On Complexity, Accountability, and Care

Earlier this week, an article was published about me that has understandably stirred strong responses. It made serious claims about my character, ethics, and relationships—claims that were presented without my input, and without full context.

And I get it. Many people that are reading this come from religious trauma backgrounds and are rightly sensitive—rightly alert—to anything that even remotely resembles abuse, coercion, or misuse of power. When those concerns are activated, it makes sense that people would want to seek clarity, demand accountability, and protect one another. I share that value. I care deeply about building communities where people are safe, respected, and empowered—and that includes being open to hard conversations when something I’ve said or done has caused concern or pain.

It’s also taken me a few days to respond. That was intentional. I practice what I teach. When I feel activated, flooded, or dysregulated, I know it’s not the time to speak—especially not from a place of fear, defense, or urgency. That kind of response, no matter how well-worded, would lack clarity, authenticity, and groundedness. So after responding to someone’s Thread the day the article dropped, I recognized I needed to take time to reflect, regulate, seek feedback from trusted friends and colleagues, and ensure that my words came from a place of care, not reactivity; of accountability, not self-preservation.

It’s important to state up front that although the article gives the impression that I was interviewed or invited to respond to its broader narrative, that never happened. I received one email from the writer on the morning of July 28, 2025, asking about a specific ethics matter. I replied that same day, offered to answer further questions, and followed up with a request for a phone conversation to provide greater context. I never received a response.

Despite this, the article includes excerpts of private messages—communications never intended for public consumption, and certainly not presented with the full context in which they were shared. I did not consent to having these communications published. And while I understand the intention may have been to validate others’ experiences, the absence of consent, nuance, and accuracy has caused significant harm—not just to me, but to the broader conversation around trauma, accountability, and repair.

I want to be clear: I take this seriously. I’m not writing today to deny or deflect. I’m writing because I value integrity, and I believe people deserve a fuller picture.

On Dual Relationships and the Ethics Board

The article referenced a finding by the AAMFT Board of Ethics that I engaged in a dual relationship with a former academic intern who also worked as a coach and administrative contractor for my company; this person was never a client of mine. The finding of the dual relationship was true, and I accepted it. I completed the required 9 hours of continuing education in spring 2025, and I remain in good standing with the AAMFT. I have no present or past censures or sanctions on my license or credentials.

This photo is not to be used, re-used, printed, or distributed without permission from the author

What is not mentioned—or is intentionally misrepresented—is that the more serious allegations of harm and exploitation were thoroughly investigated and dropped. The Board concluded that while a dual relationship did occur (a known risk in our field), there was no substantiated harm or exploitation. I take that seriously and have reflected deeply on how I entered into that arrangement, even with good intentions and clear contracts in place. I wish I had followed my initial hesitation. I own that fully.

This photo is not to be used, re-used, printed, or distributed without permission from the author

This photo is not to be used, re-used, printed, or distributed without permission of the author

Because context matters: the reason that the dual relationship began was an effort of good faith. The industry standard is that academic interns are not paid for their sessions. In this case the complainant indicated that she was in need of money for living expenses and asked me if she could see some coaching clients through my company. Despite my initial hesitation, I agreed, in hopes that she would experience an alleviation of financial stress. A clear structure was laid out regarding the dual roles including specific start and end dates. The complainant signed two separate agreements: one for becoming a coach and the other, an academic internship agreement.

In regard to recent questions that have been asked about the appeals process: after I received the initial decision (where I was found in violation only of the dual relationship issues) I was given the opportunity to appeal the decision. As I had additional evidence I wanted to ensure was a part of the case file, I was advised to initiate the appeal, add the evidence to the file and then drop the appeal. This is what I did. It felt important to add the documentation into the file as it showed that the complainant was the person who initiated the dual relationship, the structure that had been laid out for the dual roles, the evaluations that the complainant had given me over the course of the internship, and how the complainant’s perspective of me shifted nearly two months after the internship was over and was in regard to a business policy, not anything having to do with her internship or the dual relationship.

One note regarding the evaluations: the complainant sent these to me of her own free will. These evaluations were through and for her school program and I did not have access to them. The only time I would have had the ability to see them was if the complainant wanted to share them with me, which she did on multiple occasions. This is important as it shows that the complainant had freedom to evaluate me in any way she wanted without fear that I would see any of the feedback. All of her reviews of me spoke very highly of my skills, my character, and the educational experience I was providing her with.

