Illegitimate Online Therapy: My Experience as a 7 Cups Listener
I found 7 Cups of Tea the way I imagine most people do: late-night Googling for free therapy options.
Living in a foreign country with a less-than-ideal mental health landscape, I was running up against financial and linguistic constraints (plus a recurring aversion to going out into society) that made in-person therapy unfeasible.
7 Cups of Tea is a website and app based on the premise that, while some people want guidance from certified professional therapists, others just need someone to vent to.
Essentially, 7 Cups is a matching service: Chat with a human being who will lend a sympathetic ear, or sign up to be one of those human beings (“Listeners”). The anonymous, 24/7, mostly-free global arena for emotional support is a perfect posterchild for all the good that modern technology enables.
In classic form, I thought, “Helping others seems preferable to confronting my own issues!” I signed up to be a Listener.
Somewhere in the glut of explanatory information, I had read about a rigorous training for 7 Cups Listeners that involved, cutely, seven steps.
Soon, I was breezing through what I assumed was an initial screening: 10 minutes of multiple-choice questions about how to talk with someone seeking guidance. The questions fell along the lines of: Should you always strive to sound a) helpful, b) friendly, or c) both?
It was a pandering, but mindful, start: The test emphasized that Listeners should ask active, validating questions, and never offer personal opinions or give advice.
The next page asked about topics I was unwilling to deal with. As someone who finished her undergraduate psych classes with a handle on basic ethics, I checked “no” on whatever seemed only addressable in a clinical setting, and generally anything very serious or painful that would be irresponsible for me to discuss: Bipolar disorder, domestic violence, etc.
…And that was it. Suddenly, I was taken to the Listener dashboard, which showed 40-odd members waiting for a Listener to connect. A pop-up window obscured the majority of the screen and chirped: “Right now, we have lots of people waiting to connect with a Listener. We would be very thankful if you could take a general chat request!”
Shocked by how quickly I was allowed to enter real interactions, confused about where all that promised training was, and vaguely suspecting that this was still part of the initial test, I thought, “I can do this!” and entered my first chat.
Listeners’ first chats are guided, with the chat window pre-filling the types of responses that Listeners should always strive to provide:
What do you feel you should do in this situation?
I hear you, and I can understand why that would be frustrating.
You are the expert here. I can’t give advice, but I can listen and help you figure out your path forward.
My first chat was about a possible domestic violence situation, one of the topics I had specified I did not want to discuss. It was a discouraging introduction, revealing 7 Cups’ disinterest in protecting its Listeners from potentially triggering topics.
Despite the person responding well to the limited things I could say as a Listener, I sensed that both of us left the chat vaguely dissatisfied with the superficiality of the interaction.
Across the next couple of days, I practiced being a Listener. Though I always set aside at least 20 minutes of my undivided attention, the chats all ended organically in less time.
I won’t go into detail (again, ethics), but here’s an overview of the people I spoke with:
- Someone anxious about whether their grades would get them into their desired cohort. Though I tried to ask how they felt, the person said, “Just tell me if ___ is a good GPA or not and I’ll stop stressing.” I finally suggested that their teachers could give them a better answer.
- Someone experiencing family pressure to undergo a sex change procedure, with obvious cultural issues at play. My own cultural views tell me that coercing someone into a sex change is as immoral as denying it to someone else. When the person asked me what they should do, I told them that I was unable to give unbiased advice, but that I felt their decision should be their own. “But I just want you to tell me what to do,” they replied. “I’ve talked with other listeners on here before and they all gave me actual advice.”
- Someone whose username included the string “makemecumonyou.” When I asked if they had an issue they wanted to talk through, the person responded, “Not really. So can I really talk about anything?” I thanked them for their honesty and told them that if they were interested in something more carnal, I wasn’t able to help, and that other Listeners they connected with had the ability to block anyone they felt was abusing the service. “Okay, thanks for letting me know,” they said. “Hey, you’re a really great listener!”
People wanting only to be told what to do, supplemented by mild sexual harrassment? Probably not that different from what some actual therapists experience in a typical day.
The slope from enthusiasm to disenchantment was a steep one: It took me four days to install and then uninstall the 7 Cups app.
What did I want going into this?
I wanted to be a compassionate, level-headed presence for anyone who was looking for it. Ultimately, I wanted to be helpful.
Instead, I became quickly disillusioned at the implementation of the service itself. The more time I spent with 7 Cups, the clearer it became that there was no Listener quality control whatsoever.
Despite the tangle of support rooms and help guides and advising committees littered all over the website, trainings are optional beyond the initial quiz. Meanwhile, Listeners have unfettered ability to enter chats, picking up badges and experience points as they go. In effect, those seeking help are guinea pigs for Listeners who may have done nothing more than read a few guidelines and complete some multiple-choice questions.
Listeners are subject to zero standards as far as professionalism and safety, much less good judgement.
Given how quickly the internet can plunge into darkness, the self-described “World’s Largest Emotional Support System” is also a dangerous one, defenseless against trolling on both member and Listener sides. One malicious, or simply misjudged, comment is all it takes to harm someone in a vulnerable state. Even with the ability to report and block users, the damage is done. And for what?
7 Cups is caught in a strange space: People limited to an online format are looking for a compassionate ear. Other people are looking to volunteer their time and support. 7 Cups manages a chat service that tries to bridge the gap.
Unfortunately, that gap is deep and dark, filled with ugly realities about the quality of its contributors, and the amplified harms that come with abuse within a mental health space.
I don’t doubt that 7 Cups can be a valuable layer of support for some people. But does a gamified online free-for-all, lacking oversight and vetting, operating under the banner of mental health, do more good than harm?
Maybe it still can. But 7 Cups isn’t there yet.
7 Cups makes it clear that they are not a substitute for help during times of crisis. If you or a loved one are thinking about suicide or could use emotional support, the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available 24/7, at 1–800–273–8255.
