when the court becomes the abuser

What Therapists Need to Know About Family Court and the Cycle of Violence

At the start of each summer, during prime picking season, Sarah and her daughter would gather berries from their cherry tree. “Of course, we’d only pick the best,” Sarah said. After sorting through the basket, discarding ones with noticeable imperfections, they’d bake a cherry pie together. “Well, I did most of the baking,” she laughed. Her daughter would then bring the pie to her dad. “He loves cherry pie.”

Sarah never lived with her daughter’s father. The six-year relationship had long been abusive and rocky by the time she gave birth. Still, she was committed to including him in their daughter’s life, hoping to create some sense of family and connection. Even as her daughter began to voice concerns about his temper and parenting style, Sarah encouraged her gently: “He’s your dad.” But her efforts at cooperation were met with escalating control, manipulation, and eventually legal retaliation. When her daughter disclosed concerns of inappropriate sexual touching by her father, Sarah reported the allegations to the Department of Child and Family Services (DCFS). She never demanded modifications in visitation, only that her daughter’s father go to therapy, take parenting classes, and get the help he needed so their daughter could feel safe returning to his care. This, however, was the turning point—not in favor of safety, but in favor of escalation.

Sarah became engulfed in a years-long legal battle. She bore the financial and emotional costs of raising her child, while defending her credibility in court. She was accused of fabricating the allegations, manipulating her daughter, and being a parental alienator. Her maternal instincts were reframed as malicious. She was no longer the mother baking pies to preserve connection—she was now labeled an obstructionist.

Sarah came to court prepared, armed with a DCFS report indicating abuse, letters from her daughter’s pediatrician, psychiatrist, and therapist outlining the emotional distress reunification was causing, and research supporting a trauma-informed approach. She provided police reports and past orders of protection, even documentation of her child’s father’s conviction for harassment to confirm the history of domestic violence she had endured—and that her daughter had witnessed. She believed this evidence would make clear that her daughter deserved safety, care, and thoughtful consideration.

But the court insisted on reunification. No protocols were followed. No assessments were conducted. The impact of past domestic violence was not acknowledged. Reunification was imposed without regard for trauma or risk. And the more Sarah tried to protect her child, the more the system turned against her.

For many survivors of domestic violence, leaving the relationship does not end the abuse. In family court, they expect protection and justice—but instead often face a new cycle of control that eerily mirrors the dynamics of their past relationship. The court, designed to be impartial, is too often co-opted into continuing the abuse.

The cycle of violence is well-known: tension, violence, reconciliation, calm—until it begins again. In family court, survivors endure repeated filings, emergency motions, custody battles, financial disputes, expert disputes, and character attacks. When courts allow these tactics to go unchecked, they participate in the “explosive” phase of the cycle, restoring the abuser’s control.

Courts then pivot to the “honeymoon” phase, urging mediation, co-parenting, or reconciliation. While these approaches may work for parents without a history of abuse, they are harmful when one party has used fear and coercion to dominate the other. The court’s demand for neutrality and cooperation assumes equality where none exists. Survivors who raise safety concerns are painted as uncooperative. Their voices are questioned, invalidated, and dismissed just as they were in their abusive relationship. “Can’t we all just get along?” both court and abuser ask—erasing the emotional and physical violence that’s been endured.

This cycle doesn’t just retraumatize survivors—it punishes them. They are penalized for advocating for themselves or their children, and risk being sanctioned or losing custody. The system mimics the abuser’s tactics: using power structures to isolate, intimidate, control, and discredit.

For counselors, understanding this dynamic is critical to ensure we remain a safe place for survivors. We must recognize that the trauma survivors face is not just interpersonal—it is systemic. When clients say they feel like they’re still being abused, but now by the courtroom, they’re not exaggerating. Therapists must name this harm, affirm their clients’ instincts, and avoid pathologizing their responses to a profoundly unjust process.

Mental health professionals can also support survivors by collaborating with legal advocates, providing trauma-informed documentation, and helping clients develop safety plans not just for relationships, but for courtrooms, custody exchanges, and mandated systems. Most importantly, we must help survivors reclaim a sense of agency and voice. Silence or neutrality from helping professionals can inadvertently reinforce the harm. But with awareness and intention, we can help survivors heal—not only from abuse, but from the systems that have failed them.

Personal details of this story have been shared with permission.