Why I Started "Kill The Silence"

There's a specific kind of silence that settles in after betrayal by someone you trusted to save you. It isn't peaceful. It's suffocating. A weight pressing against your chest while you're told to keep quiet, stay in line, and accept that your voice doesn't matter.

I've lived in that silence. For nearly two years, I watched my life, finances, and sanity disintegrate under the calculated manipulation of someone with credentials, authority, and an intimate knowledge of my deepest vulnerabilities.

My therapist.

The Weaponization of Trust

When people ask why I didn't "just leave" or "see the red flags," they fundamentally misunderstand the insidious nature of professional exploitation. I've spent the last five years of sobriety developing fierce boundaries and crystal-clear instincts. I don't suffer fools. I don't accept mediocrity. I've built a successful career by trusting my gut.

And yet.

The most dangerous predators don't announce themselves with obvious threats. They begin with small boundary erosions, reasonable-sounding requests, and an almost imperceptible shifting of reality. By the time you realize something is deeply wrong, they've already constructed an alternate universe where your instincts are "paranoia," your concerns are "resistance to healing," and your growing unease is "proof you need more help."

My therapist didn't need a weapon to take $126,000 from me. She already had one: five years of therapy notes documenting every fear, trauma, and vulnerability I'd ever disclosed. She knew exactly which pressure points would cripple me, which threats would paralyze me, and which manipulations would ensure my silence.

The Perfect Storm of Vulnerability

No one expects to become a victim of professional exploitation. I certainly didn't. As a high-performing financial advisor with ADHD and over five years of sobriety, I prided myself on resilience. I had survived addiction. I had rebuilt my life. I was the guy who had it together.

Then came 2023—the year everything unraveled.

I was wrongfully terminated from my position at a major financial institution—fired just after filing an HR complaint about ongoing workplace issues.

Suddenly, I was facing a potentially career-ending FINRA U5 filing that threatened my professional future, financial stability, and identity. Over 7 months, I had lost my mentor, my job, and potentially my career.

My therapist saw an opportunity.

The Architecture of Exploitation

Professional exploitation follows recognizable patterns, though I didn't know this at the time. It begins with isolation—cutting you off from anyone who might offer perspective or support. My therapist convinced me that former friends, colleagues, and especially a woman I had just started dating were "out to get us," fabricating elaborate threats and conspiracies.

Through manufactured crises and anonymous messages (that I now know were orchestrated by her), she created a siege mentality where only she could protect me. I began receiving threatening texts about my FINRA credentials and letters suggesting professional misconduct—all strategically timed to coincide with my pending arbitration case.

Then came the solution: a multi-page contract promising "protection" in exchange for:

• Complete monitoring of my electronic devices

• Cutting off contact with specific people

• Deactivating all social media

• No dating or romantic relationships until 2026

• Payments totaling over $100,000

When I hesitated, her threat was explicit: "If you don't shut up, I'll write the letter to FINRA myself. I know everything about you."

I signed. What choice did I have? My entire career, reputation, and future hung by a thread she was threatening to cut. At that time, I truly believed I needed to win my arbitration or my career I’d worked so hard to build was over.

The Financial Toll

Between February and June 2024, I transferred approximately $126,000 to my former therapist—liquidating investments, draining my 401(k), and transferring large sums from my checking account. The contract stipulated payments "not to exceed $9,000"—carefully structured to avoid banking reporting thresholds.

She claimed this money was going to a "reputation management firm" protecting us from the manufactured threats she had created. The investigation would later reveal her checking account had a balance of just $371 in March 2025—raising obvious questions about where my money actually went.

By July 2024, I was approaching complete psychological collapse. Severe anxiety. Sleep disturbances. Physical symptoms of extreme stress. I was isolated, financially drained, and living in constant fear.

Then came the turning point.

Breaking Point to Breakthrough

In August 2024, my FINRA U5 arbitration hearing finally took place—and I won. The arbitrators ruled in my favor, effectively clearing my professional record.

