In the past, the days leading up to and including Thanksgiving Day used to be both simple and yet complex. For my family, it was an annual event when siblings and family would fly to Dallas. The numerous trips to the airport. Every bedroom being filled.
On Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving as the turkey was being brined, we would frequent a local Mexican food restaurant. Sometimes as many as 16 or more. There were times when I simply looked around at this family with love, with wonder, with puzzlement … this wacky, dysfunctional, mostly loving family. And yet looking back now, I realize that I never had a true understanding of the magic and wonder of “family.”
Thanksgiving Day would see my much more athletic brother run in the local Turkey Trot. An event my son, daughter and I participated in once as well. And then returning home to start the cooking, and drinking, and football.
Thanksgiving is so much about our senses … tasting, feeling, listening and particularly smelling incredible aromas. The turkey roasting, homemade cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and all sorts of other food to fill the stomach and satisfy all senses. Fragrant candles lit in each room.
There would be full plates and loud rooms, mismatched chairs pulled from every corner of the house, the laughter of children rising above the noise like a bright ribbon in the air. At times, Morgan’s laugh being the loudest of all.
And then … as this message was channeling through me, I was distracted and then intrigued by the squealing laughter of children outside. I walked outside and saw 5 – 6 children playing in a small front yard about 3 houses away. This was surprising since the neighborhood I inhabit consists of many, many blue hairs, elderly people … geezers if you will. Nonetheless, the children’s sweet, innocent laughter rang loud and joyous. And it reminded me of that which once was.
Now, nine years have passed since anorexia took Morgan from us, and for me, the holiday will never be simple again.
Yet, with time, grief evolves and has its own way of teaching a person how to see … how to look beyond absence and despair and perhaps, if you’re lucky enough, to discover the blessings that remain, even when they come wrapped in sorrow.
Some people say time heals. I don’t believe that. Time doesn’t heal; what it does is carve space. In that space, memory begins to settle gently instead of cutting sharply. I no longer remember only the hospital rooms, the fear, the battles we lost all passing as if in slow motion. I am blessed to be able to still distinctly remember Morgan’s humor, her stubborn streak, her compassion for every stray creature that crossed her path. I remember her kindness … and that is a blessing.
Memory is what lets me keep being her daddy, long after the world perhaps stopped seeing me as one.
After Morgan’s death, I immersed myself in the eating disorder community. I needed to understand. I thought my assistance would be welcomed. I needed to make sure that no other parent stood where I now stood, at the quiet cliff edge of the unthinkable.
Throughout my journeys, I have met brave parents, resilient survivors, clinicians who cared with their whole hearts, and advocates who fought every day against the silence that kills. People who have inspired me. And humbled me with their intelligence and grace. These people became my extended family. Their courage is a blessing I name out loud.
But to be honest, and Thanksgiving is a time for honesty, there is another side. A side that overwhelms me still. The corruption, the unchecked egos, the nonprofit politics, the professional turf wars, the bizarre stupidity that leaves vulnerable people without the care they desperately need. After nearly a decade in this world, I have seen how dysfunction can metastasize around suffering, how institutions can forget the very people they were created to serve.
Sometimes it feels like trying to clean the ocean with a teaspoon.
And yet, these hard lessons too, teach gratitude. Because it reminds me why I stay. It reminds me that my daughter’s life deserves more than resignation. It reminds me that the brokenness of a system does not erase the goodness of individuals. It reminds me that meaningful change, even when slow, is still possible. And that hope, no matter how bruised, is still a blessing.
Grief gave me a mission I never asked for. No parent should ever have to become an expert in eating disorders because their child died from one. But here I am. And on my best days, I believe that purpose is a gift … and a blessing.
I have learned to speak loudly for those who are silenced by shame. I have learned to ask hard questions, even when the answers are inconvenient for people in power. I have written articles with a tone that is off putting. I have made dear friends. And others have made themselves staunch enemies. That alone has surprised me. After all, aren’t we all working toward the same goal?
Valuable lessons are learned each day. One of the most important lessons I learned is that love can outlive a child, not because it replaces them, but because it honors them.
Every time a family finds help, every time a young person reaches recovery, every time someone feels less alone because of something I may have shared or that Morgan provided to them … this is my daughter’s legacy. These are her blessings.
There is an empty chair at my Thanksgiving table. It will always be empty. But every year, that space teaches me something new.
It teaches me tenderness. It teaches me to pay attention to the fragile, invisible battles others carry. It teaches me that gratitude does not require a life without heartbreak; it only asks that we keep our hearts open anyway.
Some years, that feels possible. Some years, it doesn’t. But the blessing is in the trying.
If I could give thanks for only one thing, it would be love. I am grateful that love is not undone by death. I am grateful that being Morgan’s daddy did not end the day she took her last breath. I am grateful that grief, painful as it is, is simply love in its most honest form.
