The Complaining Protector: Navigating Pseudo-Vulnerability in Forensic Therapy
We all build walls, but in the forensic world, those walls can look deceptively like open doors.
Today, I want to dive into a challenging client presentation—the "Complaining Protector" mode. This mode shows up frequently in therapy sessions with offenders, masquerading as productive dialogue while quietly sabotaging progress. Drawing on a compelling 2023 paper by Simpson and Navot (2023), I'll explore its nuances, share some anonymised stories from my practice, and outline three key strategies for recognising and addressing it. After all, redemption isn't about bulldozing defences; it's about gently dismantling them to reveal the vulnerable human underneath.
In schema therapy, modes are like temporary "states of being" that arise from early maladaptive schemas—deep-seated beliefs formed in childhood, often around themes like defectiveness, abandonment, or shame. The Complaining Protector is a subtype of what Simpson and Navot term "pseudo-vulnerable modes."
These are coping strategies that mimic genuine vulnerability but serve to avoid it.
Unlike authentic Vulnerable Child modes, where emotions are raw and tied to unmet needs (e.g., "I feel abandoned because my parents never showed up"), pseudo-vulnerable modes present a diluted, global distress that's more about control than connection. As the authors note, "pseudo vulnerability has a more abstract or global and undifferentiated flavour... suffering is viewed almost as a badge of honour, rather than involving genuine feelings of sadness or distress" (Simpson & Novotny, 2023).
In forensic contexts, the Complaining Protector often manifests as endless grievances about the system: the unfair parole board, the rigid prison rules, the unhelpful staff. There's usually a kernel of truth here—correctional environments are far from perfect, riddled with bureaucracy and inconsistencies that can exacerbate feelings of powerlessness. But the mode's true function? To create emotional distance. Talking about external injustices sidesteps the internal turmoil—shame from past offenses, humiliation from a history of abuse, or defectiveness schemas triggered by revisiting personal failures.
Simpson and Navot describe two variants: the "help-seeking-help-rejecting" version, common in clients with cluster C traits (anxious, avoidant), where complaints are whiny and passive; and the "belligerent" version, seen in cluster B traits (dramatic, impulsive), laced with anger and external blame. In offenders, the belligerent form often dominates, turning sessions into rants about how "the system is rigged against me."
Consider a client we'll call Mark, a man in his forties incarcerated for violent offences stemming from a neglectful, chaotic upbringing. Mark's sessions began with dramatic complaints about prison breaches: constant procedural violations, a relentless feeling of being undermined by guards and administrators, disputes over everything from visitation rights to meal schedules. His presentation was extraordinary—demanding, conflict-ridden, and laced with high drama. Nothing seemed to work; sessions felt like a tornado of upheaval, with Mark escalating minor issues into epic battles. Previous psychologists had burned out, exhausted by the unrelenting intensity and lack of progress.
At first, it seemed productive. Validating his frustrations felt compassionate, especially given his background of unheard voices and absent problem-solving models. We'd explore solutions: filing grievances, practicing coping skills for perceived slights. But solutions were rejected or ignored, replaced by fresh complaints. Mark appeared detached, almost performative, as if the drama was a script. This revealed the pseudo-vulnerability: the mode elicits "empathy, compassion, sense of responsibility to generate solutions" from the therapist, only to breed "anger, frustration, and overwhelmed" feelings when efforts fail (Simpson & Navot, 2023). For Mark, the Complaining Protector guarded his Vulnerable Child mode; admitting shame about his crimes risked collapse. It was a clever defence, born from a life where direct emotional expression led to rejection or punishment.
This mode isn't just a therapy roadblock; it's a window into human nature's ingenuity. We all cope by externalizing pain—blaming the world to avoid self-reflection. In offenders, it's amplified by forensic realities: loss of autonomy, stigma, and the constant threat of judgment. Yet, there's compassion in recognizing it as a survival tool. As Simpson and Novotny point out, these modes develop from "overlearned experiences in childhood, whereby normal direct manifestations of vulnerability were punished or ignored" (2023). For many clients, complaining is the safest way to seek connection without risking true exposure. It's self-deprecating to admit, but I've fallen into the trap myself—over-rescuing, driven by my own schemas around competence, only to burn out. Therapy isn't about being the perfect fixer; it's about modeling imperfection.