This victory removed her most powerful leverage. With the threat to my career neutralized, I found the courage to begin pushing back.

She sensed the shift immediately. Her communications changed from demands to partial confessions, acknowledging lies and even more threatening behavior. By August 17, she claimed to have "deleted all materials" and ended contracts with the supposed "third parties"—an apparent attempt to cover her tracks.

But the damage was done, and by early 2025, I had assembled overwhelming evidence: contracts, bank records, text messages, emails, letters. The private investigator's report confirmed what I had begun to suspect: the "reputation management firm" was fabricated, the threatening communications traced back to locations connected to her, and her financial records showed no evidence of the funds being used for legitimate services.

In March 2025, I filed a formal complaint with the Michigan Department of Licensing and Regulatory Affairs (LARA).

Then I decided to tell my story.

Why Substack, Why Now

Traditional media wasn't the right platform for this story. I didn't want an editor deciding which parts of my experience were "newsworthy" or "appropriate." I didn't want my trauma condensed into a clickbait headline or sanitized for advertiser comfort.

I needed full control over my narrative—the same control that had been systematically stripped from me over two years of manipulation.

Substack provides that ownership. Here, I determine what gets published and when. No gatekeepers. No advertisers to please. No pressure to soften the sharp edges of this story.

This publication isn't just a blog—it's a direct challenge to the systems that enable professional exploitation. It's a platform where my voice can't be silenced, edited, or spun. It's a space where I can document every manipulation tactic, every red flag, and every recovery tool without censorship or compromise.

There's power in that kind of ownership, especially for survivors of psychological manipulation whose reality has been repeatedly questioned, dismissed, and rewritten by others.

Beyond My Story

Kill The Silence isn't just about what happened to me. It's about challenging the culture of silence that protects predators with credentials.

Male survivors of therapist abuse and coercive control face unique barriers to recognition and support. We're less likely to report. Less likely to be believed. More likely to doubt our own experiences. Society struggles to see men—particularly high-performing men—as potential victims of manipulation and exploitation.

This creates the perfect environment for predators to operate unchecked, knowing their professional authority provides built-in credibility while their victims' experiences will be questioned, minimized, or ignored.

My ADHD and trauma response made me both vulnerable to exploitation and resilient enough to eventually break free. Through this publication, I'll explore how neurodivergence intersects with trauma, how high achievers can simultaneously succeed professionally while being exploited personally, and how addiction recovery principles apply to healing from psychological manipulation.

Writing as Survival, Truth as Advocacy

For me, writing isn't just creative expression—it's a cognitive lifeline. My ADHD brain needs external organization to process complex emotions and experiences. Writing provides the structure my thoughts crave, the clarity my recovery demands, and the permanence my healing requires.

When everything else was taken from me—money, relationships, trust—words remained. They were the one thing I could still control, even in my darkest moments.

Now, those same words have become both weapon and shield: documenting evidence, processing trauma, and building a platform for advocacy and change. If what I write touches one person then to me it was worth it.

The statistics on therapist misconduct are alarming, but the stories behind those numbers rarely surface. Confidentiality agreements, legal threats, professional retaliation, and the profound shame of exploitation ensure most survivors never speak publicly.

That silence protects the wrong people.

Breaking Cycles, Building Community

I'm often asked why I'm willing to expose such personal details of my life. The answer is simple: because I wish someone had done this for me.

If I had found detailed accounts of therapist exploitation—particularly the manipulation tactics, coercive contracts, and psychological warfare—I might have recognized what was happening sooner. I might have escaped with less damage. I might have trusted my instincts instead of her distortions.

By documenting my experience in granular detail, I'm creating the resource I desperately needed but couldn't find. I'm shining light into the darkest corners of professional exploitation so others might see the warning signs I missed.

This isn't about vengeance. It's about transformation—turning trauma into purpose, isolation into community, and silence into advocacy.

I write because silence protects the wrong people. And I'm done with that shit.

— Cody Taymore

More essays, stories, and tools:KillTheSilenceMovement.com

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