This Thanksgiving, I give thanks for my daughter’s life, for those young people she helped, for the people fighting the good fight in a broken system, for the parents who keep going, for the survivors who refuse to be defined by their illness, and for the unseen blessings that rise from sorrow like morning light after a long night.
Nine years later, the gratitude is softer. More complicated. More real.
In years past — usually every November — Sierra Tucson and its Overlord and Master, Acadia Healthcare, would descend upon the Dallas–Fort Worth area to host their annual “Gratitude for Giving” Event.
This event purported to honor individuals and organizations making a positive impact in the mental health community. A noble endeavor, at least in theory — recognizing the resilient, compassionate mental health professionals who do thankless work while corporate giants circle overhead, feeding off their labor.
So without further ado, let’s get to this year’s honorees. They are …
Uh … well … uh…
Make no mistake: North Texas is overflowing with mental health heroes who deserve recognition — especially the ones humble enough to insist they are not worthy of it.
And yet, Acadia chose to honor …
That is undoubtedly due in large part to the fact that Acadia is not hosting a Gratitude for Giving Event in North Texas this year.
Why? Oh, the reasons are plentiful. Embarrassingly plentiful.
Possible Reasons
It could be … that Acadia’s once-respectable stock price — around $82 per share in September 2024 — is now living, if one can call it that, on life support at a pathetic $15.00. That’s not a dip; that’s a financial face-plant. Ouch.
It could be the ongoing Department of Justice fraud investigation that refuses to die … much like the problems Acadia keeps pretending don’t exist. Nothing says “gratitude” like having federal agents rummaging through your corporate laundry.
It could be in November 2025, Acadia shelled out a cool $179 million to settle one of the many fraud lawsuits brought by its own shareholders. When your investors sue you, you know you’ve achieved a special level of corporate rot.
It could be the numerous other pending lawsuits against Acadia owned entities for allegedly physically and sexually abusing people entrusted to its care(?).
It could be the abrupt closure of multiple Acadia facilities over the past year — not because they suddenly discovered ethics, but because the abuse was too egregious or the profits weren’t fat enough. Facilities like Options Hospital, Carolina House, Timberline Knolls, Montecatini.
It could be the number of victims under the “watchful” eye of Acadia who died at their facilities.
It could be the fact that the Department of Veteran’s Affairs is investigating Acadia for allegedly engaging in Medicaid fraud.
It could be that shareholders have filed other fraud lawsuits against Acadia alleging that Acadia engages in medically unnecessary involuntary hospitalization of psychiatric patients. Because nothing says “healthcare” like trapping people to bill insurance.
It could be that Acadia’s methadone clinics are under investigation for falsifying medical records to meet productivity quotas — and billing insurers and Medicaid for therapy sessions that never happened. Productivity over people, as always.
It could be that in June 2024, the US Senate issued a scathing report regarding Acadia and 3 other entities alleging in part that vulnerable children are being used as pawns to maximize the profits of these facilities – and American taxpayers are footing the bill. The report further states, “More often than not, these kids aren’t even getting the basic care they need and instead are in many cases experiencing serious neglect and abuse.”
This is not a wave of bad publicity. It is a tsunami of scandal, abuse, fraud, and moral bankruptcy. And so Acadia — desperate for even a flicker of positive PR — chooses to honor…
Shouldn’t we wonder why? Is it because its head isn’t screwed on just right? Could it be perhaps, that its shoes are too tight? But, perhaps the most likely reason of all … is that its heart is two sizes too small!
But let’s drop the Seussian metaphors for a moment. We all know the real reason.
When an entity places profits over patient care, the inevitable results are mistreatment, abuse and tragedy. At its quarterly shareholders’ meetings, the number of beds are discussed, quarterly revenue, adjusted EBIDTA, capital expenditures, market trends, and issues pertaining to its revenue. What is not discussed is the lack of QUALITY care given, the harm to families it is causing, the abuse, or how the lack of oversight of its facilities is being addressed.
Life and death issues being cavalierly dismissed. After all, we can’t let a few deaths and some abuse detract from Acadia’s CEO’s annual salary of $7 million! That daily paycheck of $19,178.00 needs to keep rolling in!
With this long history of abuse, assault, fraud, unethical profiteering, lack of transparency, shuttering facilities and gross mismanagement, who should be referred to any Acadia facility?
Sadly, that will not stop eating disorder organizations from continuing to accept Acadia’s dirty money and marketers continuing to refer families to Acadia’s chambers of abuse … More’s the pity.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities,
Dickens’ well-known quote reflects the contradictory nature of the era it describes, the French Revolution and the Industrial Revolution, where societal extremes of wisdom and foolishness, belief and doubt, and hope and despair coexisted. The phrase is often used today to describe any period of conflicting circumstances, where seemingly opposite conditions exist simultaneously.
