrating how White people had proven themselves to be trustworthy. For example, participants spoke of experiencing White people who married into the family or who were part of their experience being raised in a multiracial church, and of having White coaches and teachers who invested in them personally during key developmental stages in their life. The investment of time and emotional resources from these White people established a sense of safety and trust during their younger years. These relationships helped to provide the experiential and emotional base for the risk of cross-racial trust.
Experiencing rejection from Black people. Four participants shared negative past experiences with Black people, involving peers, professors, supervisors, or former employers, which led them to be hesitant to trust Black people—opening the door to choosing White people as possible mentors. One female participant shared that she had not felt welcomed by some Black women in the profession. A male participant spoke of being mocked in childhood for not being “Black enough” and his subsequent struggles: “It was actually heart-wrenching for me to recognize that I’m not comfortable being in a room full of Black people. . . . I was always worried about being, even in a professional setting, being outed as, ‘Oh well, he’s Black, but he’s not really.’” All four participants exhibited reticence about sharing these experiences and the accompanying feelings of frustration, shame, and isolation.
Trusting by proxy. Half of the participants shared that they would consult with Black colleagues when discerning whether a White person may be trustworthy. These students trusted their Black peers, seeking their opinions concerning which White professors and clinical supervisors could be trusted. One shared the importance of having friends indicate, “You can trust this person…they get it.”
Personal attributes. This refers to personal attributes or qualities of the participants themselves that enabled trust in White people. The two subthemes identified were being generally trusting and being courageous.
Being generally trusting. Five participants shared that they were generally trusting and therefore willing to give all people a chance. These students believed their generally trusting nature helped them be open to the possibility of a cross-racial trusting relationship.
Yet, not all participants described themselves as generally trusting. One doctoral student shared his cautious and guarded nature toward people regardless of race. He indicated that he chooses to observe people over time in order to discern whether they are trustworthy.
Being courageous. Two participants noted that courage is needed to engage in cross-racial trust. They were cognizant of the vulnerability that interracial trust entails for the protégé and spoke to the emotional resilience needed for a Black person to pursue and then persist in a Black–White mentoring relationship. All 10 participants spoke of the reality of racism in their lives and in their counselor education programs. Therefore, Black students who attempt to develop a cross-racial trusting relationship are exposing themselves to the possibility of further injury and experiences of bigotry and marginalization.
Necessity of White people. Four participants shared their understanding from a young age that Black people would likely need relationships with White people if they were to succeed academically or professionally. White mentors can help serve as a guide to navigating predominately White systems. Therefore, achieving success as a Black person necessitated placing oneself in a precarious position. These students believed that one must have positive relationships with White people even though most White people are not trustworthy.
Superordinate Theme Two: Reasons for Mistrust
All 10 participants spoke about reasons they had for mistrusting White people. Four themes describe the various causes for Black mistrust of White people: receiving family messages, experiencing overt racism, experiencing tokenism, and experiencing dissonance.
Receiving family messages. Participants spoke of learning cross-racial mistrust through observation and receiving direct messages from family members. There were two subthemes under family messages: overt messages and White voice.
Overt messages. Half of participants shared that they heard messages since childhood from family members that White people are untrustworthy. One interviewee’s parents told him he could not have White friends; other participants were explicitly told by family members that White people were not to be trusted. Yet, this was not true for all participants. One student recalled “I was constantly told ‘you can have people around you, but just don’t trust the White people that are around you’ . . . [but] some Whites are trustworthy.” Yet, as he grew older, his parents began to discuss the realities of racism and navigating life as a Black male.
White voice. Two participants shared implicit messages they witnessed while growing up, such as noticing that Black people would change their dictation and mannerisms when interacting with White people. One participant shared that “we used to just call it the White voice . . . around professional people who they weren’t super comfortable with.” As children, these participants observed their families codeswitching and understood implicitly that Black individuals cannot be themselves around White professionals.
Experiencing overt racism. Five participants described past racist experiences with neighbors, educators, and police that hindered their willingness to engage in cross-racial trust. Some students shared stories from childhood; others noted more recent occurrences. One male interviewee reported that he had been pulled over several times by White police officers as a teenager but only received one ticket, which he believed showed the lack of justification White police had for pulling him over. He also told the story of a police officer pulling a gun on him and his friends while he was in his car. All such experiences confirmed the explicit and implicit messages they received from their families concerning White people being untrustworthy.
Experiencing tokenism. Five participants stated that they were suspicious of White counseling professionals’ motives for desiring a relationship. One female student stated she wonders if White people are trying to make up for a racial injustice they committed in their past, stating, “I definitely am a little hesitant to see what’s your true motive.”
Other participants questioned the motives of White people who want to build a professional relationship with Black people. One interviewee said he felt “commodified” by White counseling professionals. He reported feeling put in a box as “the Black male counselor” who works with trauma. Another participant felt used by a White professor who she believed wanted her participation to give validity to a presentation on a multicultural topic at a conference.
Experiencing dissonance. Several participants spoke about internal conflicts that stemmed from their experience in the predominately White field of counseling. Four subthemes emerged from this data: internalizing racism, feeling isolated, questioning one’s perception, and considering White trust.
Internalizing racism. Two male participants shared distressing thoughts about their place in the counseling program, which stemmed from internalized racism. One participant shared that at times he did not feel equal to his White peers although objective measures demonstrated they were not superior to him intellectually or clinically. Although both Black male participants who shared these insecurities seemed poised and self-confident, they experienced self-doubts they attributed to internalized oppression.
Feeling isolated. Three participants shared that they felt isolated, either in their master’s or doctoral programs. One participant noted, “I’m that one student who brings up race, and who brings up people of color, and anybody who’s not White, and our issues in counseling, and none of my cohort does that.” These participants expressed frustration with fellow students, including people of color, who were unwilling to share their experience in class.
Questioning one’s perception. Two participants discussed periodically questioning their perceptions of racism, whether it actually occurred or if it was their own issue that they were imposing on White faculty and students in their department. One participant shared this process of questioning with two Black alumni from his program and was reassured “It’s not just you. It’s not in your head. You’re not wiling out.” He believed that this reflexive process of questioning one’s perception is a burden that Black people often carry in White settings.
Considering White trust. Two participants believed it was important for trust to be mutual. One participant questioned whether White people would trust her as a Black person. These participants recognized that they could not trust White people who would not trust them.
Superordinate Theme Three: Benefits of Cross-Racial Mentoring
The final superordinate theme was voiced by nine participants and contained two themes: benefiting from networks of privilege and disconfirming over-generalizations of White individuals.
