If we lived in a truly trauma-informed world, lawyers would be the ones reaching out to clients — not the other way around.

If a report of harm or abuse surfaced, the right legal support would proactively step in. Survivors wouldn't have to chase down help or navigate stonewalling systems alone.

Being trauma-informed means meeting people where they are — especially when they’re most vulnerable.

Don't get me wrong, some do...great lawyers who care exist but they are exceedingly rare. 

I get it, not everyone has the bandwidth to step in and "save the day"...

Sadly the alternative of silence/dismissing concerns leads to years of fallout. 

What often happens is that people are forced to internalize “wrong” situations. Years pass, and eventually, they break down under the weight of something that happened long ago. When they finally speak up, no one believes them—because even when they tried to take action before, it wasn’t enough or it was ignored.  You have to be incredibly persistent just to be heard.

Worse, and oftentimes, they’re often dismissed or seen as “weak” — not in spirit, but on paper — because the perpetrator knows how to exploit the system’s flaws.

Society needs to transform the way support works so no one has to face their struggles alone—and future challenges can be truly resolved.

How cruel to promise "help" only to be dismissed?

If they were truly trauma informed, a complain stemming from, say cult abuse ten years ago, airing out years later makes perfect sense.  That's what cults do, if representation doesn't understand this fundamental concept of human psychology and behavior, that is very troubling indeed.

Too often, people underestimate the deep anger and grief that comes from having valid concerns dismissed. Many organizations make promises to help, but very few actually follow through.  Instead, you get bombarded with targeted ads for lawyers, nonprofits, or hotlines like RAINN—only to find that, nine times out of ten, they don’t call back or engage unless someone “legitimate” recommends you.

Why even bother trying?  We live in a world of smoke and mirrors, oftentimes these support systems exist to...support themselves not the actual people in need.  Sad truth.  The funding rolls in, year after year. Who does it benefit?

People might call it the “girl who cried wolf” scenario. But is it possible that a young woman in her twenties is actually incredibly vulnerable? And maybe, just maybe, each episode—spread out over the years—is genuinely real?

What often starts as a seemingly simple problem—like an eating disorder or substance abuse—quickly becomes tangled in layers of mistrust and fallout. Family members face a difficult choice: who do they believe first, and who do they blame? Is it, “Oh, you’re just doing this to avoid accountability,” or “This can’t be happening every time,” or worse, “You’re vindictive, bitter, and on a mission to slander”? But none of that is true. This is me, finally at a point where I have nothing left to lose except honesty. I hope by sharing my story, I can encourage others to share theirs too. Over time, we might connect more dots than not—and perhaps, in our era, we’ll uncover how many abusive practices were buried beneath the surface. And that’s not okay.

Because beyond the emotional fallout, these issues often lead to housing instability, job loss, and other crucial factors tied to a person’s stability—factors that deeply affect long-term wellness and recovery. When treatment is plagued by ethical concerns and systemic problems, the patient or client simply cannot heal properly—and relapse becomes inevitable. It’s not complicated.

Of course, we’re resilient people. Not every day of our lives is shattered. But for the most part, there’s an undercurrent of depression and sadness. Sometimes it becomes overwhelming when you look back and realize how many times you tried to tell the truth—and how few times you were truly heard.

Obviously, this is a greater theme of the human condition. While I’m fiercely passionate about mental health and addiction treatment ethics, I also try to humble myself by seeing the bigger global picture and reminding myself how lucky I am to be safe—at least for now—from living in an actual war zone. Still, some wars on the homefront are quiet, insidious, and seep in like Virginia creeper over the years. They are just as worthy of reporting and speaking up about because they’re part of the human pursuit of justice, accountability, and sharing one’s truth. It might just be me, it might be others, and so far, what I’ve uncovered is—it’s not just me.

There is a definite ripple effect to this, and it’s what makes communities unhealthy. Something happens at a young age—someone is scammed spiritually or abused—the toxic behaviors settle in. They try to do the standard “treatment,” but more abuse comes in, and they never really get the healing they need. Ironically, the healing they do get comes from calling out the BS of the overall system for survivors. The internalized toxicity, the pain—it’s all very real.

P.S. It’s 'hilarious' <sarcasm> because, as a sophomore at William & Mary and a psychology graduate, while my mental health then wasn’t perfect, I was happier than not and felt safe—mostly surrounded by peers who understood me and challenged me to be better, for the most part. One of the courses I took was with Professor Charles in the Exercise Science building near Lake Matoaka, where we’d often have classes—it was Health Ethics. It was a great course, and I loved it. In that bubble, it all seemed so perfect: debate, write papers, argue with peers who mostly agreed with you, and really think about these topics. But what about when you leave those walls of “safety”? The real world isn’t so curated.

If you check out any of my other social media posts about the summer of 2019, you’ll see some key events that happened — including my sudden departure from a job in Long Beach, California, which was surrounded by questionable workplace ethics. Around the same time, a federal indictment (https://open.substack.com/pub/clelala/p/what-no-one-tells-you-about-becoming) was initiated shortly after I returned to Virginia from California, but it wasn’t fully finalized until that fall.

2019 was the year I needed the most support, yet I faced some truly awful treatment from people during my lowest moments. This was made worse by the medications I was taking then, which I’m no longer on. What became painfully clear to me is that people going through active mental health crises accompanied by economic instability are often exploited, punished, and harmed — sometimes the effects of PTSD last for the rest of their lives.

I wish I had the clarity and strength I have now to fight back against the way my younger self was treated — the fear she carried, instead of the support she deserved. Instead of help, I was singled out, humiliated, and criticized. The shame I experienced is something I will never forget.

What I went through wasn’t truly recognized as a medical issue, and that speaks volumes about the deep stigma around mental health. Unfortunately, this stigma seeps into policies that do more harm than good, pushing people into costly treatment centers that often perpetuate cycles of shame, gaslighting, and forced medication, all administered by therapists who lack trauma-informed care and empathy.  These measures are mostly taken to appease those in authority—like, “Look, she’s taking steps to get better.” But the sad truth is that many so-called “accredited” places are just as complicit in the overall systemic neglect. And when you try to report this, you’re often met with gaslighting, and everything they know about you is used to silence you.

The real truth? I never would have endured the additional trauma of the summer of 2019 if it weren’t for the initial intervention that took place that spring when I returned to Virginia from California. That event triggered a massive fallout in my life, ultimately isolating me from everyone and putting me in serious danger.  

Sometimes people believe they’re helping, but in reality, they’re just reinforcing the problem by blindly calling the channels they’ve been conditioned to trust. They call it a day, feel good about themselves, and never stop to think twice.

That includes the local police officer who, when serving me an EPO, tackled me to the ground—someone I actually went to high school with. All because I tried to return to my own home, or at least to use the restroom.

I honestly can’t look at these people the same way anymore. I actively avoid places where they might be, and whenever I see them, my heart just sinks. 

No one will ever admit this. Instead, they’ll likely blame me—the survivor—discredit my experience, and conveniently ignore the parts that validate my story.

It’s so much easier for people to dismiss someone by slapping on a label like “she’s just crazy” or “she’s a junkie,” without understanding the full complexity of the situation—the cause and effect, and the deep injustice involved, especially when it comes to health ethics. 

#MentalHealth #AddictionRecovery #TreatmentEthics #SurvivorStories #CannabisAbuseSurvivor #Lol  #Youmeanthedrugeveryoneuses#HealingJourney #Accountability #TruthTelling #MentalHealthMatters #InvisibleWars #CommunityHealing #Resilience #BreakTheSilence #JusticeForSurvivors