Dickens captured an era riven by contradiction—one that is strikingly familiar in our decaying, digital age. Today, we move through a world that offers extraordinary access, unprecedented connectivity, and boundless opportunities for expression. Yet those same spaces are shaped by curated identities, algorithm-fed anxieties, and an ever-growing sense of distance among people who are, paradoxically, more connected than ever.
The fears, insecurities and cowardice which define the essence of keyboard warriors have come to define their very lives. And pushes them even further from humanity.
It Was the Best of Times: The Goodness of Real Life
Real life … messy, unpredictable and intimate remains the realm where meaning truly accrues and matters.
When I am out in public, be it the local dog park, a mixed-use shopping retail development, restaurants, the courthouse, bars, going for walks, I interact with people from all walks of life. Men, women, numerous races and ages. Each time, there is laughter, discussions centered on our families, our pets, the holidays, our health, the beauty of the day. I have dear friends from both ends of the political spectrum. We socialize, party together, laugh together.
In real life, conversations are not filtered through screens or stripped of tone and nuance. A friend’s laughter, the warmth of a handshake, the look in someone’s eyes when they understand you … these moments carry a weight no number of “likes” can replicate. Human relationships deepen through vulnerability, shared experience, and presence. Real life offers the “age of wisdom,” where insight grows not from viral posts but from quiet reflection, trial and error, and authentic connection.
Real experiences ground us. They tether us to something permanent and tangible: the smell of freshly cut grass in the springtime, the scent of the Christmas tree, the chaos of family gatherings, the comfort of routines, the joy of unexpected kindness. These are the “seasons of light,” moments illuminated by genuine human engagement.
It Was the Worst of Times: The Digital Landscape of Angst and Despair
Yet we live simultaneously in a world where social media defines culture. Platforms promise connection but often deliver its hollow imitation.
To properly illustrate the decay of society, one need only understand that the financial goal of the five (5) wealthiest corporations in the United States is attained by enticing us to immerse ourselves completely in our personal devices, to remove ourselves from real life and to exist solely on social media. To isolate ourselves. To limit our face-to-face human interaction. That insures their financial success while insuring the destruction of our well-being.
Here, the “age of foolishness” reigns … where impulsive opinions eclipse thoughtful dialogue and where appearance overshadows substance. Belief contorts into echo chambers, while incredulity becomes a reflex to any idea that challenges our curated worldview. We scroll endlessly, absorbing news of tragedies, political battles, and social comparisons until the world feels saturated with crisis. Cowardice and fear are the watchwords. If you do not agree with someone’s viewpoints? You need only “block them” on social media. With a keystroke, you have eliminated intelligent discourse and the expanding of your mind.
We are inundated with political parties disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing. Promulgating the power of their own party over the needs of the Republic. Indeed, politics has become a new religion rather than an enlightened arena where we can engage in intelligent conversation with a shared goal, the well-being of our nation. Politics is now pop culture. Name calling. Inflammatory labeling. Each tribe remaining in the safety and comfort of their own echo chamber. Pundits opining that we are closer to a civil war now than at any time since the end of the Civil War.
There is the parade of angst, personal attacks, tribal entrenchment, absolutism, and fear … the very worst of our qualities.
This is the “season of darkness.” Online, despair grows quietly: the loneliness of constant comparison, the fear of missing out, the anxiety of measuring oneself against the polished illusions of others. Validation is quantified, self-worth becomes algorithmic, and interactions feel more transactional than relational.
However, when people experience “real life” and interact personally with their fellow humans, more often than not, it is our goodness which shines brightly. Not our disagreements. When pain, anxiety and fear are disclosed, it is in the context of a safe place to be shared and cared for by people who want only the best for you. It is tragic that we have unnecessarily permitted social media to diminish our human connection.
In this winter of digital despair, everything is visible, yet little feels real.
The Spring of Hope: Rekindling Humanity in a Connected Age
Despite its cold edges, social media also holds the “spring of hope.” It has connected the isolated, amplified marginalized voices, and spread information at breathtaking speed. But harnessing its good requires remembering that platforms are tools, not substitutes, for human connection.
We can reclaim the best of both worlds by grounding ourselves in real relationships while using digital spaces intentionally. Social media should supplement our lives, not consume them. It should extend community, not replace it.
Choose Light Over Darkness
Just as Dickens depicted an age torn between extremes, we too, navigate a world of contrasts. The best of times and the worst of times coexist in our hands … literally, in the glowing rectangles we carry everywhere.
