This will not surprise cognitive psychologists, of course, who have known for years that knowledge does not translate into action. Psychotherapists, too, regard it as fairly unremarkable that the self can be so damaged as to be incapable of acting in its own interests.

This individualisation of trauma is typical of medical model thinking, but its unfortunate consequence is that our society is disinclined to regard the victims of structural violence as being the victims of trauma. Accordingly, the empathy we ordinarily show survivors of (individual) traumas is withheld from those who are victims of social trauma. It is no wonder, then, that we think nothing of confining offenders with the most traumatic social histories to the most traumatising places on earth.

Who we are is a product of where we have been. Psychotherapists usually understand this in respect of a given patient’s personal history - the absent father, the critical mother, the jealous sibling, the abusive cousin - but equally, there can be no denying the importance of one’s social history either. The areas we live in, the schools we attend, the quantity and quality of our caregiving, the various affirmations and discriminations that come our way - each of these experiences is layered in complex ways by social, economic and political forces far beyond the control of any single person.

Instead, what appears to be of greatest benefit to patients is the genuineness and persuasiveness of therapists - qualities neither of which are especially flexible in professional training. But as counselling psychologist Paul Moloney points out, if warmth and confidence are the calling cards of successful psychotherapists, then it is worth observing that this principle - and I quote him with some reluctance - “applies equally to politicians, salespeople and prostitutes”.

The therapist is seeing the situation differently, and that itself may be helpful. When therapist and client are not in the same narrative, there is space for change.