Benefiting from networks of privilege. Five participants noted that White mentors had helped them make professional connections or hoped that they would do so. They believed that White mentors have access to social networks that some Black faculty and supervisors do not and believed their White mentors could use their privilege and cultural capital on their behalf.
Disconfirming over-generalizations of White individuals. Finally, four participants shared that trusting their White mentor helped them to trust other White people. One participant shared, “It helps me as a Black woman not to make these gross over-generalizations about White people, about White men in academia, about White counselor educators.” A few participants indicated the cross-racial trust emboldened them to branch out into new areas professionally and personally as a result of being more willing to build relationships with White people of good will.
Discussion
To help diversify the counseling profession, scholars have noted the importance of mentoring students from underrepresented groups (Fleig-Palmer & Schoorman, 2011; Leck & Orser, 2013). Considering the disproportionately low representation of counselor educators and supervisors of color and the numerous benefits of mentoring (Chadiha et al., 2014; Chan et al., 2015; Hurd & Zimmerman, 2014), interracial mentoring provides a viable pathway to increasing access to this valuable resource and enhancing inclusion and diversity (Brooks & Steen, 2010; Patton, 2009). One significant hindrance to interracial mentoring relationships is cultural mistrust, which is a result of historical and present experiences of racism and marginalization (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2004). This study addressed a gap in the literature regarding cross-racial trust by examining the experiences of Black doctoral counseling students who were successful in establishing trusting relationships with White mentors, providing a complementary perspective to the literature that details reasons for and costs of the mistrust of White people by Black people in counselor education.
Our results shed light on the perilous nature of interracial trust for these Black participants. Trust by its very nature entails vulnerability (Eller et al., 2014; Merriweather & Morgan, 2013). Furthermore, the misuse of power intrinsic in White racism makes interracial trust risky for Black students desiring mentors in predominately White institutions (D. L. McCoy et al., 2015). For example, despite the success that led them to their doctoral student status, the themes of internalizing racism and questioning one’s perception speak to the added vulnerability involved in interracial trust. In Gildersleeve, Croom, and Vasquez’s (2011) article, “Am I Going Crazy?!,” the authors found that questioning one’s perception of racism may be characteristic of the experience of many doctoral students from underrepresented ethnic groups. Given documented experiences of racism within counselor education (e.g., Baker & Moore, 2015; Henfield et al., 2013), the questioning of one’s experience of marginalization is compounded within counseling programs, despite the profession’s claims to have a multicultural and social justice emphasis. Unless we are ready to actively examine privilege and bias in our programs and enact effective, substantive, and systemic actions to address and remediate the embedded inequities, our profession’s aspirational language will be revealed to be hollow and hypocritical.
Despite experiencing racism in their counseling programs, these participants did co-create successful and beneficial cross-racial relationships. Participants shared factors that encouraged them to engage in trusting relationships with White mentors. Having a generally trusting nature, and also prior positive experiences with White people, may be intuitive findings, but experiencing rejection from Black people as an impetus for interracial trust appears to be unique to this study. Participants also discussed White allies being needed for success, with systemic issues of racism hindering Black people from relying solely on resources from their own community both in counselor education and outside the profession.
Our findings also highlight the collectivist sensibilities that influenced participants’ decisions to trust White people. Participants confirmed S. S. Smith’s (2010) description of cultural mistrust being taught to Black children by their parents as a protective factor to equip these students to deal with the racism experienced both within counselor education and in society. Despite experiencing the veracity of these familial warnings, some students engaged in trust by proxy, itself a collectivist practice, in order to lessen the risk of interracial trust.
Scholars have proposed the need for cross-racial mentoring because of the lack of faculty of color (Brooks & Steen, 2010; Haizlip, 2012; Ortiz-Walters & Gibson, 2005). Yet, even when faculty and supervisors of color are present, some Black students may desire to connect with White faculty or supervisors. Although Patton (2009) found that Black women preferred faculty mentors who shared their race and gender, four participants of the current study, two males and two females, experienced rejection from Black people, which opened the possibility of a White mentor. Though some doctoral students and faculty can view this as a form of internalized racism, the narratives shared spoke more to a fear of being rejected by one’s racial group. Although discouraging encounters with other Black people occurred in their past, participants spoke of negative experiences with Black supervisors or faculty within their counseling programs and clinical settings. Therefore, one should not assume that Black faculty or supervisors will be inevitably preferred as mentors by Black doctoral students and supervisees.
The themes of the necessity of White people and benefiting from networks of privilege captured participants’ beliefs that cross-racial mentoring helps Black students advance academically and professionally. Borders et al. (2011) suggested that women and people of color may need several mentors to help them meet the unique challenges of their professional and psychosocial development in a context that is often White- and male-dominated. This study’s participants were cognizant of the numerous benefits of mentoring (Bynum, 2015; Gaddis, 2012) and, more specifically, the particular benefits of having a White mentor (Ortiz-Walters & Gibson, 2005).
Implications for Counseling Training Programs
Racism continues to inform exploitive institutional and systemic norms, values, and policies ensuring that the privileged preserve their advantages (DiAngelo, 2018). While there has been a recent resurgence of more flagrant forms of racist expression in these tumultuous times, the insidious effects of less egregious forms of racial bias, such as blindness to or avoidance of the topic, are still prevalent (Oluo, 2018). In the academy, and in counselor education specifically, despite our aspirations to embody and enact cultural responsiveness and social justice, Black doctoral students continue to be subject to oppressive individual and institutional bias in terms of treatment, climate, and policies (ACA, 2014; Baker & Moore, 2015; CACREP, 2015; Henfield et al., 2013; S. Z. McCoy, 2018; Ratts et al., 2015).
One example or result of racism in graduate education is students of color having less access to the mentoring and social connections that positively impact educational and career opportunities (Rudolph, Castillo, Garcia, Martinez, & Navarro, 2015). An additional pernicious contributor to this inequity is the prevailing deficit narratives White faculty often hold about the abilities of students from non-dominant statuses (D. L. McCoy et al., 2015; S. Z. McCoy, 2018). Given the benefits of positive, trustworthy mentoring experiences and the disproportionately large representation of White counselor educators, cross-racial relationships hold promise if trust can be established (Baker & Moore, 2015; Cartwright et al., 2018; D. L. McCoy et al., 2015).
