By Geoffrey Clow | A Twinkling of the Soul article
What the Court Is Saying, in Plain Language, and What Survivors Need to Know
If you are dealing with family violence and the family law system, you may have been directed to a document called the Family Violence Best Practice Principles.
It is a long, formal document. Many people never read it in full. Others try and cannot get through it, especially when they are already frightened, exhausted, or living with ongoing coercive control.
This piece distils the Court’s 18-page document into plain language, explains what it means for you in practice, and tells you what you can actually do.
The Best Practice Principles were published by the Federal Circuit and Family Court of Australia, (5th Edition, 2024), under The Honourable William Alstergren AO, Chief Justice and Chief Judge. What follows is a plain-language guide to what the Court is saying, what survivors often experience in practice, and what you can do to protect yourself.
What You'll Find In This Article
What the Court is saying, overall
In plain language, the Court is saying this.
Family violence is serious and unacceptable. It includes not only physical violence, but patterns of coercive control such as intimidation, surveillance, isolation, financial control, and psychological abuse.
The Court recognises that family violence often continues after separation, including through legal processes themselves. It acknowledges that court systems can be misused to harass, exhaust, discredit, or control another person. This is sometimes referred to as systems abuse.
The Court says safety matters. It states that all court users should be treated with dignity and respect, and that protecting families and children from harm is a priority.
The Court says risk should be identified early. It uses screening tools and triage processes intended to detect family violence, child abuse, mental health risk, and other safety concerns as soon as proceedings begin.
The Court says professionals involved in family law matters should be trained to understand family violence and trauma. This includes judges, registrars, lawyers, and experts such as family report writers.
The Court says children’s safety is paramount. It recognises that exposure to family violence harms children, even when they are not the direct target. It acknowledges that the behaviour of a parent who has experienced violence may look inconsistent or distressed, and that this can be a consequence of the abuse rather than a failure of parenting.
The Court says people experiencing family violence should not be disadvantaged in the legal process. It acknowledges that trauma can affect how people present, communicate, and cope, and that the court process itself can be re-traumatising.
Those are the commitments.
On paper, they are substantial.
But paper is not practice.
The Court’s principles rely on implementation by people: judges, registrars, lawyers, family report writers, support services. Some of those people are excellent. Some are not. Some understand family violence deeply. Others have done minimal training and it shows. Some will see you clearly. Others will miss what is right in front of them.
Lawyers, in particular, vary enormously. The document says they are “expected” to have ongoing training in family violence. In practice, uptake of that training is uneven, and enforcement is inconsistent. Some lawyers have deep knowledge and handle trauma with care. Others do not, and there is no mechanism in this framework to ensure you get one who does. Some survivors find that their own legal representation becomes another source of harm, through dismissiveness, pressure, or a failure to understand the dynamics of what they have lived through.
Family report writers also vary. Court-employed consultants are assessed for family violence knowledge during recruitment. Private report writers are simply “expected” to have training. Some are highly skilled. Others will miss patterns of control entirely, especially when the perpetrator presents well.
And beneath all of this, the system remains adversarial. One side against the other. Lawyers paid to find holes in your account. Cross-examination designed to test credibility. Timelines that do not bend for trauma. The document says professionals should work in a “trauma-informed” way, but trauma-informed practice does not sit easily inside a system built around conflict. The structure works against the stated intention.
None of this means the commitments are meaningless. Some survivors do encounter professionals who understand, courts that respond well, and processes that feel bearable. But many do not. And the document does not prepare you for that.
This guide does.
Before you read further: you do not need to absorb all of this at once. Some of it may not apply to where you are right now. Take what is useful and leave the rest. You can come back.
What survivors often discover in practice
Many survivors read the Court’s principles and expect the system to carry some of the load for them.
What they often find instead is that the system expects them to do most of the carrying.
Safety measures exist, but they are rarely automatic. Risk screening exists, but it depends on disclosure, timing, and how responses are interpreted. Trauma is acknowledged, but the process still rewards people who appear calm, consistent, and articulate under pressure.
