They came in beaten down, sad, without space to speak
In Ivaiporã, a quiet but consequential gathering unfolded over three months: fifteen women who had known violence found, in a room inside the municipal social services building, something rarer than intervention — recognition. A psychology program at Fatec Ivaiporã created the conditions for that recognition, weaving together student practitioners, legal professionals, police, and social workers into a careful net of support. What ended in June was a program of eight sessions; what did not end was the understanding these women carried out with them — that suffering in silence is not an obligation.
- Fifteen women arrived carrying forms of violence — physical, psychological, financial — that many had never named aloud or reported to anyone.
- The weight of isolation was itself a wound: participants came depleted, withdrawn, and without safe spaces to speak about what they were living through.
- A multi-agency team of psychology students, social workers, lawyers, and police worked in careful coordination to ensure the group felt both professionally grounded and humanly safe.
- Over eight sessions, something visible shifted — women who had felt invisible began to see themselves reflected in each other's stories, and reported growing confidence and reduced isolation.
- The program has concluded, but demand in the municipality remains, and organizers are weighing whether to continue — leaving the question of institutional commitment to violence prevention still open.
Between April and June, roughly fifteen women gathered eight times in Ivaiporã's municipal social services building to speak about things they had long kept silent. The sessions were organized by psychology students from Fatec Ivaiporã, working alongside social workers, police, lawyers, and community advocates — a deliberate partnership designed to ensure that care for vulnerable women was both professionally sound and deeply human.
Vanessa Gonçalves, who coordinates the psychology program, described how trust built slowly. Women arrived guarded, then began to open. The original plan had called for ten sessions, but the group's needs shaped the schedule down to eight. Student Polyana Ribeiro, who helped lead the work, watched women arrive depleted and withdrawn — and watched them leave with something restored. "They came in beaten down, sad, without space to speak," she recalled. "Afterward, they understood that this partnership was worth everything."
Municipal secretary Silvana Pessutti spoke to why community-level work like this matters: violence against women often leaves no visible mark, hiding in words, in control, in the slow erosion of safety. Women, she argued, need to learn to recognize what they are living through — because so much of it has been normalized into invisibility.
Maria, thirty-eight, arrived at the first meeting in tears. As she listened to others speak, she realized she was not alone — and that realization was its own form of healing. The program may continue depending on ongoing need. For now, the sessions are complete. The conversation they started is not.
In the municipal social services building in Ivaiporã, a group of women gathered over three months to speak about things they had often kept silent. Between April and June, eight meetings brought together roughly fifteen women who had experienced violence—some physical, some psychological, some both. The sessions were organized by psychology students from Fatec Ivaiporã, working alongside social workers, police, lawyers, and community advocates. The work was deliberate and careful: each meeting circled around self-esteem, self-care, emotional strength, and the many forms violence can take.
Vanessa Gonçalves, who coordinates the psychology program, described how the group's power emerged gradually. Women arrived guarded, then began to trust the space and each other. "We don't do this work alone," she said. "We work with trained professionals who walked alongside our students and made sure everything was done with the responsibility, care, and empathy these women deserve." The original plan had called for ten sessions, but the schedule was adjusted to eight based on what the group needed.
Polyana Ribeiro, a fifth-year psychology student who helped lead the work, watched the transformation firsthand. Many of the women arrived depleted, withdrawn, with nowhere safe to talk about what they were living through. "They came in beaten down, sad, without space to speak," she recalled. "Afterward, they understood that this partnership was worth everything." The shift was visible: women who had felt alone began to recognize themselves in each other's stories.
Silvana Pessutti, the municipal secretary for social assistance, emphasized why this kind of work matters at the community level. Violence against women often leaves no visible mark. It hides in words, in control, in the slow erosion of a person's sense of safety. "It's critical that women learn to recognize violence, because so much of it is psychological, emotional, financial, or sexual," she said. "Women need to understand they don't have to accept situations that cause suffering or fear." Prevention work, she argued, can interrupt cycles that have become so normalized people stop seeing them as wrong.
Maria, thirty-eight years old, came to the first meeting in tears. She was shaken, uncertain, carrying the weight of her own experience. As she listened to other women speak, something shifted. She realized she was not alone. The group became a place where women helped each other carry what they had been carrying by themselves. "It was something wonderful and healing," she said of those eight weeks. The program may continue, depending on how many women in the municipality need it. For now, the work is complete—but the conversation it started is not.
Notable Quotes
We don't do this work alone. We work with trained professionals who walked alongside our students and made sure everything was done with the responsibility, care, and empathy these women deserve.— Vanessa Gonçalves, psychology program coordinator
It was something wonderful and healing.— Maria, a 38-year-old participant
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take eight meetings instead of ten? Was something not working?
The schedule was adjusted based on what the group actually needed. Sometimes the plan on paper doesn't match the pace of real healing. Eight meetings were enough.
What changed most visibly in those women over those three months?
They arrived isolated, carrying shame in silence. By the end, they were speaking, listening to each other, understanding they weren't alone. That shift from silence to voice—that's everything.
The article mentions psychological, moral, financial, and sexual violence. Why does that distinction matter?
Because people often don't recognize what's happening to them as violence. If you're waiting for bruises, you'll miss the control, the humiliation, the financial strangulation. Women need language for what they're experiencing.
What happens now? Does the program end?
It depends on demand. If women keep coming, if the network sees the need, it continues. But the real work now is whether those fifteen women stay safe, whether they use what they learned.