To generate conditions for more equitable and trusting mentoring relationships, our profession needs to vigorously promote the cultivation of cultural humility, signified by actions and attitudes reflecting respect, openness, genuineness, and curiosity (Davis et al., 2016; Hook, Davis, Owen, Worthington, & Utsey, 2013). This should be reflected in our standards for accreditation of training programs and licensure as counselors and supervisors. Specifically, White counselor educators and supervisors need to continuously examine and actively address their own, often implicit, racial biases (S. Z. McCoy, 2018). In addition, the existing oppressive climate in our profession, our preparation programs, and the society at large needs to be met with active social justice advocacy for, by, and with our students, protégés, and clients. These efforts will include addressing racism and microagressions promulgated by people and policies (ACA, 2014; Davis et al., 2016; Ratts et al., 2015). As has been noted, if we are not actively advocating for solutions, we are promoting the inequitable status quo.
In addition, we need to seek, invite, and include extraordinary strengths, wisdom, and capital possessed by students and clients of color in our programs and counseling and supervision sessions. Appreciation and incorporation of these assets would invite more reciprocal and culturally responsive relationships (Butler et al., 2013; Chadiha et al., 2014; Rudolph et al., 2015). Finally, specifically with mentoring relationships, being open to a more holistic relationship including important personal (e.g., experiences of oppression) and professional concerns is supported in the literature (e.g., Chan et al., 2015; Henfield et al., 2011). White mentors are invited to be proactive in seeking and cultivating relationships in which mutual learning is expected and discussion about racism and oppression is safe and welcome (Luedke, 2017; D. L. McCoy et al., 2015).
Transformational efforts should include encouraging and expecting culturally relevant pedagogy that fosters critical thinking and reflexivity, integrates cultural strengths as valued resources, and promotes proficiency for effecting social change (Gay, 2018; Motulsky, Gere, Saleem, & Trantham, 2014; Spanierman & Smith, 2017). For example, recognizing oppression at a structural level is associated with enhanced social justice commitment and less blaming of oppressed individuals and groups (L. A. Goodman, Wilson, Helms, Greenstein, & Medzhitova, 2018; L. Smith & Lau, 2013; Swartz, Limberg, & Gold, 2018). Also important is the creation of a program-wide safe space to foster frequent conversations regarding biases, microaggressions, positionality, benefits accrued from dominant statuses, and responsibilities to use privilege for community enhancement (in a culturally humble fashion), both at the individual and program levels (Davis et al., 2016; D. J. Goodman, 2011). Finally, service provided to the community in a collaborative fashion by both students and faculty has been shown to help build cultural responsiveness and advocacy skills (L. A. Goodman et al., 2018; Midgett & Doumas, 2016; Toporek & Worthington, 2014). The desired effect of the examples shared above is not only to increase cultural and social justice competence of individuals, but also to build a culturally responsive learning community in which reasons for mistrust are diminished, experiences of trust increase, and accessing beneficial mentoring can flourish.
Limitations
Despite efforts to conduct a rigorous study, the research team acknowledges our limitations within this phenomenological study. Researcher bias had the potential to influence our study at several stages. In an attempt to ameliorate bias, we followed several practices associated with enhancing trustworthiness such as keeping a reflective journal, using consensus coding, member checking, providing thick descriptions, and having an external auditor.
Social desirability was a potential limitation, as participants’ answers to questions could have been influenced by what they felt would be more acceptable in either Black academic circles or the counseling profession. To address this, the primary researcher withheld probing questions when participants told narratives that were emotionally powerful and salient. That some of the participants informally knew the primary researcher (e.g., from conversations at professional conferences) might also have influenced what was shared.
Future Research
This study highlights several possibilities for further research on trust within the counseling profession. As noted, the counseling literature lacks empirical studies on trust, despite its importance for both the supervisory and therapeutic relationship. There is a dearth of instruments measuring interpersonal trust in counseling. Creating such an instrument may be beneficial for a profession that is essentially relational.
Further inquiries into cross-racial mentoring may prove beneficial for our understanding of its benefits and perils, such as the effects of cross-racial mentoring on the racial identity development of both the mentee and the mentor. Future studies might also examine the perspectives of the White mentors involved in cross-racial relationships with students or supervisees. In addition, researchers could examine cross-racial mentoring relationships in which the mentor is Black and the mentee is White, examining the benefits and challenges experienced in these dyads. Investigations of interpersonal trust between dyads or groups comprised of marginalized and privileged people will be beneficial to the profession and those we serve. Finally, research is needed on the boundaries within the counseling profession. Most of the participants of this study believed that their relationship with their mentor needed to be more informal and less rigid (see Alvarez et al., 2009; Luedke, 2017). It may be beneficial to examine how much of one’s perspective of professional boundaries is culturally conditioned.
Summary and Conclusion
In our study, 10 Black doctoral counseling students shared a range of experiences related to cross-racial trust with White mentors, along with their perspectives about succeeding in a profession that is predominately White. Their lived experiences entailed both racial stress and cross-racial support, cultural isolation within their departments, and empathic encouragement from their mentors. The research team identified three superordinate themes related to cross-racial trust in mentoring relationships: reasons for trust, reasons for mistrust, and benefits of cross-racial mentoring. We also identified several themes and subthemes that delineated the interpersonal and intrapersonal factors that helped generate cross-racial trust, despite participants’ ubiquitous experiences of racism.
Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.
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Eric M. Brown is an assistant professor at Wheaton College. Tim Grothaus is an associate professor at Old Dominion University. Correspondence can be addressed to Eric Brown, 501 College Avenue, BGC, Wheaton, IL 60187, eric.brown@wheaton.edu.
Jul 20, 2016 | Article, Volume 6 - Issue 2
Dee C. Ray, David D. Huffman, David D. Christian, Brittany J. Wilson
The vast majority of graduate students in the social sciences, especially in mental health fields, are females (Crothers et al., 2010; Healey & Hays, 2012). In a recent report on counseling programs, an average of 76% of students admitted and graduated yearly from entry-level counseling programs were women (Schweiger, Henderson, McCaskill, Clawson, & Collins, 2012). Although counseling is one field that attracts mostly female graduate level students, a historical review indicates that males made up approximately 80% of counselor education faculties in the 1980s (Anderson & Rawlins, 1985). In recent years, as the number of females who seek doctoral degrees in counseling has increased, so has the number of female counselor educators, correlating to fewer males entering the field of counselor education. Currently, the average number of males admitted and graduated yearly from doctoral-level counseling programs has been reported at a meager 25% (Schweiger et al., 2012). As counselor educators strive to build best practices for working with diverse populations, it seems relevant to explore the experiences of male counselor educators as well as suggest practices that improve conditions for male counselor education faculty.