The goodness of real life lies in its humanity. The manner in which our souls seek out to connect with others. The despair of social media lies in its impersonality. By choosing presence over performance, conversation over commentary, and authenticity over algorithms, we can keep the light from being swallowed by the dark.
In the end, it is up to us to determine which “season” defines our era.
Few areas of mental health care illustrate dysfunction as clearly as the eating disorder board certification industry.
What began decades ago as a grassroots movement of passionate clinicians, dietitians, and advocates has metastasized into a labyrinth of overlapping credentials, proprietary “certifications,” and glossy corporate training programs.
Today, the United States alone boasts well over one hundred distinct eating disorder related certifications. This is more than that which exist for all other major psychiatric conditions … combined. For schizophrenia, there are fewer than a dozen. For depression, arguably the world’s most common mental illness, maybe two dozen. For autism, a total of ten programs. For eating disorders?
This is a table listing eating disorder related certifications:
The eating-disorder field, serving a far smaller patient population, is drowning in certificates, credentials, and branded “specialist” designations. And more are seemingly arriving every month.
This glut is not a sign of progress. To the contrary. It is the predictable outcome of a profession with no unified standards, no central accrediting authority, no ethical oversight, and an increasingly privatized treatment economy driven less by patient outcomes than by returns on investment and profiteering perpetrated by individuals and their egos.
The Great Credential Free-for-All
Unlike psychiatry or psychology fields with centralized boards and accreditation bodies, the eating disorder community has no single regulatory anchor. Instead, numerous competing organizations (IAEDP, AED, NEDA, ANAD, APT, and others) define “competence” differently and seldom recognize each other’s credentials.
The result is a credential arms race. Clinicians seeking legitimacy often accumulate multiple certifications, not because each adds new expertise, but because no one can agree which ones actually matter. Every theoretical school, CBT-E, DBT, FBT, ACT, somatic, trauma-informed, HAES®, intuitive eating, and more has spawned its own “certifying institute.”
With no governing framework, anyone can create a credential. And many have. Do you want to include social justice and political issues? Blame White Supremacy Culture? Blame the white man for all mental health issues? Create a certification program which does not include any information on ethics, or state-of-the-art medical and biological treatment? No involvement of diverse persons in creating a certification program? Extensively utilize information that is well known and has been in the community for many years? Sure! Why not? Who is going to say you cannot?
When Certification Becomes a Branding Exercise
This fragmentation might have remained a benign inconvenience if not for a second, more corrosive force: monetizing eating disorder certification through the rise of private equity.
Over the last decade, investment firms have used their monopoly power to control the narrative and then, consolidated the treatment landscape. In doing so, they squeezed the very life out of the field one dollar at a time. Large PE-backed treatment centers now own a majority of residential and intensive outpatient programs in the United States. And yet, at least one CEO of private equity owned treatment center testified in a sworn affidavit that the private equity owners prioritized profit over patient care. And patient care was compromised.
Private equity’s influence reshaped everything, from staffing ratios to program philosophy, but nowhere is the shift more visible than in education and credentialing. Under investor ownership, training is no longer an act of professional stewardship; it’s a marketing opportunity. Corporate chains launch internal “training academies” that sell branded certifications to staff and outside clinicians. Certification has become the new advertising … a low-cost, high-margin product that projects authority and generates revenue.
The loans to the investors are not simply going to pay themselves. Additional streams of revenue must be found to meet the financial demands.
Disunity as a Business Model
Eating Disorder organizations have failed to coordinate standards because fragmentation serves their financial interests. Each group has its own alleged proprietary curriculum, fees, and renewal dues. Collaboration would mean shared intelligence, information, revenue and control. Research and data would be collaboratively shared. For the first time the term, “evidence-based” would have substantive merit instead of simply being a vacuous catch phrase without any real meaning, without definition and without regulation.
Private equity masterfully exploits this vacuum. Without a single regulating body to enforce quality benchmarks, PE-backed centers can market themselves as the “gold standard” simply by aligning with whichever certification best fits their brand narrative. Or better yet, simply create your own standard of demonstrating expertise. No matter how many patients are abused, groped, or treated as if they were mere grist ground down by the mill of greed and incompetence, any treatment center can claim they are the “gold standard.”
Since they are privately owned, they can operate in the shadow of secrecy with information, which at best may be shared with their fellow PE owned overlords at quarterly meetings. Meetings which are conducted clandestinely, never to be disclosed to the families which need the highest level of care.
The Human Cost of Credential Inflation
For patients and families, the consequences are not academic, they’re life-altering. A parent searching for specialized care for a child with anorexia may encounter a clinician advertising six or more “certifications,” yet none of those credentials guarantee the provider has completed supervised ED training, worked within a multidisciplinary team, or met any validated competency benchmarks.
