The Fire We Carry

On rupture, relational truth, and building beyond institutional silence

Seeing clearly through the cracks—grounded in decolonized, embodied neurodivergent insight, not institutional narratives.

I Went Through Something Hard—Here’s What I Learned

I went through something deeply difficult—relationally, psychologically, energetically. I gave myself time and space to process: journaling, voice‑notes, stillness, and conversations with many trusted friends and mentors. Yet a heaviness lingers—a quiet ache in my gut.

I lost a week of my life. I missed two important meetings. I spiraled.
Why? Because others refused to hold themselves accountable.

Generally I don’t do public call‑outs. Cancel culture nearly destroyed me. I know its emotional violence. But I also understand why people sometimes resort to it:
When harm isn’t named. Responsibility is dodged. Gaslighting fills the void.
A primal impulse awakens: someone needs to say, “This happened.”

I did what relational leadership asks:

• reached out one-on-one

• invited dialogue

• opened the door

I didn’t shame—I offered repair.
What I received? Silence.

My hyper‑empathy led me to try to understand—even when I got nothing. But after all that reflection, one truth remains: She doesn’t care.
Not about me. Not even a little.

This is not a takedown. It is a reclamation—of my time, energy, emotional labor, and clarity.

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Context Note:
The Neurokindness (NK) Community was born as a radical act of collective, liberatory community building. It began with four neurodivergent folks—unpaid, uncredentialed by institutions, but rich in lived wisdom—committed to creating a space of mutual support and care, outside the institutional gaze. I joined the shared leadership circle in February, took a short leave when my mother passed in March, and returned on April 28 to continue the work of tending this emergent space.

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Dear Neurokindness Community,

Over recent weeks, I’ve sat with grief, confusion, anger—and above all, a need to honor truth. I waited. I reflected. I watched for space for accountability. It never appeared. So now I write this—to offer clarity for myself, for those who feel harmed, and for anyone still asking, “What happened?”

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Our Intentions & Promises

• April 28: I joined with a clear intention—to co-create a relational, neurodivergent‑affirming community grounded in liberation.

• I spoke openly about my identity as MAD—a survivor of mental‑health systems—and about the courage it takes to build truly inclusive spaces.

• May 6 (leadership channel):

“MAD folks are literally mad at the systems yes but we channel that energy towards awareness and creating new systems... What happens is that because we criticize systems, often people who are still attached to those systems feel harmed by the honesty we bring forward, the real harm that we have endured.”

Next, I shared a public post in the NK Community where I spoke openly—naming my positionality and MAD identity—and invited us to embrace imperfection, to heal in public, and to show up as our unpolished, whole selves.

The community met me with warmth, kindness, and understanding.
Megan Anna Neff—a community member and financial supporter of the platform through her funding of the Circle app—held both visible and invisible forms of influence within NK. She liked the post, acknowledged it, and signaled agreement. That acknowledgment mattered to me.

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Naming the Power: Who Holds It, and How

Let me be precise—because relational integrity requires clarity.

Nick is a white man who held a formal leadership role in the NK community and later accepted paid work with Megan Anna Neff—after the NK community’s core values and vision had already been co-created by others. This placed him in a dual position of influence: both within our community’s leadership and within Megan’s institutional orbit. That overlap, to my knowledge, was not transparently disclosed.

From that point forward, decisions that had been rooted in shared values began to reflect the needs and concerns of external professional dynamics. Nick’s proximity to institutional authority—combined with structural power as a white man, a paid staff member, and a decision-maker—created a power imbalance that shaped the direction of the space.

He was entrusted with stewarding a community grounded in relational practice and collective vision. Over time, however, decisions began to shift toward frameworks focused on risk management and clinical containment—changes that occurred without consultation with those most impacted.

This marked a departure from shared leadership. It signaled a shift toward institutional influence.

Megan Anna Neff a white woman who is a licensed clinical psychologist with a large online following and a monetized mental health brand. Though not part of NK’s founding governance or co-creation, her professional credentials and public platform carried significant weight. When concerns arose about trauma expression, Megan’s response—as relayed through Nick—was not rooted in relational repair or peer accountability. Instead, it emphasized clinical containment and the risk of liability.

As a result, decisions about what constituted “safety,” tone, and emotional expression began to be guided by professional risk mitigation rather than community dialogue.

Here is what Nick relayed:

"Megan is very firm from her therapist background that for her there needs to be a very clear line on how trauma related matters, or negative posting sits within the community due to the adverse effects it can have on members..."

“The greatest risk is the role of ‘trauma response’ and the responsibility that plays out for moderators / owners and becomes a very fragile line."

“Megan’s commitment as champion would need to see a shift to be more aligned with the hard rules. And that may not align with the NK community purpose.”

A screenshot of “hard rules,” reportedly from Megan’s monetized community, was shared by Nick as an example of the kind of structure he felt NK should adopt. This is not speculation—these are direct quotations and firsthand observations. They reflect a redirection of community values—not through consensus or shared reflection, but through institutional frameworks focused on brand and liability.