In the preparation of counselors, counselor educators are encouraged to build relationships with students that lead to greater self-awareness, personal development and interpersonal learning, which inform their work as counselors. Literature cites the importance of the relationships between counseling faculty and students as “paramount” (Dollarhide & Granello, 2012, p. 290), suggesting that it “stands out above all other factors” (McAuliffe, 2011, p. 32) in the education of adults. It seems reasonable to assume that if counselor educators espouse the importance of the relationship between client and counselor, they extend this value to their students, building relationships that facilitate learning. Thus, a belief that the relationship between teacher and student leads to mutual support and growth comprises the hallmark of humanistic education (Dollarhide & Granello, 2012).
Although the American Counseling Association (ACA) Code of Ethics (2014) asserted that counselor educators are restricted from sexual or romantic relationships with students, universities and counselor education programs typically do not clearly articulate boundaries when approaching the multiple roles adopted by faculty members (Owen & Zwahr-Castro, 2007). In the absence of guidelines and open discussion regarding faculty–student relationships, legal concerns can permeate the university environment. Sexual harassment suits have increased, and many universities have responded by going beyond sexual harassment policies and adding additional policies that restrict sexual or romantic consensual relationships between faculty and students (Bartlett, 2002; Kiley, 2011). Male faculty members seem especially affected by the legal environment and Nicks (1996) reported males had significantly higher concerns than females regarding unjust accusations of harassing a student. In the current environment of legality and ambiguous ethical guidelines, Kress and Dixon (2007) cautioned that counselor educators might choose to distance themselves from students to avoid the appearance of impropriety or placing themselves in complex ethical situations. However, there is a dearth of literature regarding issues of relationship dynamics based on sexuality and gender in academia over the last 20 years.
Further complicating the issue of faculty–student relationships is that female professors and students are more likely to perceive complex relationship issues as unethical when compared to their male counterparts. In a comparison between female and male counselor educators and counselor education students, Bowman, Hatley, and Bowman (1995) found that females were significantly more likely to rate activities outside the traditional student–teacher relationship as unethical. This finding has been supported in multiple studies regarding undergraduate students (Ei & Bowen, 2002; Oldenburg, 2005; Owen & Zwahr-Castro, 2007). Female undergraduate students were more likely to rate a relationship scenario as unethical when the professor was identified as a male as compared to scenarios with female professors (Oldenburg, 2005) and more likely to be negative than males about questionable scenarios such as sexual relationships, doing favors for a professor, and doing things alone with an instructor (Ei & Bowen, 2002). Owen and Zwahr-Castro (2007) found that female undergraduate students judged approximately one-third of faculty–student interaction scenarios as significantly more inappropriate than male students, identifying nonacademic-related interaction that occurred off campus as most inappropriate. Although not specifically explored, the tendency of females to find behaviors unethical when compared to the perceptions of males has been attributed in the literature to sensitivity of women to power differentials and potential for exploitation based on cultural experience (Ei & Bowen, 2002; Owen & Zwahr-Castro, 2007). In the context of current ratios in counselor education of a majority number of female faculty to a minority number of male graduate students, it is difficult to ascertain the perception of power dynamics based on gender.
The changing context of counselor education may present unique challenges for male faculty to navigate with little guidance. A review of the literature highlights a complex environment where male counselor educators engage in faculty–student relationships within a context of power differences and potential legal complications. The current study was conceived in a doctoral level clinical course in which male and female doctoral students processed their teaching experiences with master’s students. During the discussion, male doctoral students serving as instructors shared experiences regarding relationships with their students that appeared uniquely different from experiences shared by female colleagues. Concerns emerged regarding practices of male counselor educators when entering a female-prevalent field as a person in a position of power. As a result, we proposed that the following factors might influence the interactions of male counselor educators on a daily basis in their roles with students: majority of female graduate students, decreasing number of male faculty, increases in legal action, ambiguity of ethical guidelines, possible attraction between professors and students, and a contextual field that values human relationships. The purpose of this study was to discover attitudes and practices of male counselor educators regarding faculty-student relationships. Our research questions included: (a) what are the practices and attitudes of male counselor educators related to relationships with students and colleagues? and (b) what specific practices do male counselor educators employ to maintain boundaries with students?
Methodology
Participants and Data Collection
Using Schweiger et al.’s (2012) compilation of counseling program information, a member of the research team identified names typically attributed to males among listed faculty names, resulting in the identification of 330 males within the United States. The research team then matched the names with e-mails on university Web sites. An initial recruitment e-mail was sent to the identified sample asking for participation. Following the initial recruitment e-mail, 41 of the identified original sample responded as ineligible (22 contact e-mails were immediately returned as unavailable; 6 identified as female; and 13 identified as no longer working as a counselor educator or having never worked as a counselor educator). This resulted in a potential sample of 289. Two more e-mails were sent as reminders regarding participation. The final sample consisted of 163 male counselor educators who completed the survey, resulting in a response rate of 56%.
A summary of demographic characteristics of the 163 male counselor educators who completed the survey is presented in Table 1. In this sample, male counselor educators were mostly White, non-Hispanic (n=125). African American (n=14) and Hispanic (n=11) males also were represented, but only in small numbers, and Asian males (n=4) were few. Most of the sample identified as married/partnered (87%) and heterosexual (89%), with gay or bisexual males represented by approximately 10% of participants. The sample was more diverse in areas of age, rank, child status, and years as counselor educators.
Survey Development
We developed our survey in two phases. The research team brainstormed issues that emerged during discussion, such as the possible attitudes of male counselor educators, including feeling isolated or unsupported due to fewer numbers of male colleagues, or practices that might emerge in working with students of the opposite gender with the intent of ensuring a sense of safety. Based on discussion and an extensive literature review, the research team created a list of quantitative items surveying demographics, attitudes and practices of male counselor educators. We distributed the survey to a pilot group of six male counselor educators who represented diversity in age, experience, ethnicity and sexual orientation. The pilot participants reviewed each question and commented on its usefulness, acceptability and clarity. Based on pilot feedback, the research team modified the survey to include 22 demographic questions, 32 attitude and practice questions, and four open-ended questions. The survey was formatted for the Survey Research Suite (Qualtrics) and final quantitative data was transferred into SPSS for analysis.
Demographic questions included items regarding personal, family and program characteristics of the faculty members, and questions regarding the faculty members’ professional designations and teaching assignments. Attitude items (Cronbach’s α = .66) consisted of questions related to the impact of being male on both collegial and student relationships. Practice items (Cronbach’s α = .64) consisted of questions related to the participant’s actual practices in relating to students (e.g., private meetings, lunch/dinner, after class). For the full scale, Cronbach’s α was calculated at .70. Four open-ended questions addressed ethical challenges, thoughts related to being male, ways the counselor educator might act differently, and strategies used to avoid complications with students.