This blurring of standards enables underqualified practitioners to enter the field under the guise of expertise. Genuine experts are forced to buy legitimacy through redundant credentials simply to remain competitive in a marketplace driven by SEO and optics rather than outcomes.
The Wellness Economy and the Collapse of Accountability
The eating disorder arena overlaps with the $5 trillion wellness industry, which thrives on micro-credentialing. Nonclinical players, nutrition coaches, yoga instructors, and social media influencers alike obtain “eating disorder informed” certifications online, sometimes in less than a weekend.
Education has been replaced by branding. Evidence based care is replaced by radical social justice brain washing. If a person is offended by society, they need only slap an inflammatory label on the issue and not worry about its nuances. Congratulations! You have just become certified as an “Inclusive” board certified expert. The result is a field saturated with worthless credentials but starved for accountability.
Questions which should be asked are not being asked. For example, what new information does your certification program provide that was not already public knowledge in the community? Did, and does, your certification program include research professionals, medical doctors, dietitians, mental health experts, or even any men on its advisory board? Did you collaborate with any organizations or treatment centers when you were creating your program? What specialized knowledge does your organization have which other organizations do not possess? Do you have any agendas outside of providing necessary care for families suffering from eating disorders? How is your certification program going to lower the appalling mortality rate of eating disorders? Objectively speaking, how and why is your certification program an improvement over that which is already in the public domain?
Without substantive answers to these questions, professionals are left with a meaningless diploma … and simply more innocuous initials to put after your preferred pronouns.
A Perfect Storm of Profit and Disunity
Disunity and privatization feed each other. Lack of collaboration creates a vacuum; private equity monetizes it. The proliferation of proprietary programs generates revenue and brand differentiation but erodes professional credibility. Without regulation, there is no penalty for low standards, only rewards for market dominance.
The tragedy is that eating-disorder professionals entered this field to help patients including those most often marginalized by healthcare systems and diet culture. Yet through disunity and commodification, the field has allowed itself to become a marketplace rather than a discipline. Every new certification minted without oversight or accountability is another crack in the foundation of public trust.
Until collaboration replaces competition, and professionalism and the priority of patients triumph over profit, the eating disorder treatment industry will remain a cautionary tale: proof that when market logic outruns moral logic, vapid expertise becomes just another product for sale.
An insurance company denying your legitimate, desperately needed health insurance claim has become all too common, an ordinary way of life … and a large profit center for those insurance companies.
Finally one attorney, Brian Hufford, has dedicated his practice to addressing this widespread problem. But first, let’s look at the alarming statistics.
In 2023, insurers on the HealthCare.gov marketplace denied an average of 19% of in-network claims and 37% of out-of-network claims. Denial rates varied widely by insurer, ranging from as low as 1% to over 50%.
Surprisingly, the most common reason for denial isn’t related to medical necessity at all. A full 34% of denials fall under the nebulous category of “Other”—an unspecified catch-all that gives insurers maximum flexibility and patients minimum clarity. When these vague denials are appealed, they’re overturned approximately 55% of the time, suggesting that the majority have no solid justification.
Administrative issues account for another 18% of denials. These include coding errors, missing information, or duplicate claims—technical issues having nothing to do with whether the care was appropriate or covered under the policy. These denials have the highest overturn rate at 78%, as they’re often simple misunderstandings or clerical errors that can be easily corrected.
Claims categorized as “service not covered” make up 16% of denials. While these have a lower overturn rate of about 35%, successful appeals often demonstrate that the service actually does fall under covered benefits when policy language is properly interpreted or when the medical necessity is clearly established.
Prior authorization issues cause 9% of denials, with patients receiving care without getting the insurer’s permission first. These have a 65% overturn rate when appealed, particularly when the care was urgently needed or when the provider can demonstrate they attempted to secure authorization.
Perhaps most concerning are the “not medically necessary” denials, which represent 6% of cases. These denials essentially second-guess your doctor’s judgment about what care you need. Yet when patients and their doctors challenge these determinations, they succeed approximately 70% of the time—an alarming discrepancy that raises questions about how these decisions are made in the first place.
Despite these high denial rates, fewer than 1% of denied claims are ever appealed by consumers. A survey found that 85% of patients never file a formal appeal, often due to a lack of awareness of their appeal rights or the complexity of the process.
When consumers and providers do appeal, they have a strong chance of success. According to a recent KFF survey, patients who took the time to appeal their denials experienced a 44% success rate with initial internal appeals—meaning nearly half of all challenges succeeded in the first round. For those whose internal appeals were rejected and who proceeded to external review, an additional 27% succeeded at that level.
When healthcare providers manage the appeal process, over 54% of initially denied claims are ultimately paid after multiple rounds of review. Some sources suggest that up to 80% of appeals can be successful when pursued effectively.