Survivors are often required to repeatedly explain frightening experiences in formal language, on tight timelines, while managing fear, financial strain, and ongoing contact with the person who harmed them.
If fear shows up as confusion, distress, inconsistency, or shutdown, it may be misread as unreliability.
If someone minimises risk to cope, the system may take them at their word.
If they comply to stay safe, that compliance may later be used against them.
None of this means the Court is acting in bad faith. It means the system is structured around procedure, not nervous systems.
That is a hard thing to accept when you are the one with the nervous system.
But once you see it clearly, something shifts. You stop wondering what is wrong with you. You start understanding what you are actually dealing with. And from there, you can make decisions about how to protect yourself inside a system that will not protect you automatically.
That is what the rest of this guide is for.
About safety
The Court says safety is a priority. In practice, safety is usually procedural and conditional.
Safety plans, remote attendance, separate rooms, and other measures generally need to be requested. Often more than once. Often in writing. Often within strict timeframes.
Many survivors assume that because violence has been disclosed somewhere in the process, the Court will already “know” they are unsafe. That assumption can leave people exposed.
If safety arrangements fail, lapse, or are inconsistently applied, survivors frequently blame themselves. They assume they did not explain clearly enough, or did something wrong.
In reality, safety within the court system is something that often has to be actively re-asserted. And even then, it is not guaranteed. You can do everything right and still find yourself in a waiting area with the person who harmed you because somewhere the message did not get through.
This is not a system designed around your nervous system. It is a system designed around procedure, paperwork, and time constraints. The people within it may care, but the structure does not flex easily.
What you can do
If you have a court event approaching and concerns about your safety, you can contact the Court on 1300 352 000 to ask about a Safety at Court Plan. These plans can include practical arrangements such as separate waiting areas, remote attendance, or different entry and exit times. You may need to request this before each court event.
Before you make the call, it can help to write down what you need. This might include whether you need to arrive or leave at a different time, whether you need a separate waiting area, whether you want to attend remotely, or whether you need a support person present. You do not have to justify your fear. You can simply say you have safety concerns and ask what options are available.
If making that call feels impossible, that is not weakness. It is what depletion looks like. If you can, ask someone to make the call with you or for you. Services like FASS (the Family Advocacy and Support Service) can help with this.
None of this guarantees you will be safe. The system is imperfect, understaffed, and not built for the complexity of what you are navigating. But asking for what you need, clearly and early, gives you the best chance within that imperfect system.
And if the system fails you despite doing everything right, that failure belongs to the system. Not to you.
About disclosure and credibility
The Court recognises trauma. But the system still relies heavily on forms, affidavits, reports, and testimony.
Trauma does not unfold neatly. Fear does not arrive as a clear, chronological narrative delivered at the right moment. Many survivors disclose in fragments, minimise harm to survive, or struggle to recall details under stress.
This collides with a system that values clarity, consistency, and composure. An adversarial system. One where the other side’s lawyer is paid to find holes in your account, and where your distress can be reframed as instability.
It is also common for the person who used violence or coercive control to present well in formal settings. The same qualities that supported control in the relationship can make them appear calm, reasonable, and cooperative in front of professionals. They have had years of practice managing how they are seen.
When one party appears composed and the other appears distressed, the system may read this as reliability versus instability. Decision-makers are human. They are influenced by presentation, even when they know better.
If you feel unseen or disbelieved while the person who harmed you is accepted at face value, that pattern is not your imagination. It is one of the deepest failures of the system.
If you find yourself thinking, “I should be coping better than this,” or “I am ruining my own case by being a mess,” it is important to know this. Your reactions are not a personal failing. They are a normal response to sustained threat and pressure.
The system is not built around how trauma actually works. That gap is not your fault. But you will have to navigate it anyway.