Table 1
Demographic Characteristics of Male Counselor Educator Participants
|
Variable
|
N
|
%
|
M
|
SD
|
Mdn
|
Range
|
| Age |
155
|
|
51.61
|
11.08
|
53
|
27–76
|
| Ethnicity |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| African American |
14
|
8.6
|
|
|
|
|
| Asian |
4
|
2.5
|
|
|
|
|
| White, Non-Hispanic |
125
|
76.7
|
|
|
|
|
| White, Hispanic |
11
|
6.7
|
|
|
|
|
| Self-Identified as Other |
8
|
4.9
|
|
|
|
|
| Relationship Status |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Single |
14
|
8.6
|
|
|
|
|
| Married/Partnered |
142
|
87.1
|
|
|
|
|
| Divorced/Separated |
5
|
3.1
|
|
|
|
|
| Widowed |
1
|
.6
|
|
|
|
|
| Sexual Identity |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Gay |
13
|
8.0
|
|
|
|
|
| Heterosexual |
145
|
89.0
|
|
|
|
|
| Bisexual |
3
|
1.8
|
|
|
|
|
| Status Regarding Children |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| No Children |
30
|
18.4
|
|
|
|
|
| Adult Children |
74
|
45.4
|
|
|
|
|
| Minor Children in Home |
55
|
33.7
|
|
|
|
|
| Minor Children Part Home |
1
|
.6
|
|
|
|
|
| Minor Children Not in Home |
2
|
1.2
|
|
|
|
|
| Years As Counselor Educator |
161
|
|
15.07
|
10.85
|
12
|
1–45
|
| Faculty Rank |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Assistant |
38
|
23.3
|
|
|
|
|
| Associate |
50
|
30.7
|
|
|
|
|
| Full |
58
|
35.6
|
|
|
|
|
| Lecturer/Interim |
4
|
2.5
|
|
|
|
|
| Other |
13
|
8.0
|
|
|
|
|
| Total Number of Male Faculty |
156
|
|
4.04
|
1.81
|
4
|
1–10
|
| Total Number of Female Faculty |
155
|
|
4.27
|
2.27
|
4
|
0–13
|
| Estimated % of Male Students |
163
|
|
18.21
|
11.24
|
16
|
0–78
|
| Estimated % of Female Students |
162
|
|
77.66
|
18.55
|
80
|
0–99
|
The first three open-ended questions were used for qualitative analysis and the final question was used to create a list of strategies employed by male counselor educators to aid in their student relationships.
Analysis and Results
The research team used a parallel mixed-methods design (Teddlie & Tashakkori, 2009) to explore the experiences of male counselor educators. We utilized qualitative thematic analysis for data generated from three open-ended questions and optional comments following each quantitative survey question and quantitative statistical analysis for multiple-choice survey questions. By conducting independent quantitative and qualitative analyses in a parallel simultaneous nature, we allowed the separate analyses to inform one another and provide a more integrated understanding of the data (Teddlie & Tashakkori, 2009). Due to overlap in analysis and results consequential from a mixed-methods approach, we chose to present analyses and results categorized by method (qualitative and quantitative) in the following section.
Qualitative Analyses
Responses to the three open-ended questions and optional comments were analyzed from a perspective of transcendental phenomenology to explore the lived experiences of participants (Creswell, 2007; Moustakas, 1994). Within this qualitative tradition, we worked to bracket or set aside our own preconceptions about the phenomenon as much as possible to remain focused on the views of participants (Moerer-Urdahl & Creswell, 2004; Moustakas, 1994). The research team, consisting of two male doctoral students and one female tenured faculty member, discussed our student–teacher relationship experiences regarding gender and power differences. Through reflection and discussion, we developed greater awareness of how our experiences have influenced our views of being and working with male counselor educators. Team discussion allowed us to understand and bracket our positions in the development of data collection and analysis methods.
Because the experiences of male counselor educators have received little attention in literature and research, a phenomenological approach allowed for understanding to emerge from participants’ written reports as data was broken down into smaller units of meaning and reconstructed into broader themes that were clearly defined (Creswell, 2007; Giorgi, 1985). Following data collection, we independently coded responses to three open-ended questions, a smaller portion of the data, to identify initial concepts. Next, we met to review and compare our concepts. Silverman and Marvasti (2008) identified the appropriate use of smaller portions of data to establish preliminary categories. We discussed each unit of meaning in the text that was relevant to the focus of study (Giorgi, 1985), compared each concept to previous statements and discovered an initial list of broader themes suggesting common experiences among participants (Creswell, 2007). The research team clarified category definitions by comparing data units within each category for similarities and differences. Responses to optional comments sections in the survey were reviewed for inclusion in the text. Comments that offered information beyond the scope of the survey question referenced were included in the text for qualitative analysis. Then individual team members independently examined the entire text and coded each unit of meaning under the appropriately perceived category. Finally, we met as a group to develop consensus on final categories and to assign textural excerpts to appropriate themes. As suggested by Potrata (2010), research team members focused on exploring potential differences in coding rather than focusing on consistency when coming to consensus in order to illuminate complexities of the male counselor educator experience. Frequencies were tabulated to represent the magnitude of each category within the sample, and verbatim illustrative quotes were selected to clarify the meaning of each category. Saldaña (2013) suggested that magnitude coding adds supplemental texture to provide richer results in qualitative analysis.
Qualitative Results
In order to address our first research question regarding practices and attitudes of male counselor educators, participants were asked to respond to three open-ended questions to address their experiences and practices as male counselor educators. Seventy-one responses were recorded for the first question, “What ethical challenges, if any, are related to being male in counselor education?” One hundred responses were recorded for the second question, “What are your thoughts related to being male in counselor education?” Ninety-six responses were recorded for the third question, “What are the ways you act differently in student relationships because you are male?” We also coded additional comments of significance that followed each survey item. In all, qualitative analysis included the coding of 359 answers of varying lengths. During qualitative analysis, the research team discovered that participants’ answers appeared to be addressing similar themes across all questions. Hence, all answers were collapsed into one analysis.
The research team identified 10 distinct themes expressed by participants regarding the experiences of being a male counselor educator. We identified “modify behavior” as the most predominant theme, magnified by frequency (32%). This theme included intentional changes in action or interpersonal expression related to being male in professional relationships. Another major theme, “no difference” (frequency 23%) included beliefs and experiences that no unique relationship challenges exist in counselor education related to being male. Expressions of feeling “isolated or lonely” (frequency 11%) described participant experiences of feeling a lack of support as well as awareness of being a minority in the profession. Responses regarding “sexual attraction” (frequency 11%) involved experiences of sexual attraction in professional relationships. A theme of “perception of impropriety” (frequency 10%) included attention to the perception of others regarding appropriate behavior. Expressions of “prejudice or discrimination” (frequency 9.5%) involved experiences of negative beliefs or actions of others related to one’s gender. Additionally, qualitative data revealed themes related to participants’ “awareness” of professional relationships, “awareness of power difference” in relationships, the importance of a “caring or safe environment,” and “ethnicity or orientation” as part of one’s identity as a male counselor educator. A comprehensive presentation of all themes is included in Table 2.