In summary, despite the fact that while claim denials are common, and patients and providers who navigate the appeals process often succeed in getting the denial reversed, the vast majority of denials go unchallenged.
The 2023 KFF Survey of Consumer Experiences with Health Insurance found that 58% of insured adults said they have experienced a problem using their health insurance, including denied claims. Four in ten (39%) of those who reported having trouble paying medical bills said that denied claims contributed to their problem.
Each denial costs medical practices, on average approximately $43 to process, creating over $19 billion in administrative waste annually across the healthcare system. Small practices often spend more than 12 hours weekly wrestling with insurance companies over denied claims.
By making the process difficult and opaque, they ensure most people simply give up and pay out-of-pocket, or worse, forgo necessary medical care altogether. The financial result is billions in unpaid claims that boost insurance company profits while shifting costs to patients.
And at least one man, one attorney has had enough. Brian Hufford was one of the lead attorneys in the Wit v. UBH case still pending in California.
Briefly, David Wit along with other insureds brought a class action lawsuit challenging United Behavioral Health’s (UBH) use of flawed, financially motivated internal guidelines to deny coverage for mental health and substance abuse treatment, rather than applying generally accepted standards of care. The district court initially found during a class action trial that UBH violated the terms of its health insurance policies and breached its fiduciary duties under ERISA, ruling that UBH’s internal guidelines were defective and more restrictive than generally accepted standards of care. The Court of Appeals reversed this decision on the benefit claim and dismissed those class claims but sent it back to the district court to determine if the fiduciary duty findings should remain. Upon reconsideration, the district court again found that UBH breached its fiduciary duties. The case is on-going.
Despite that case still being active, Brian left his firm to start his own practice. After spending a career founding and running health insurance dispute practices at private firms, representing patients and clinicians against insurance companies, Brian opened his own practice as of July 1, 2025, to focus on public policy and advocacy.
His primary work is to expand help for people appealing health insurance denial. As the statistics show, this is a service that is wholly lacking in our current system. To address this matter, Brian is working with law schools to provide pro bono opportunities to law students who assist with health insurance appeals, working under his supervision. He is coordinating this effort through the People’s Action nonprofit, which is pursuing a Care Over Cost campaign, and Brian is serving as legal advisor to its National Appeals Team. Brian is also working as Senior Legal Advisor to Claimable, Inc., a start-up that is using AI to systematize health insurance appeals (www.getclaimable.com/).
If you have people who have been subjected to denials and need help with appeals, feel free to contact Brian (which is pro bono through his law school project). Depending on the number of patients who reach out, he may also connect people to Claimable for assistance.
Brian’s website is below, which has a link to a form patients can fill out. The form is automatically forwarded to Brian, and he will then follow up. You can contact Brian with any questions you may have.
This crucial resource for our families is so incredibly important. And could very well mean the difference between you getting the necessary care you or your loved one need versus suffering from an unjust system.
On October 30, 2016, my beloved daughter Morgan died after battling eating disorders for seven (7) long years. She was 23 years old when she was taken. At the moment of her death, when a daddy hears those dark words, “She’s gone” though he may not know it at the time, the better part of him is also ripped away.
Morgan was brilliant, kind, and fiercely determined to get well. She thought of others, often before her own needs. Her own words, “I can seem to help everyone else … I just can’t help myself” is her legacy. And yet, those very words still haunt her daddy every day.
When those words and the reality of a loss no parent should ever have to suffer are combined with the state of the eating disorder community today, you realize that there will be many more of our loved ones condemned to share the same fate which took my daughter… unless a seismic change is forthcoming.
A System Without a Compass
Even at that time, the system that claimed to know how to help Morgan had no map, no unity, and tragically, no accountability. Nearly a decade later, the eating disorder community is in even greater disarray. There are still no generally accepted treatment guidelines … no consensus on what works, no uniform standards for care, no consistency from one program to another and no accountability nor consequences. If you send your child for treatment, what happens next depends less on science and more on which center you happen to find, and what ideology dominates that space.
The Vanishing of Science and the Rise of Ideology
The dire crisis in the community has worsened as grant funding for research dries up. Federal and private funders have largely turned their attention to other mental health priorities, leaving eating disorder research chronically underfunded. Few new studies are being published, and the next generation of researchers is dwindling. Research professionals and medical clinicians on the front lines rarely collaborate. In this vacuum, ideological movements have filled the void … often louder, more absolutist, more absurd and less accountable to data or outcomes.