Navigating dual roles is an ethical gray area many professionals encounter—particularly in collaborative fields where supervision, consultation, professional services, friendship, and creative work often intersect. That doesn’t excuse it. It means we need better conversations about boundaries, transparency, and power—especially in online spaces where lines get blurry fast. I’ve learned important lessons as a result of this experience. I recognize that when in a position of influence, such as a supervisor, I must strive for integrity and doing the right thing—even when it’s not the easiest or most comfortable. I’ve also come to understand that good intentions don’t cancel out the impact of a misstep, and that it’s possible to care deeply about someone and still make a choice that causes confusion or hurt.

I’m committed to staying in those conversations and learning from them. And I’ve changed the necessary procedures in my private practice to reflect these guardrails.

On the Seven Anonymous Claims

The article states that seven women have come forward to accuse me of a pattern of harm. Out of respect for their anonymity, I will not offer identifying details, even if it means I cannot fully defend myself.

What I can say is this:

• I do not know who the majority of these individuals are. Based on the content shared, I can identify only three of the seven.

• One is the former intern/contractor described above (the complainant).

• The other two were close friends of mine for a time.

Reading private communication with these individuals published out of context has been painful. These were communications between friends—not clients, not colleagues—friends. And yes, those friendships ended suddenly and painfully, with little room for repair. That doesn’t make me a victim or them villains—or vice versa. It makes us humans, and imperfect ones at that.

Were I to share full transcripts, complete timelines, and messages that include the many apologies and attempts at repair I made over the course of our friendships, I believe the story would look very different. But I understand how public defenses can be interpreted as deflection, denial, or silencing.

So I’ll say this instead: I am not a perfect person. I have made mistakes. I have fumbled in friendships. I have said things I regret. And when those things are removed from their emotional and relational context, they can appear far worse than they were ever intended to be. Still, impact matters—and if I caused harm—when I caused harm—even unintentionally, I care deeply about that. I am truly sorry.

In recent years, I’ve begun to recognize some of the relational patterns that contributed to those dynamics—especially in friendships that began online and moved quickly into emotionally intense territory. I’ve noticed that when a friendship is built around a shared experience of betrayal or distress, the relationship can escalate too fast, too deep, and bypass the slower process of truly getting to know each other. This has often placed me in a “helper” role—someone who holds space for another’s pain—but in a way that distorts mutuality and leaves little room for me to show up as a full, flawed human being. When I eventually do, it can feel disorienting or even disappointing to the other person, and the foundation begins to fracture.

I’ve also come to understand that my ability to be with people in their big emotions—something that is part of my own trauma history and professional training—has at times led me to confuse emotional resilience with relational sustainability. Just because I can hold it doesn’t mean I should—especially if it’s at the cost of reciprocity, authenticity, or clarity in a friendship.

There is real grief in all of this. Grief for friendships I valued deeply that ended suddenly. Grief for the ways I may have unknowingly contributed to confusion or misattunement. Grief for not having been taught what healthy boundaries looked like—either in my family or in the religious environments that shaped me. Much of my adult work has been about re-learning what it means to be safe with people, not just for them.

Because of this, I’ve become much slower and more discerning in how I build relationships—especially with people I meet online. I let friendships evolve over time, across seasons, and through both ease and challenge. I’ve learned to protect the parts of me that are often praised in the beginning—my insight, my steadiness, my care—because those same traits can later be wielded against me in conflict. I now hold those parts more carefully, and I’ve become more intentional about who has access to me, both personally and professionally.

These aren’t easy lessons, but they are honest ones. I continue to work toward relationships that are grounded in mutual respect, shared responsibility, and a willingness to repair when rupture happens. That’s the kind of friend I want to be. That’s the kind of person I strive to be.

On GRACE and Other Claims

A few other claims were made in the article, and I want to speak to them briefly:

• The GRACE Report: Were I to speak out about the actual contents of my interview with GRACE or the mediation sessions, a very different narrative would be present that, in my estimation, would bring more distress toward those who have already been harmed. GRACE has repeatedly refused my request for the transcript of my interview. I believe this is because if I had a copy of this, it would not corroborate the report that they wrote. They would be seen as having misrepresented the contents of my (and others’) interviews in order to fit a specific narrative.

• In regard to the GRACE report claim that I was trying to solicit business within the confines of the investigation: my email to the two investigators, which I do regret, was a result of a conversation that we had immediately after the interview was over where we talked about our overlap in clientele and high control religion. As I exited the room, one of the interviewers said “hopefully we’ll cross paths again”—which I took to mean in a professional sense. In a follow up email, later that day, I indicated that if there were ways that my company could provide support to their clientele, education, or other resources, I would be happy to chat. I also acknowledged in the email that if my offer was inappropriate due to the timing (even though my portion of the investigation was over), that they were free to disregard. Again, I recognize the optics of this and am sorry for how I handled that.