It’s important to note that prior to this, the NK community had already engaged in an open, collaborative process to design trauma-informed moderation guidelines. These guidelines—developed by and for the community—reflected our shared values around collective care, neurodivergent inclusion, and peer-led accountability. The community had agreed to a model of self-moderation grounded in mutual trust and relational integrity.

So when Nick introduced a screenshot of the “hard rules” from Megan’s monetized community—as a proposed framework for NK—it felt less like guidance and more like an erasure. Rather than honoring the community's co-created agreements, this move re-centered external authority, brand-driven risk management, and a top-down model that was never ours to begin with.

Now, let me name my power.

I name that I am a white woman—by skin color, not by cultural alignment.
I carry the privileges that whiteness confers in institutional spaces, even as I reject its systems of supremacy.

And I know: the very fact that I can name this harm without institutional retaliation—that I can speak this truth and be heard—is part of that privilege.
I do not take it lightly.

I use it to tell the truth others are not safe enough to name.

I am MAD. I am a psychiatric survivor and a trauma-informed community builder—not just because I’ve read the books (though I have plenty of credentials), but because I have lived it. I understand trauma not as pathology, but as pattern. As relational rupture. As systemic response.

I bring the authority of lived experience. I bring the depth of integration. I bring the refusal to separate intellect from embodiment, theory from feeling, structure from soul.

That kind of power—embodied, decolonized, MAD power—does not override. It listens. It waits. It builds relationships. It weaves emergent process. It asks for consent.

And so when I saw that our already-established moderation policies—created in collaboration with the community—were being replaced by a screenshot of top-down rules from another space, I saw the erasure for what it was.

Not because I am fragile.

But because I know how systems work. I know what institutional containment looks like. I know what it feels like to be told that your trauma is “too much,” your truth “too risky,” your presence “too loud.”

That is not safety. That is suppression.

That is not care. That is control.

And we deserve better.

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Power Dynamics at Play

Clinical Authority vs. Relational Leadership

• Megan’s professional background framed vulnerability as a clinical risk.

• The focus shifted from collective truth-telling to institutional control over expression.

Brand Protection & Legal Liability vs. Communal Trust

• Decisions were routed through Nick rather than being brought to the community.

• Legal and brand concerns overtook the commitments to co-created values.

Institutional Power vs. Member-Led Direction

• Quotes from Nick show the shift: hard rules replacing emergent practice, leadership commitments adjusted for alignment with external standards.

These dynamics resulted in a redirection of the community—from relational care to risk-managed containment. Emotional expression was policed. Lived experience was pathologized. Institutional authority was prioritized over community stewardship.

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What I Refuse to Accept

I believe in care, in safety, in intention—I’ve built spaces grounded in all three. But:

• Care without accountability isn’t care.

• Safety built through silencing isn’t safety.

• Decisions rooted in liability replicate trauma.

I retraced every step. I reviewed every message. I watched tone, power, and posture shift. I gave grace. I offered dialogue. Still: they knew. They saw my words. They liked my post. And they chose institutional protection over relational repair.

This clarity hurts—but it also frees.

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What I’m Holding Close

This isn’t a feel-good growth arc. But it is a turning point.

• Relational leadership is practice—not performance.

• Empathy without accountability is just aesthetics.

• I am allowed to say I was harmed—even if it wasn’t intentional.

• Being MAD means trusting my nervous system—rage, grief, and clarity included.

• I will no longer shrink to make people comfortable.

If this resonates:

• You are not too much.

• Your grief is not a liability.

• Your truth is not aggression.

• Your clarity is not a threat.

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What’s Next

I am not just leaving—I am walking toward.
Toward something braver. Softer. Truer.
Something built in the image of all we’ve ever needed, but rarely found.

I am cultivating a space for the ones who carry too much.
For the grief‑bearers, the rage‑weavers, the fire‑breathers.
For the ones whose bodies remember what institutions want them to forget. The compassionate souls.

A space where trauma is not pathologized, but honored.
Where truth is not policed, but held with reverence.
Where you are not asked to shrink, translate, or tone it down.

Here, presence outweighs policy.
Here, relationships come before rules.
We gather in circles—not hierarchies.
We build through rupture—not avoidance.
We practice repair—not perfection.

This will be a place where:

• Grief has gravity and is not rushed.

• Anger is not mistaken for danger.

• Vulnerability is not a liability.

• Neurodivergence is not something to manage—but to honor.

If you’ve been told you're too intense, too emotional, too much—
You are exactly who this space is for.

We will sit with what scorches.
We will name what aches.
We will build—not in the absence of harm—but through a commitment to tending it.

This is not a retreat from the hard.
It is a return to the holy.

If this resonates—if you’ve been scorched and silenced and still long to speak—
There is room here for you.

The door is open.
The fire is lit.
Come in.

I’m working to co-create a new space where this kind of integrity is not the exception—it’s the foundation. If you want to be part of that, I welcome you.

In Shared Truth & Relational Integrity,
Sher