Our second research question regarding specific practices of male counselor educators was addressed through our fourth open-ended survey question, which indicated participants cited over 40 different strategies they used to structure their relationships with students. In general faculty–student interactions, respondents indicated that they did not meet alone with students; only met with students on campus; interacted in groups when others were present; avoided jokes, conversations or language that could be perceived as too friendly; referred to family/significant others in class and conversation; avoided sharing too much personal information; made no physical contact; and avoided being overtly interested in students’ relationship issues. When meeting with students, respondents reported that they kept their doors open, structured meetings with an agenda, met in classrooms, ensured others were around, and avoided engaging in counseling with students. Participants also indicated that they consulted with colleagues regarding student relationships, had colleagues present for potentially problematic student interactions, addressed student relationship issues as soon as they arose, notified department chairs of any concerns and documented interactions. On a personal level, participants reported that they focused on having a balanced personal life, increased self-awareness of interactions, reminded self of boundaries, and engaged in honest and transparent interactions.
Quantitative Analyses
We used results from qualitative analysis to inform decision making regarding variables of interest for quantitative analysis. Due to the extensive data resultant from the 32-question survey of practices and attitudes and need for manuscript brevity, we narrowed survey data results to the survey items that matched qualitative theme results. We chose to explore one survey item per qualitative theme that appeared to closely match the qualitative analysis. Following final coding discussion, the research team identified five attitude and practice questions from the survey that appeared to be related to content evolving from the qualitative analysis. The qualitative theme of modifying behavior appeared most closely linked to the survey item, “I interact differently with female students than male students.” The theme represented by some respondents, that there were no differences related to being male, most closely aligned with the item, “I have unique ethical challenges related to being male in counselor education.” The item linked to the qualitative theme of avoiding the appearance of impropriety, “I structure my individual interaction with students to avoid the appearance of impropriety,” was further explored. The qualitative themes of isolation and discrimination were matched to two items: “I feel isolated in my faculty because I am male,” and “I feel discriminated against by faculty members because I am male.” Although most respondents did not agree with these final two statements, we chose to explore them further due to the distinct voices of some respondents related to ethnicity and sexual orientation within the data.
Table 2
Themes Related to Male Counselor Educators’ Experiences
| Theme |
Definition
|
Freq.
|
Responses
|
Sample Statements
|
| Modify Behavior |
Intentional changes in action or interpersonal expression related to being male |
32%
|
115
|
“. . . crucial to make sure distinct boundaries are established”“. . . have to focus on being appropriately relational”“must balance being supportive with providing clear boundaries” |
| NoDifference |
No unique challenges in counselor education related to being male |
23%
|
82
|
“No specific challenges related to my gender”“Ethics are ethics, male or female”“How I act has little to do with being male” |
| Awareness |
Indicating awareness or self-awareness regarding professional relationships |
13%
|
47
|
“. . . we need to be very aware of situations and interactions with female students”“Know one’s self”“I am now more aware of how I interact” |
| IsolatedorLonely |
Experiencing lack of support and awareness of being a minority in profession |
11%
|
39
|
“I feel a bit like an endangered species”“There are simply some things I can only talk with other men about”“I recognize males are a minority in the field” |
| Sexual Attraction |
Experiences of sexual attraction in professional relationships |
11%
|
38
|
“Dealing with feelings of attraction with students and colleagues”“I am attracted to female students but do not act on it”“I have to refocus my thoughts if I feel an attraction to a student or colleague” |
| Perception of Impropriety |
Attention to the perception of others regarding appropriate behavior |
10%
|
37
|
“. . . don’t want to give the impression of being unethical”“Avoiding any appearance of misconduct”“. . . vigilant in protecting myself from false accusations” |
| Awareness of Power Difference |
Awareness of the impact of privilege and power in relationships |
10%
|
35
|
“Being aware of my male privilege and not abusing it”“I can be male without being dominating”“I do see the same gender politics and gender roles in my profession as I see in society…” |
| PrejudiceorDiscrimination |
Experiences of negative or devaluing beliefs or actions of others related to being male |
9.5%
|
34
|
“tendency to view males as the victimizer”“. . . uniquely male issues that could arise in counseling situations are downplayed”“I sometimes experience sexism against men in the comments of my female colleagues” |
| Caringor Safe Environment |
Intention to provide support and safety to students |
6%
|
21
|
“We want to provide a caring environment”“I want students to feel comfortable around me.”“. . . do not want any female to feel anxious” |
| Ethnicityor Orientation as Part of Identity |
Influences of ethnicity and sexual identity upon male professional experiences |
4%
|
15
|
“Being a male and an ethnic minority is challenging and often lonely”“. . . being Black and male is more of a challenge than being male alone”“I feel isolated not because I am male but because I am a gay male” |
Note: Frequency = Number of participants who shared theme-related statements
Quantitative Results
Descriptive results for the five survey items are presented in Table 3. In order to explore relationships between survey items of interest, we employed Pearson product-moment correlation coefficient analyses on the five variables. There were statistically significant positive correlations between perception of unique ethical challenges and the four other variables: feeling isolated
(r = .290, n = 149, p < .001); interacting differently with female students (r = .317, n = 147, p < .001); structuring interactions to avoid appearance of impropriety (r = .190, n = 148, p = .021); and feeling discriminated against (r = .217, n = 150, p = .008). The more a male counselor educator felt there were unique ethical challenges related to being male, the more likely he was to feel isolated and discriminated against, structure interactions with students to avoid the appearance of impropriety, and interact differently with females than males. Additionally, there was a statistically significant positive correlation between feeling isolated and feeling discriminated against (r = .371, n = 149, p < .001). The more isolated a male counselor educator felt, the more likely he was to feel discriminated.
