I’m Suing My Therapist

She stole $126,000, almost killed me, and the licensing board let her keep practicing.

If you missed the first post, here is the whole goddamn story — for the people who thought this was some private meltdown or messy breakup. This is not. This was calculated, sustained, professional predation. I have the receipts. I have the filings. I am taking her to court.

For five years I sat in a chair and told a woman everything I had been told to bury. I gave her the parts I was ashamed of, the parts I needed help to survive. I trusted that room to be where I got better. Instead she built a weapon from my life.

From September 22, 2018 to April 13, 2023 I paid for 303 sessions. Three hundred and three hours of my shame, my childhood, my relapses, my panic, my grief, my ADHD, my PTSD. She documented everything — what I fidgeted with, how I froze, what made me collapse — and she turned that documentation into a manual for manipulation.

The diagnosis she wrote up in 2022 was not a medical record only. It was an instruction set. It mapped the ways my brain works, the spaces where I am vulnerable, the triggers she could pull. She knew exactly which buttons to press. She learned how to isolate me. She learned how to make me doubt my own reality. She did it with a pen and a license.

When I lost my job — after reporting abuse in my workplace — she did not refer me to help. She invited me deeper into dependency. She began to make me choose between the few anchors left in my life and her version of “help.” She moved the relationship out of an office and into her home. She gave me a key. She normalized boundary collapse. She used small kindnesses like gifts and outings as the scaffolding for bigger control.

In October of 2023 my best friend and mentor I’d known for nearly 15 years suddenly died. I had reached my lowest point. Then she told me there was a problem only she could fix. She manufactured crises. She produced “evidence” that terrified me. She called in threats and said she could stop them if I paid. She presented me with a contract that was not advice or care — it was legal strangulation. The terms were grotesque: upfront payments, an enormous lump sum schedule sliced into transfers deliberately under reporting thresholds, ongoing percentages of future income, required silence, monitoring of devices, restrictions on who I could talk to and where I could go. It read like slavery dressed up in paper.

I did what so many people in that spiral do. I paid. I liquidated accounts. I withdrew from my retirement to meet her demands. The transfers were sliced into chunks under ten thousand to avoid bank reporting. The total added up to roughly one hundred twenty six thousand dollars.

When I balked she threatened to use everything I had ever told her against me. She threatened to write letters that would ruin my career. She threatened to weaponize details of my trauma in ways that would leave me exposed and unemployable. She used my addiction, my family history, my grief — the very things I had given her to be healed — as hostage material.

On August 11, 2024 she sent a rambling seven page email that reads like a confession and a manual both. She admitted to lying in places. She admitted to making threatening comments. She claimed to have “ended affiliations” and “deleted materials.” She admitted there had been manipulation. Those words are in writing.

I filed a complaint with LARA. I brought the documents to the police. I paid private investigators to trace the calls and the accounts. I have bank records, contracts, emails, text threads, and VOIP traces that connect the dots. I have more than five hundred pages that prove a pattern. The police read the packet and said they would not pursue criminal charges because they did not see a path to a beyond a reasonable doubt conviction. LARA has my complaint under review. The licensing board has not revoked her license. She is still listed as practicing at Crossings Counseling in Troy, Michigan. She is still sitting across from other people who trust her.

There is another piece here that makes my stomach turn. According to communications she sent me, she was in constant contact with a man named Mark. She fed me stories about people I had just started dating and details I had never shared — details that no therapist could possibly know unless they had access to records or were colluding with people who knew. She manufactured evidence. She created chaos and then presented herself as the only person who could protect me from the chaos she had conjured. That is not therapy. That is a scam scaffolded by professional cover.

This is not a sob story. This is a criminal pattern in my life that cost a human being six figures and nearly destroyed my footing in the world. It is extortion. It is structuring of transactions to evade detection. It is breach of fiduciary duty. It is professional misconduct and a moral collapse masked by letters after a name.

So I am suing.

I am not suing because I want revenge. I am suing because the systems failed me. I am suing because police and regulators looked at a mountain of documents and shrugged while she kept a license and a practice. I am suing because court records are public records, and because public records are a kind of protection. If a licensing board will not act quickly enough, the court can create pressure, transparency, and accountability.

If you think this can only happen to someone with no resources, hear this: it happened to me. I ran a half billion dollar book of business. I trained hundreds of sales people. I know how to build, fight, and sell. If it could happen to me, it can happen to anyone who walks into a room and tells the truth.

When I say that she almost killed me I'm not being dramatic. She saw me at my absolute lowest, forty pounds gone, hollowed out by panic and sleepless nights, and instead of helping she put her foot on my neck and profited off it. Every fake crisis, every threat, every manufactured "solution" pushed me closer to the one thing I had sworn never to do again: pick up and drown it all. There were days I could not eat, nights my chest felt like it would collapse, moments where relapse was not a metaphor but a literal bargain with oblivion that I almost made. She did not just betray me professionally. She engineered my collapse and cashed in on it. That is not care. That is criminal.

For those who want to see the receipts, read the full account and see the documents I have shared:

Here is what I need from you. Read it. Share it. Call LARA and ask why complaint number 63-25-001079 is still languishing in review when there is a written admission and a five hundred page evidence packet. Call the Michigan Attorney General and ask why structured payments designed to avoid reporting were not investigated more aggressively. Tag reporters. Send the story to survivor networks. If you have a similar story, reach out. We will document it together and build pressure.

This is two things at once: a legal fight and a call to arms. The lawsuit will be my legal push. Public pressure will be the oxygen regulators need to move. If you want to help this stop happening in rooms where people go to get well, do what you can to push this into the light.

I was their target. Now I am their problem.

— Cody Taymore
Kill The Silence

P.S. If you have a story like mine, or if you were harmed by a professional who used their license as a weapon, message me. We will build the record. We will make sure this pattern cannot be ignored.