If you are experiencing brain fog, memory lapses, or difficulty organising your thoughts, that is not incompetence. It is a trauma effect. Your brain is trying to protect you from overwhelm, and that can make legal tasks feel impossibly hard. You are not losing your mind. You are surviving.
What you can do
If you are preparing an affidavit or statement, it helps to know that the system values specific detail. Dates, locations, what was said, what happened, what you observed. If your memory is fragmented, write what you do remember and note where things are unclear. You do not need a perfect narrative. But concrete details, even partial ones, carry more weight than general descriptions of fear.
Where possible, try to show rather than tell. Instead of writing “he was controlling,” describe what happened. “He checked my phone every evening. He needed to know where I was at all times. If I was late home, he would call repeatedly until I answered.” Specific examples help decision-makers see what you experienced, even if they have never lived it.
If you are working with a lawyer, understand that many lawyers are not trained in trauma or coercive control. Some are excellent. Some will rush you, talk over you, or not understand why you cannot just “give them the facts.” If you feel unheard, you are allowed to say so. You can ask them to slow down, explain what they need from you, or return to something you were not ready to discuss.
But also know this: some lawyers will not adjust. If your lawyer makes you feel worse, if they dismiss your experience or pressure you in ways that echo the control you escaped, you are allowed to find another one. That is not you being difficult. That is you recognising harm.
If you do not have a lawyer, you are at a significant disadvantage in an adversarial system. Services like FASS can help you understand what is being asked of you, even if they cannot represent you. Legal Aid may be an option depending on your circumstances. But there is no way to make this fair. The system favours those with resources, and that is a structural problem, not a personal one.
None of this should be your burden to carry. But it is. And knowing the terrain, even when it is unjust, can help you move through it.
About what happens in the courtroom
The Court’s document says it understands that trauma affects how people present, communicate, and cope. It says professionals should be trained. It says cross-examination should not be harassing, intimidating, or belittling.
What it does not say is this: when you step into the witness box, you are entering an adversarial contest. And in that contest, the other side may have hired someone whose job is to make you look unreliable.
Skilled barristers and lawyers know how to use your trauma responses against you. They know that fragmented memory can be framed as inconsistency. That emotional distress can be framed as instability. That pausing to gather yourself can be framed as evasion. They are not there to understand you. They are there to win.
This is not a failure of the system. It is the system working as designed. Family law is adversarial. One side against the other. And the tools available for winning include destabilising the person on the stand.
The trauma-informed language in the Court’s policy does not follow you into cross-examination. You may have a judge who intervenes if questioning becomes inappropriate. You may not. You may have a barrister on your side who objects and protects you. You may not be able to afford one.
Meanwhile, the person who harmed you may sit calmly, well-represented, watching you struggle to hold yourself together under questioning. The dynamic that existed in the relationship can reconstitute itself in the courtroom: them in control, you trying to survive.
This is one of the hardest truths about the family court system. It claims to recognise trauma while running a process that is inherently retraumatising.
What you can do
If your matter is going to a hearing and you may be cross-examined, try to prepare for what that will feel like, not just what you will say.
The goal is not to “handle” cross-examination well. It is not to perform composure or prove you can withstand pressure. The goal is to get through it with as little internal damage as possible. That is a different kind of preparation.
Ask your lawyer, if you have one, what to expect. How long might you be in the witness box? What topics will likely be covered? What style does the other side’s barrister use? If your lawyer cannot or will not answer these questions, that tells you something.
Practise grounding techniques that work for you. Know what helps you come back into your body when you start to dissociate or freeze. A phrase you can say silently. A way of breathing. Something to focus on in the room. This is not about looking calm. It is about staying present enough to speak.
You are allowed to ask for a break. You are allowed to say, “I need a moment.” You are allowed to ask for questions to be repeated. The judge may or may not grant these requests, but you are allowed to ask.
If you do not have legal representation, the Court may appoint a lawyer to conduct cross-examination under section 102NA of the Family Law Act, but only if certain conditions are met, such as an existing family violence order. If those conditions do not apply to you, you may still face direct questioning from the person who harmed you or their lawyer. That is a brutal position to be in. It is not fair. And it is legal.