Table 3
Survey Items Related to Relationships for Male Counselor Educators
|
|
|
|
Percent of Responses
|
|
Survey Item
|
N
|
|
Σ
|
SD
1
|
D
2
|
N
3
|
A
4
|
SA
5
|
| I feel isolated in my faculty because I am male. |
149
|
1.89
|
.94
|
36.8
|
36.8
|
11.7
|
5.5
|
1.2
|
| I interact differently with female students than male students. |
147
|
2.90
|
1.02
|
6.7
|
29.4
|
21.5
|
30.7
|
1.8
|
| I structure my individual interactions with students to avoid the appearance of impropriety. |
148
|
3.76
|
.92
|
1.8
|
9.2
|
13.5
|
50.9
|
15.3
|
| I have unique ethical challenges related to being male in counselor education. |
150
|
2.79
|
1.03
|
9.2
|
30.7
|
23.9
|
26.4
|
1.8
|
| I feel discriminated against by faculty members because I am male. |
150
|
2.05
|
1.06
|
31.9
|
39.9
|
6.1
|
12.3
|
1.8
|
Note: SD=Strongly Disagree, D=Disagree, N=Neutral, A=Agree, SA=Strongly Agree
We further explored ethnicity and sexual orientation in relationship to the dependent variables of isolation and discrimination based on qualitative findings that indicated these characteristics impact the views of male counselor educators. We conducted four separate one-way between-groups analyses of variance to explore the impact of ethnicity and gender on isolation and discrimination. There was a statistically significant difference in ethnicity for isolation, F(4, 144) = 5.78, p < .001, η2 = .14. Means for ethnicity included Asian x̅ = 2.0; African American x̅ = 1.71; White/Non-Hispanic x̅ = 1.84; White/Hispanic x̅ = 1.64; Self-Identified as Other x̅ = 3.43. There was a statistically significant difference in ethnicity for discrimination, F(4, 144) = 5.25, p = .001, η2 = .13. Means for ethnicity included Asian x̅ = 2.0; African American x̅ = 2.23; White/Non-Hispanic x̅ = 1.94; White/Hispanic x̅ = 1.91; Self-Identified as Other x̅ = 3.71. There was a statistically significant difference in sexual orientation for isolation, F(2, 145) = 3.81, p = .024, η2 = .05. Means for sexual orientation included Gay x̅ = 2.58; Heterosexual x̅ = 1.83; Bisexual x̅ = 1.67. There was no statistically significant difference in sexual orientation for discrimination, F(2, 145) = .70, p = .50, η2 = .01.
Discussion
The sample in this study reasonably represents the current population of male counselor educators in CACREP-accredited programs. Although the sample reported equivalent numbers between male and female faculty, they also reported a disproportionate number of female students (78%) to male students (18%), as indicated in previous literature (Schweiger et al., 2012). The sizeable response rate to this survey, as well as its representativeness, lends credibility to findings.
Themes and Characteristics Related to Being a Male in Counselor Education
Qualitative analyses indicated that participants expressed diversity of attitudes and practices regarding the impact of being male upon professional relationships. The most predominant theme, “modify behavior,” indicated that being male influenced choices made by male counselor educators in their interactions with students. Conversely, the second dominant theme, “no difference,” indicated that some counselor educators do not feel that there is any difference in interactions with students or colleagues related to being male. A lack of consensus existed among male counselor educators regarding the influence of being male upon their professional relationships.
When male counselor educators acknowledged there were differences related to being a male in the field, qualitative analysis revealed additional themes related to isolation, discrimination, fear of appearing inappropriate, interacting differently with females than males and need for awareness. We wanted to explore characteristics related to these feelings, which prompted the correlational analyses.
Quantitative and qualitative analyses indicated that the appearance of impropriety was of considerable concern for male counselor educators. A majority of participants agreed or strongly agreed that they structured their interactions to avoid appearance of impropriety. Results revealed a statistically significant positive relationship between expressing a perception of unique ethical challenges for males and structuring interactions to avoid appearance of impropriety. Participants who perceived unique challenges as males also tended to take steps to avoid appearing inappropriate in their professional relationships. This finding supports qualitative themes of male counselor educators’ concerns regarding the appearance of impropriety and fear of the cultural myth of the lecherous professor (Bellas & Gossett, 2001).
Sexual attraction emerged as a relevant issue through qualitative analyses. A vast majority of respondents reported that they had experienced being attracted to a student, with frequency of feelings ranging from rare to a regular occurrence. Also, a majority of the sample reported experiencing a student being attracted to them. These results suggest that sexual attraction was experienced as a common phenomenon in male teacher–student relationships. However, participants often described their feelings of attraction as natural reactions that posed no threat if not acted upon.
When addressing the influence of student gender upon their behavior with students, male counselor educators reported diverse perspectives. Participants were asked if they interacted differently with female students than male students. Responses were about evenly distributed from “disagree” to “agree.” The variance in responses may reflect the larger disagreement among participants regarding the influence of gender upon professional relationships. The qualitative themes of “modify behavior” and “no difference” may provide context for understanding diverse results regarding this question. Correlational analysis revealed that the more a participant perceived unique challenges as a male counselor educator, the more he reported interacting differently with female students compared to male students.
Some participants also reported experiencing isolation related to being a male counselor educator. Qualitative data revealed unique experiences of isolation related to ethnicity and sexual orientation. Although there were a small number of participants who identified as gay, bisexual, African American, Latino, Asian, or other ethnicity, we chose to conduct quantitative analysis to further explore their voices, which were clearly articulated as unique in qualitative analyses. Further quantitative analysis indicated that participants who self-identified as “other” for ethnicity were more likely to feel isolated in comparison with other ethnicities. Likewise, gay male counselor educators also were more likely to feel isolated in the profession. However, gay males did not report higher levels of feeling discriminated against as compared to heterosexual males. Previous research indicates gay males may experience isolation related to not being out to co-workers, often motivated by fear of discrimination (Wright, Colgan, Creegany, & McKearney, 2006). Another possible interpretation could be that gay male counselor educators feel isolated due to interacting with fewer colleagues who are similar to them, but who they experience as accepting or non-discriminatory.
Linked to isolation, we also asked male counselor educators if they had faculty colleagues with whom they could discuss challenges. This point seemed especially salient due to qualitative results indicating male counselor educators rely on consultation as one intervention for dealing with student relationship issues. A majority of respondents agreed or strongly agreed to having a colleague on their faculty with whom they could discuss male-related issues. Qualitative and quantitative analyses identified ethnicity as an important contributor to the experiences of male counselor educators. Qualitative data included a small but consistent voice of African American male counselor educators who expressed increased isolation due to a combination of ethnicity and gender. Quantitative analysis also indicated that participants who identified as African American reported more frequent experiences of discrimination in their professional environment. These findings coincide with research indicating that African American males experience prejudice and discrimination in higher education due to stereotype images of African American males as underachieving, disengaged and threatening (Harper, 2009). Brooks and Steen (2010) discussed concerns related to the lack of African American male counselor educators and the obstacles they face in the academic setting. Participants who self-identified as “other” on ethnicity also showed increased experiences of discrimination as well as isolation. Correlational analysis confirmed the co-occurrence of these two themes, revealing a positive relationship between feeling isolated and feeling discriminated against. Asian males were more likely to feel isolated and structure their interactions to avoid appearances of impropriety, which reflects previous accounts of Asian professors in the literature (Culotta, 1993) in which they experienced isolation from their colleagues and increased student mentoring demands because of their minority status.