So, how do we navigate this in forensic settings? Based on my experience and integrated with Simpson and Navot’s insights, here are three key strategies:
Recognise the Mode Through Patterns and Detachment: The first step is mindful observation. Look for repetition: complaints that loop without resolution, despite viable solutions. Note the emotional quality—global ("Everything sucks") rather than specific ("I feel ashamed because..."). Clients may appear detached, as if the venting is performative. In forensic therapy, this often ties to avoiding offense-related work, which triggers schemas like Defectiveness/Shame. Simpson and Novotny advise distinguishing it from authentic vulnerability: genuine emotions connect and elicit empathy; pseudo ones leave you feeling "trapped and burned out" (2023). Use tools like mode mapping—chart the client's modes in session—to spot when the Complaining Protector hijacks progress. In my practice, I journal post-session: "Was I problem-solving endlessly? Did solutions bounce off?" This self-awareness prevents countertransference, like frustration turning into avoidance.
Employ Empathic Confrontation and Limit-Setting: Once identified, don't collude—gently confront. Simpson and Novotny emphasize "empathic confrontation and limit setting" as core techniques: validate the grain of truth ("I hear how frustrating the system is"), then pivot to the function ("But I wonder if focusing on this keeps us from the deeper pain of your past?"). Set limits: "We can spend 10 minutes on complaints, then let's explore what's underneath." In forensic contexts, this builds trust while modeling boundaries—crucial for clients unused to them. With Mark, I said, "I get the anger at the guards, but repeating it feels like we're stuck. What if it's protecting you from talking about the shame from your offense?" It sparked resistance at first, but over time, it opened doors to imagery rescripting, where we revisited childhood neglect. Compassion is key: frame it as collaborative, not accusatory. As the authors note, this "frustrates the client sufficiently to enable them to face what they are trying to avoid" (2023), fostering growth.
Integrate Chair Work and Pros/Cons Exploration: To dismantle the mode, use experiential techniques like chair dialogues. Invite the client to "speak as" the Complaining Protector: "What are you protecting Mark from?" This uncovers fears (e.g., "If I stop complaining, I'll have to face I'm defective"). Then, explore pros/cons: Pros might include temporary relief or attention; cons, stalled redemption. Simpson and Navot recommend this to "facilitate the process of exploring healthier alternatives" (2023). In forensic therapy, tie it to real-world gains—like parole readiness through emotional accountability. End with limited reparenting: provide "good enough" care, not rescue, to nurture the Healthy Adult mode.
Understanding your clients' coping modes is a game-changer in therapy, especially with those who challenge us the most. Pseudo-vulnerable modes, like the Complaining Protector, can create the illusion of productive work—you're listening, validating, problem-solving—but in truth, progress stalls. The session spins its wheels, and over time, the emotional toll on you as the clinician mounts. I've felt it myself: that creeping exhaustion from pouring energy into a dynamic that feels meaningful yet yields little change. It's humbling to admit how these modes can hook into our own schemas, pulling us into rescue roles we didn't sign up for, leaving us wiser but wearier.
In the end, the Complaining Protector serves as a poignant reminder of our shared humanity. Defenses like these are universal, forged in the fires of early pain and unmet needs, yet they hold the potential to evolve. I've witnessed clients like Mark undergo shifts—not emerging as "fixed" individuals, but as people brave enough to embrace vulnerability and take them on a pathway to healing themselves. If this strikes a chord, I highly recommend diving into Simpson and Navot's 2023 paper—it's an absolute gem for any clinician navigating these waters.
Reference
Simpson S,G. and Navot, L. (2023). Differentiating authentic versus pseudo vulnerability in therapeutic practice. Front. Psychiatry 14:1200981