Militant factions within the “body liberation” movement now control far too much of the public conversation in the community. They label professionals, clinicians and even families in a gross, inflammatory manner. Anyone who speaks about weight restoration or malnutrition is labeled as “fatphobic.” White Supremacy Culture. Invasive species. Utilizing every “ism” word possible. Complex medical and psychiatric illnesses are reframed as political identity issues. The result? A silencing of nuance and a dangerous confusion between eating disorder treatment and radical social activism. Inflammatory labeling has become the substitute for reasoned professional, collaborative communication. And our loved ones suffer.
Private Equity and the Hollowing Out of Care
At the same time, private equity–owned treatment centers, once the great hope for scaling access, are collapsing under the weight of their own failed business models. Many have failed outright or are surviving only by slashing costs: laying off medical doctors who served as full time employees, replacing them with part time independent contractors and inexperienced working staff. Running skeletal programs that cannot provide the continuous, multidisciplinary care our loved ones require. The result is a race to the bottom: more marketing, fewer doctors, more “coaches,” less medicine. No accountability nor consequences.
Families are left navigating glossy websites and sales teams instead of evidence-based programs. If a family wishes to speak with the medical director of a program before entrusting their child to that program … good luck. Insurance denials come faster than ever. Inpatient stays are shorter. Step-down programs are often nonexistent.
When Morgan was fighting for her life, I wondered whether the lack of care was a failure of coordination. I no longer wonder. It has never been clearer that it was and continues to be, a failure of values.
A Community in Financial and Moral Crisis
The largest eating disorder nonprofit organizations, long believed to be the moral anchors of the community, are collapsing financially some losing more than $200,000 per year. Echo chamber thinking and associated conduct have replaced outreach to professionals who respectfully disagree with their view. Where at one time, these organizations were led by persons of vision, true giants of the community, now with very few exceptions, they are led by boards who shrink away from transparency, oversight and responsibility. These organizations host conferences and awareness campaigns, but their impact is negligible at best and failing at worst.
Their messaging has grown vacuous and timid, shaped more by the politics of social media than the needs of our loved ones. Once they were advocates for treatment access and medical rigor; now too often, they stand meekly on the sidelines … mere bystanders to the on-going carnage.
The Human Cost
The price paid for the wholesale failure of the community is measured by the dearest blood possible … the lives of our loved ones. The mortality rate for eating disorders, already the highest among psychiatric illnesses [apart from opioid addiction] has worsened. Suicide and medical complications are climbing. The promise that “recovery is possible” rings increasingly hollow to families who can’t even get a proper diagnosis, let alone a full course of the highest quality medical and mental health care. Which results in:
Behind every number is a person, a victim. Behind every person is a family like mine, standing outside a treatment center, a hospital, a counselor’s office, desperately holding on to the only thing they can … that is, the fading hope that this time will be different.
Where Do We Go From Here?
Families are entitled to transparency. Accountability. Honesty. From our doctors, clinicians, and counselors. Families should demand nothing less. But, to accomplish this reality, we not only need an evolution of thought and wisdom … we require a bold reckoning. The eating disorder community must reclaim science, ethics, and accountability. The community can only provide those necessary qualities by demanding:
The adoption of national treatment guidelines grounded in evidence, not ideology.
Federal, state and philanthropic investment in clinical research and longitudinal outcomes.
Oversight of private treatment companies that market medical care that is not forthcoming as it sheds experienced medical practitioners and licensed staff.
Strong, bold, new leadership in nonprofit organizations that prioritize patients over politics.
Measured inclusion of all reasonable, rational, intelligent viewpoints and persons.
But these steps require a courage of conviction… conviction which is sorely lacking.
Not just Morgan, but all those who have died from eating disorders cannot die in vain. But until we admit that this system and community are broken, until we expose the silence, the failures, the charlatans, thed fraud and the fear … we will keep losing more daughters, more sons, more loved ones, more years of life.
The eating disorder community once promised healing. Today, it must fight simply to survive. For survive it must. But in an evolved, intelligent, collaborative manner.
Two of the more troubling topics confronting mental health communities are: (1). Lack of Minority Representation in the Mental Health Workforce and (2). Limited Accessibility of Mental Health Care in Minority Communities.
We will be focusing on exploring real world, workable solutions instead of using inflammatory labels, pointing fingers and embracing the litany of “isms” being cavalierly thrown around.
Any solution necessarily begins with starting and having open, collaborative conversations. While recognizing that a start is just that … a start and not a solution. And yet, from that start perhaps seeds are planted from which bold, forward-thinking initiatives grow which could ultimately result in a better world.
Increasing Minority Representation in the Mental Health Workforce
No one disputes that minority representation in the mental health workforce is grossly lacking. So, let’s address some of the issues which produced this inequity and explore possible solutions.
1. Financial Pathway Support
Problem: The cost and duration of training (graduate degrees, licensure) are major barriers for minority students.