Try to remember this: your job in the witness box is not to be perfect. It is not to appear calm. It is to tell the truth as best you can. If you become distressed, that is not evidence against you, no matter how it may be spun. It is a human response to an inhumane situation.
You may leave the courtroom feeling like you failed. Many survivors do. That feeling is not the truth. It is the aftermath of a system that was never designed to hold you gently.
Whatever happens in that room, you are still you. The process does not define you. Getting through it is enough.
Afterwards
No one talks much about what happens after a court day. But survivors know: there is often a crash.
You may feel flattened, numb, shaky, or unable to function. You may replay moments obsessively, convinced you said the wrong thing. You may sleep for hours or not at all. You may not be able to eat, or you may not be able to stop.
This is not weakness. It is your body processing what it just endured.
If you can, plan for this. Clear the day after if possible. Have someone who can check on you. Do not expect yourself to function normally. Let the crash happen without judging yourself for it.
Recovery from a court day is not linear. You do not bounce back. You slowly reassemble. Give yourself the time that takes.
About when the court process becomes part of the abuse
The Court explicitly recognises coercive control and the misuse of legal processes.
In real life, this can look like repeated applications, constant disputes over minor issues, strategic delays, or behaviour designed to keep you engaged, exhausted, and destabilised. It can also look like financial warfare: forcing you to spend money you do not have, dragging proceedings out until your resources are gone, knowing that the longer this goes, the weaker your position becomes.
Even when this is recognised in theory, it can be difficult to interrupt in practice, especially when the behaviour is framed as concern, cooperation, or persistence.
If the legal process itself feels like an extension of the abuse, you are not imagining it.
What you can do
There is often little you can do to stop this behaviour directly. But there are ways to protect yourself within it.
Keep records. Save messages, emails, and correspondence. Note dates and patterns. You are not trying to prove everything in a single moment. You are building a picture over time. If the same patterns keep appearing, that record may eventually matter.
It can also help to name what is happening, even if only for yourself. Write it down somewhere private. When you are caught inside systems abuse, confusion is part of the strategy. Having your own record of what is actually happening gives you something to push against when the fog rolls in.
Where possible, try to reduce direct contact. Communicate through lawyers or in writing. Keep responses brief and factual. You do not have to match their energy or respond to every provocation. Grey rock where you can.
Some survivors find it useful to set a specific time to deal with legal correspondence rather than being available to it all day. Others ask a trusted person to screen messages first. These are not solutions, but they can help you stay functional.
About children
The Court states that children’s safety is paramount and recognises that family violence harms children in many ways, including indirectly.
At the same time, survivor-parents are often scrutinised closely. Their distress, exhaustion, or protective behaviours may be questioned, while the other parent’s pattern of control is minimised or reframed as “high conflict” or “communication difficulties.”
This is one of the cruellest contradictions in the system. You may have spent years protecting your child from harm, often invisibly, often at great personal cost. And now you are being assessed by strangers who have hours to form an opinion, while the person who harmed you performs cooperation.
Protective behaviours, the very things that kept your child safe, can be reframed as alienation, hostility, or unwillingness to co-parent. Your exhaustion can be read as incapacity. Your fear can be read as instability. Meanwhile, the perpetrator’s calm presentation is taken at face value.
If you feel like you are being judged for the impact of harm you did not cause, you are not imagining it. This is a systemic failure, not a personal one.
Family report writers vary enormously. Some are skilled at recognising coercive control. Others are not. You may find yourself in front of someone who does not understand what you have been through, or who has already formed a view before you walk in. That is not fair. It is also not something you can always control.
What you can do
If you are worried about how you are being perceived as a parent, try to focus on what is observable and concrete. What do you do to support your child’s safety, routine, education, health, and emotional needs? Keep notes. Save school reports, medical records, and communications that show your involvement and attentiveness.