• Why I was brought in as a mediator for TNE: I was hired by TNE to help Tim Whitaker and a singular TNE contractor work on reconciliation regarding a conflict. During the mediation there was no discussion of abuse or anger related abuse. My previous interactions with Tim included 2 podcast recordings, a request for a referral for a mental health professional, and a short (20 min) professional consultation regarding an issue in the deconstruction social media space.

• The “Known Abuser” Allegation: The article claims someone affiliated with my company was a “known abuser.” To date, I have seen no evidence of this. I asked for such evidence when concerns were raised and was told evidence didn’t matter. Additionally, this person was never someone that was a part of financial or company decisions nor did he have access to or knowledge of any company finances or influence on company structure, policy, or direction. This person did not work with or have any communication with any clients. I stand by my choice to prioritize due diligence and fairness.

• The Driving Incident: This is a deeply private situation, and I will not disclose more out of respect for the individual involved. While I care about that person and want to honor her subjectivity, I have a very different perspective on what happened though there are personal communications that indicate the medical issue in question predated the incident by at least six weeks.

• Ongoing Ethics Complaint: I am aware of another complaint that is currently being reviewed. I cannot speak in detail, but I remain confident that the charges will be found unsubstantiated.

On Boundaries, Abuse, and the Importance of Nuance

In reading the article and the reactions to it, I’ve noticed a pattern I think is worth naming—one that impacts not only me, but the broader cultural conversation around harm: the conflation of boundary violations with abuse.

Let me be clear. Boundary violations matter. They can be hurtful, confusing, and create dynamics that leave people feeling disempowered or unsafe. I take full responsibility and apologize for the places and times where my boundaries—or the boundaries of relationships I was part of—were unclear, overly fluid, or not well-held. As noted above, I’ve learned from those experiences, and I am committed to doing better.

And I also think it’s essential that we hold a distinction between problematic boundaries and abuse. Not because harm shouldn’t be taken seriously, but because when we use words like “abuser” to describe every boundary rupture, we dilute the meaning of that word—and in doing so, we risk silencing or invalidating those who have experienced genuine patterns of abuse, coercion, or predation.

The article accuses me of being an abuser. That is a painful thing to read—especially when the content it cites, and the evidence presented, does not support that conclusion. What is largely described are interpersonal ruptures, painful endings, blurred roles, and disagreements over experiences and expectations. These are things I take seriously. But they are not the same as abuse.

To name this distinction is not to diminish anyone’s pain or invalidate how someone may have experienced their interactions with me. Feelings are real, and impact matters. And at the same time, not all experiences of hurt equate to abuse. Language matters—especially when we’re navigating sensitive topics like trauma, ethics, and accountability.

We need more space in our culture for complexity—for conversations that don’t collapse into binaries, but instead allow us to say: Something hurt me, and it wasn’t abuse. Or, I made a mistake, and I’m not an abuser. Or even, There was harm, and there is still room for repair.

That’s the kind of accountability I believe in—one rooted in honesty, humility, and a deep desire to reduce harm without resorting to distortion. (For a further dive into this, I recommend the work of Dr. Isabelle Morley.)

A Final Word on Character, Accountability, and Complexity

Over the past week, I’ve sat with deep grief—not only for myself, but for the pain others may have experienced because of my actions. I grieve the reality that I contributed to their hurt, even unintentionally. I grieve the friendships that ended abruptly, the loss of shared trust, and the inability to move toward repair. And I grieve the way our public conversations around harm so often collapse into binaries: victim/perpetrator, right/wrong, safe/unsafe.

These binaries flatten real people. They obscure context, silence nuance, and make repair nearly impossible.

But I also understand why they exist. When something in the present even remotely resembles the shape or texture of past trauma, it can light up the same neural pathways and survival responses in our bodies. What feels disproportionate to one person may feel like life-or-death to another—and often is, because of what it’s tied to. In that light, I can understand why people reacted so strongly. I know that for many, these responses come from a place of care—a fierce desire to protect, to name harm, and to stop cycles from repeating. I respect that. I share that desire.

I believe in repair. I believe in accountability. And I believe that healing requires telling the truth—not just about what happened, but about what didn’t. Not just about harm, but about humanity.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I don’t take your trust—or your time—for granted. I know this letter may bring up a lot: confusion, sadness, anger, grief, even conflicting feelings about who and what to believe. If that’s true for you, I hope you’ll make space for it all. None of us are immune to the messiness of being human, especially when we’re navigating old and new wounds in real time. My hope is that we can all meet this moment—not with more certainty or polarization—but with compassion. For ourselves. For each other. For the possibility that we are all still becoming.