When I tune into the Lively-Baldoni legal situation, I’m reminded of my crazy ex-therapist. Even down to the part-Cherokee lineage that she and Lively have in common.

A couple of sources have said that Lively is a malignant narcissist, also like the ex-therapist. It's been coming to light that Lively created a false legal case and wanted to destroy an innocent Baldoni’s reputation and business for thoroughly selfish reasons (allegedly), which is what my former therapist did to me. Except she went the criminal court route, rather than civil.

I’m low-key jealous because Baldoni has a lawyer who is exposing what Lively’s done to smear Justin’s character. He’s doing a great job. He gets it, cares, and is fighting for Baldoni’s livelihood.

The defense attorney I hired didn’t go to great lengths. She rudely told me to “move on” when her work was done. Didn’t expose my therapist. Didn’t offer a way for me to seek restitution. I’ve never understood how people can be so goddamn insensitive and glib.

You don’t move on from your therapist turning on you like 11 years never happened, and gunning hard for you to lose your freedom, just so they can save face.

I was wrecked and filled with self-hatred from the way she ended things; in a contemptuous battery of shame, blame, and deceit. It took her less than a week after discarding me to get the police banging louder on my door than I ever thought possible. I thought it was going to crack from how hard they hit it. The noise reverberated throughout my living room and office. Less than a week.

It takes police time to process reports. There has to be enough evidence, even if it's fake, which means she started plotting against me and lying to them immediately after tossing me aside like an overused wallet. She kept it secret in order to blindside me.

My other lawyer, the civil litigation attorney, thought I was crazy and lying after he heard her claims that I was stalking her. I told him she was lying, I hadn’t called her in days. “No more calling your therapist,” he answered, like I was a hologram. How do you move on from lawyers and police gaslighting your gaslighting, and assuming you’re stalking someone who’s actually stalking you?

I couldn’t even grieve losing years of my life to all the lies she made me believe, without her trying to destroy me more. What the fuck kind of monster does this to someone they’ve knowingly fed poison to, all the while, telling them it’s medicine? In her sick mind, she always, always came first. Even in my times of greatest suffering caused by her, she always, always made it about her. This wasn't just kicking someone while they were down. It was kicking them into a grave and filling it with corrosive acid.

You can’t unexperience being criminalized by a criminal. You never move on from the heartbreaking shock of seeing “People versus Your Last Name” on a criminal docket, knowing full well it’s a lie, you’re the one who got harmed and then set-up, and you’re not allowed to express anger about it because it will only help her case.

You don’t get to erase what it feels like when no one will listen to you. Like you’re subhuman and not even there. You don’t gloss over the fact that your therapist went to extreme lengths to visciously craft a false police file and create fake evidence; or knowing that they would've like to see you tossed in jail, in handcuffs, after you told her everything about your life and gave her hundreds of thousands of dollars, in trust. She even kept alleging that I’d failed to pay her as part of her smear campaign. Infuriating, crazymaking, double-binding—these words don’t even scratch the surface.

She falsely set me up as a “stalker” despite causing enmeshment and obsession for years. She knew I was dependent on her. She saw me 14 times a week for years and knew it caused fixation. She lied anyway. As a result, any voicemails or calls from me after a point were going to be used to support her fictional claims. I couldn’t even call to talk to the person who had been my only contact for years and say goodbye. The one who, for a decade and up until one week prior, had insisted I tell her absolutely everything, daily.

She put me in an emotional iron maiden and I hated her for it. For everything she had done and taken. And taken and taken. I wanted to watch her suffer as she had made me suffer, and lose everything she had caused me to lose.

I am not sure I had ever needed to speak and be heard more, and had someone make it as impossible and dangeous to do so, just to fuck me over. Because it was better for her. Based on lies.

I hated all the systems that bought into her lies. I despised them for their callous lack of insight and compassion for what I’d been put through. For harassing me at home and allowing themselves to become a gun she held to my temple, when they should've been turned on her.

To them, I was just another fucking crazy person of color and she was the uncontested, blond-haired expert on that. I wasn’t even a human worth listening to. I wasn’t to be believed. But it was my life. She had been my entire life.

I grew up in a life of economic privilege. Went to some of the best schools in America. I take spiders outside instead of killing them and ask flowers permission before picking them. I resonate with Baldoni because he’s known to be a spiritual, gentle soul who cares about humanity. I was like that, but the parts of me that believed in trust and justice died. Those are not small matters. You don’t just move on from that. I had a voicemail from a police officer saying they wanted to press charges. They hadn't even spoken to me. I had no one to call and tell how angry I felt.

I never had issues with police before she set me up. I was someone they used to ask for help. I was someone who looked upstanding enough for them to do that.

The trauma caused by my ex-therapist flipped that on its head. She robbed me of the safety of therapy, of my home, of police, and ultimately, of Santa Barbara.

Years later, I function well and have recovered a lot, but I’ll never look at any of those the same way. I still inwardly flinch whenever someone knocks on my front door. I still can't see a police car without remembering what it feels like to be presumed guilty until proven innocent; how much their bias, gullibility, and incompetence harmed me. No one moves on from that. Certainly not because someone told me to, because they don't want to hear it.

I resonate with Justin Baldoni because his kindness was mistaken for weakness. He’s hitting back hard, as well he should. My ex-therapist created trauma in me that she saw as an opportunity to cripple me with more trauma. She would’ve rejoiced if I’d killed myself. It would’ve made things easier for her. So I didn’t as a symbolic “fuck you.” To make things harder for her. To be sadistic to her sadism. As a living reminder to her that she lost, should be afraid of the truth, and will never get the better of me. To reclaim what she so desperately envied and sought to annihilate—and failed. My rage fueled me to face her lies head-on and complete what she dreaded me doing: file a licensing complaint and lawsuit. Both had consequences for her. All I have to do to piss her off is live; that’s how pathetic she is. I’m happy to oblige.

Still, you never forget how it feels to know that your therapist would delight in your suicide. You never move on from such extremes of betrayal, cruelty, trauma, humiliation, and injustice. You move with them. Some hurts run too deep. You know too much. You can't unlearn any of it.

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