If your parenting capacity has been affected by the abuse, whether through exhaustion, anxiety, financial strain, or housing instability, that context can and should be explained. You do not have to be a perfect parent to be a safe one. What matters is that your child’s needs are at the centre of your actions, even when your own resources are depleted.
If you are asked to participate in a family report, remember that you are allowed to provide context. You can explain how the violence has affected you and your child. You can name patterns of behaviour. You can ask the report writer what information would be helpful for them to understand your situation. Prepare what you want to say. Write it down beforehand if that helps.
Try to resist the pressure to perform calm or to minimise what has happened in order to appear “reasonable.” The system often rewards those who seem agreeable, but your job is not to be the most composed person in the room. Your job is to help decision-makers understand what your child has been exposed to and what they need to be safe.
This is an impossible position to be in. You are being asked to prove your fitness as a parent while carrying the weight of trauma, often while the person who caused that trauma is treated as your equal in a “dispute.”
There is no way to make that fair. But you can hold onto this: your child knows who kept them safe. The system may fail to see it. That does not undo what you did.
If this section has stirred grief or rage, that is not a sign you are too emotional. It is a sign you are paying attention. What is being asked of survivor-parents in this system is often impossible. Your response to that impossibility is not the problem.
What this means for you
The Court’s principles describe what the system aims to do.
Your experience reflects what the system actually does under pressure.
Both are true. And living inside that contradiction is one of the hardest things the system asks of you, because it means you cannot fully trust the thing you are forced to rely on.
If you take nothing else from this guide, take this:
Your confusion is not a sign that you are broken. It is a sign that the system is not coherent.
Your distress is not evidence against you. It is a normal response to an abnormal situation.
And your survival, however ungraceful, however imperfect, is enough.
You do not have to do this beautifully. You just have to do it.
One thing to hold onto
You should not have to become an expert in legal process to stay safe.
You should not have to perform calmness to be believed.
You should not have to read a court policy document to understand what is happening to you.
And yet here you are. Reading. Trying to make sense of a system that was never designed with you in mind.
That is not a personal failing. That is survival.
If you are exhausted, that is reasonable. If you are angry, that is reasonable too. If you feel like the system is asking you to prove your own abuse while the person who harmed you walks in looking calm and cooperative, you are not imagining things. That is often exactly what happens.
There will be days when you cannot do this well. Days when you miss a deadline, forget to call, fail to advocate for yourself the way this guide suggests. That does not mean you have failed. It means you are a human being carrying more than any system should ask you to carry.
The goal is not to be perfect. The goal is to stay intact. To get through. To keep enough of yourself together that you can still recognise who you are on the other side.
Sometimes that means fighting. Sometimes it means resting. Sometimes it means just getting through the next hour.
All of that counts.
You do not have to do this on your own
You may feel alone in this. That feeling makes sense. Coercive control often works by cutting people off from support, and the family law process can deepen that isolation.
But even if you feel alone, you do not have to navigate this on your own.
Some people find it helpful to speak with a trauma-informed counsellor, advocate, or support service while moving through the family law system. Others lean on a trusted friend, family member, or community connection. Even one person who understands what you are facing can make a difference.
If you are in Australia and need support, the following services can help:
1800RESPECT (1800 737 732) offers confidential information, counselling, and support for people affected by family violence and sexual assault.
Family Advocacy and Support Service (FASS) provides free legal advice and non-legal support at family court registries for people affected by family violence.
Court safety inquiries can be made on 1300 352 000 to arrange a Safety at Court Plan before your court event.
Reaching out is not a sign that you are failing. It is a way of staying intact.
Take your time with this. Come back to it if you need to. If all it does is help you think, “This isn’t just me,” then it has done what it was meant to do.
And if it helps you take one practical step to protect yourself, even better.
Part of why I wrote this guide is because I support survivors navigating these systems. If you are looking for trauma-informed counselling from someone who understands family violence and what the court process takes out of you, I am available. You can find me at Twinkling of the Soul.
