Ibrahim’S story
A Harley Street psychiatrist told me I could change my sexuality
About three years ago, I was studying Medicine at university. While I was there, I met a man who would go on to be my boyfriend. Not being out to my family started to have a huge impact on my mental health, and this only got worse as my relationship became more serious. When I came out to my family, who are quite religious and conservative, it’s fair to say they weren’t happy. I thought that if we spoke to a professional, who could be impartial, we might be able to find some middle ground. My dad went online and found somebody who seemed to fit the bill – he was a Muslim psychiatrist working on Harley Street in London.
The plan was for my parents to see him first, then I would see him alone, and after that we would all go together, sort of like family therapy. My appointment with him was arranged for 8pm, and we met on the street outside his clinic. Alarm bells weren’t ringing for me at that point, though – I assumed that since this was private practice things might run a little differently. He led me into the building, where of course all the other staff and patients had gone home. He took me to a basement consultation room and started to ask me incredibly invasive questions. It was all about sexual practices, intimacy, pornography, the girlfriend I’d had before going to university.
He was adamant that my sexuality was something that could – and should – be changed.
He started to tell me that sexuality was linked to political views more generally. He argued that, since young people are more liberal, it’s more likely that they would have experiences with people of the same sex. As people get older, and learn more about the world, they become more conservative and stop having those thoughts and feelings. He connected the fact that I was a university student in a ‘hippie’ environment to me coming out as gay. He was adamant that my sexuality was something that could – and should – be changed.
I’d gone into the session thinking it was going to last an hour, like all standard therapy appointments. I eventually left after two and a half hours, at 10:30pm. I was incredibly drained. It felt like the prolonged session had been an effort to break me down. It was a constant interrogation about the most private details of my life. He even asked if I had been sexually abused as a child, and questioned whether my partner, who was older than me, had groomed me.
I came out of the appointment feeling violated and afraid.
I never went to see the doctor again, but I came out of the appointment feeling violated and afraid. He had been persistent about prescribing medication. He didn’t explain what type of medication it would be, and I didn’t ask. When I refused to go back, my family just thought I was being stubborn and unwilling to engage in treatment.
It took years for me to seek mental health support after that appointment
It took years for me to seek mental health support after that appointment, in case something similar happened. It also impacted my medical training massively. I struggle to connect with colleagues from a similar background to me, in case they hold the same negative views about my sexuality. It’s the same with patients – I worry about their reactions if I do something like wearing a rainbow lanyard. It really did knock me, going to a qualified professional who I thought would help me, but who aggressively, and almost abusively, told me that I was wrong and I could change.
This single experience led to a huge amount of internalised homophobia. I started to feel hatred towards myself and a fear of engaging with people who might have supported me – whether that was the LGBT community or the South Asian community. I also became insecure in my relationship. I started to wonder if the psychiatrist was right: had I been used? Or groomed? That took a long time to overcome.
What scares me now is that, at the time of my appointment, I was in such a vulnerable headspace that I didn’t realise anything inappropriate had happened. It was only when I was training to become a doctor that I understood how far the therapist had strayed from an appropriate conversation style for a doctor/patient relationship. I know now that medical professionals are never trained to challenge people on their sexuality.
When I saw the Ban Conversion Therapy campaign last year, I realised I had had similar experiences to other LGBT people. That’s why I wanted to share my story – to say that these things are still happening, even to young people like me, and its practitioners can be reputable, trained professionals.
Only if we have a meaningful ban on conversion therapy in the UK can we ensure that all LGBT people are protected from these demeaning treatments, and supported to be themselves.
Ibrahim’s name has been changed.
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