In returning to the issue of concern related to practices of male counselor educators in building humanistic and growth-inspiring relationships with students, the results of the current study provide some insight. Many male counselor educators appear to be aware and concerned that being male may influence how they are perceived by students and how they approach their relationships with students. However, results indicate that participants sought methods and strategies that allowed them to pursue relationships while also being sensitive to students’ perceptions of safety. Figure 1 provides specific strategies highlighted by participants that allow male counselor educators to engage in student–teacher relationships that recognize the power differential between student and teacher, inherent challenges with sexual attraction, and yet still allow the student and teacher to benefit from an accepting, inspiring relationship that mirrors the therapeutic relationship.
Limitations
The survey method used for this study was selected for exploratory purposes and did not involve the use of a rigorous assessment designed to interpret results through reliability and validity procedures; hence, results must be interpreted with caution. Additionally, the survey sample may not represent the views of the entire population of male counselor educators.
Figure 1.
Strategies Used by Male Counselor Educators to Build Student Relationships.
Note: General Interactions = strategies used in everyday interactions; Student Meetings = strategies used when having to meet with students individually; Interventions = strategies used when complications arise.
Due to the extensiveness of collected data, we were unable to report all findings related to the uniqueness of the sample. Respondents reported rich qualitative narratives and variations in their attitudes and practices. The variations are not fully represented in this report. The use of a one-time open-ended questionnaire precluded use of qualitative interviews that would reveal further depth of themes. Additionally, minority groups, such as specific ethnicities and those who identified as gay and bisexual, appeared to have a distinct voice in this survey. However, due to low representation, data analysis was limited in representing their experiences. We attempted to rectify this limitation by voicing those narratives in the qualitative analysis.
Implications
The purpose of this research was to reveal attitudes and practices of male counselor educators, allowing the reader an understanding of how the experience of being male influences the daily choices of male counselor educators. Implications of this research study include better understanding of the experiences of counselor educators that lead to enhanced job satisfaction for males, best practices to improve faculty–student relationships and possible areas for further investigation. Additionally, in Figure 1, we provide a list of behaviors used by male counselor educators to ensure appropriate student–teacher boundaries. This list offers male counselor educators possible strategies to address perceptions of impropriety or misconduct.
If male counselor educators experience greater job satisfaction, then more males may choose the counseling field, as they observe possible role models with whom they identify. Substantial variables identified by this study that might influence job satisfaction are feelings of isolation, discrimination, fear of appearing inappropriate and hypervigilance to behavioral interactions with students. Qualitative data revealed a desire by male counselor educators to offer a safe, caring environment, qualified by some respondents as an authentic relationship. Findings indicate that if male counselor educators feel limited by personal loneliness or concern for appearances, this will most likely interfere with their student and faculty relationships. Consultation with and support of colleagues appeared to be a process regularly utilized by many of the male counselor educators in this study. Counselor education departments would benefit from engaging in practices that promote collegiality and support among faculty members as well as formalizing mentoring processes.
Male counselor educators revealed that they take measures to modify their behaviors with students, especially female students. Our results indicate that fear of impropriety, awareness of cultural power differentials, desire to create safe relationships with students and realistic awareness of potential sexual attraction prompt male counselor educators to engage in behaviors that will provide safety for students and for themselves. These strategies reveal concrete behavioral actions taken to ensure the maintenance of boundaries with students. Kolbert, Morgan, and Brendel (2002) concluded that faculty must consider student perceptions of a relationship as the primary criterion in making decisions regarding their interactions with students. This conclusion requires considerable awareness from male counselor educators related to how they present themselves and how students perceive them. One common strategy used by male counselor educators and commonly supported in the literature (Ei & Bowen, 2002) is engaging in group activities, as opposed to one-on-one activities, in order to establish authentic relationships in a safe environment.
The most cited strategy among this sample was not being alone or out of sight from others when engaging in personal interactions with students. In a field where confidentiality is the base of intervention, this particular strategy seems incongruous, especially for professionals who value relationship in teacher–student interactions. Additionally, students may question a faculty member’s authenticity if intimacy is avoided in the relationship. However, contextual, legal and cultural considerations appear to encourage these types of restraints. Counselor education departments may benefit from discussion of these issues of behavior, relationship, philosophy and safety in an open forum among faculty and with students.
The relational experiences of male counselor educators have gone virtually unexamined in literature and research, leaving many opportunities for further inquiry. Some participants indicated that ethnicity influenced their experiences and relationships, yet sample size prevented meaningful exploration. Further research may investigate the unique experiences of African American, Latino and Asian male counselor educators. Likewise, sexual orientation emerged as a major influence for some participants. An exploration of experiences of gay male counselor educators is needed to enhance understanding of their relational experiences and the influence of gender.
Participants expressed concerns about perceptions of impropriety with students, feelings of isolation within the profession, and experiences of prejudice and discrimination in their work environments. These elements require further exploration to better understand the nature of these experiences and investigate causal factors to heighten sensitivity and identify appropriate measures for creating a safe environment for faculty and students. Participants also indicated that they alter behavior in student relationships to avoid the appearance of impropriety and maintain professional boundaries. Further research could explore the implications of those decisions for the quality of relationships with students. A study of student perspectives would greatly enhance understanding of these relational dynamics. Additionally, a study of ways in which female counselor educators approach their relationships with students, in regard to feeling restricted or limited in intimacy, is warranted.
This study provides an enhanced understanding of male counselor educators’ perceptions and experiences of their relationships with students and colleagues. Male counselor educators shared a unique voice of experience. Further research may expand understanding of male counselor educator experiences, provide insights to improve the quality of faculty–student relationships and assist in developing male role models for the future of our profession.
Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.
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Dee C. Ray, NCC, is a Professor at the University of North Texas. David D. Huffman is an Adjunct Professor at the University of North Texas. David. D. Christian is an Assistant Professor at the University of Arkansas. Brittany J. Wilson, NCC, is Assistant Director, Child and Family Resource Clinic, University of North Texas. Correspondence can be addressed to Dee C. Ray, University of North Texas, 1155 Union Circle, Box 310829, Denton, TX 76203, dee.ray@unt.edu.