Possible Solutions:
Targeted scholarships and loan repayment programs for minority students in psychology, psychiatry, counseling, and social work (e.g., HRSA’s Behavioral Health Workforce Loan Repayment Program could be expanded or localized).
Paid internships and residencies in community-based organizations serving minority populations.
Employer-based tuition reimbursement tied to post-graduation service commitments in underserved areas.
2. Pipeline Programs (High School → Graduate School)
Problem: Minority students are underrepresented early in the pipeline.
Possible Solutions:
Create “Grow Your Own” mental health workforce programs in high schools and community colleges — exposure to mental health careers, mentorship, and clinical shadowing.
Partner with HBCUs, HSIs, and Tribal Colleges to create joint degree or accelerated pathways into counseling, psychology, and psychiatric nursing.
Establish bridge programs for paraprofessionals (e.g., caseworkers or peer specialists) to obtain advanced clinical credentials.
3. Licensure and Training Reform
Problem: Licensure barriers disproportionately impact minority and bilingual professionals.
Possible Solutions:
Reciprocity agreements among states to ease cross-state licensing for clinicians serving telehealth clients.
Allow supervised hours to include culturally competent community-based or telehealth work, not just traditional clinical settings.
Bilingual competency credits or pathways for professionals providing care in multiple languages.
4. Mentorship and Professional Networks
Problem: Isolation and lack of role models lead to attrition.
Possible Solutions:
Fund minority mentorship programs through professional associations (e.g., APA, NASW, NBCC).
Develop online professional communities for peer support and continuing education focused on serving minority communities.
There are no “zero sum game” arguments. No white people must step aside. No looking backward as to what was previously done wrong. No obsessing on the past.
Simply a possible roadmap to start discussions to increase minority mental health providers.
This is going to become even more important in the future as research scientists increasingly discover additional biological links between the brain and mental health issues. We could be at the genesis of a bold new frontier regarding how mental health issues are studied, researched and treated. We need all persons to be involved in this process.
With this reality facing us, how do we increase accessibility of mental health care?
Increasing Accessibility of Mental Health Care to Minority Communities
Mental health care providers, resources and treatment centers must become more available and accessible in minority communities. Let’s explore how we can start to address this issue.
1. Community-Based and Culturally Anchored Services
Problem: Mainstream clinical settings in minority communities are few and far between and when they do exist, can feel unwelcoming or irrelevant.
Possible Solutions:
Fund community-based organizations, churches, and cultural centers to offer embedded mental health services (e.g., co-located clinics).
Recruit faith leaders, barbers, and cultural ambassadors as mental health liaisons trained in Mental Health First Aid or peer support.
Support mobile crisis units staffed with culturally and linguistically matched professionals.
2. Telehealth Expansion and Equity
Problem: Digital divides and lack of culturally competent telehealth platforms persist.
Possible Solutions:
Subsidize broadband and devices for patients in rural or low-income minority areas.
Require telehealth platforms to support multilingual access and easy interfaces.
Train clinicians in telehealth cultural competence (e.g., cross-cultural communication online).
3. Insurance and Reimbursement Reform
Problem: Minority-serving clinics often cannot sustain services due to poor reimbursement rates.
Possible Solutions:
Equal reimbursement for behavioral health and physical health under parity laws (and enforce it). [This requirement is already provided by federal law. Insurance companies have found ways to avoid or get around this requirement. These loopholes must be closed by legislative bodies.]
Expand Medicaid coverage for peer support specialists and community health workers.
Incentivize integrated care models (behavioral + primary care) in federally qualified health centers (FQHCs) and minority-owned practices.
4. Public Awareness and Trust-Building
Problem: Stigma and mistrust are major deterrents.
Possible Solutions:
Fund anti-stigma campaigns featuring diverse community voices and lived experiences.
Partner with trusted local messengers (e.g., influencers, pastors, tribal elders).
Offer mental health literacy programs in schools and workplaces, especially in minority-majority areas.
Of course, all of this is not probable unless there is greater policy, corporate, institutional and legislative support. This support could resemble the following:
Policy and Institutional Support
Data collection and accountability: Require reporting of workforce demographics, service access, and outcomes disaggregated by race/ethnicity.
Federal and state grants: Prioritize funding for programs demonstrably improving minority recruitment and retention.
Cross-sector collaboration: Involve education, housing, and criminal justice systems in joint mental health equity initiatives.
An “Integrated Implementation Model” could be structured as follows:
Minority Mental Health Workforce Accelerator (state-level example):
Provides full scholarships and living stipends to minority students pursuing behavioral health degrees.
Requires 3–5 years of post-graduation service in designated shortage areas.
Operates mentorship and continuing education programs led by culturally competent practitioners.
Partners with community-based agencies that receive reimbursement incentives for hosting trainees.
The mental health field, particularly the eating disorder community, talks of the need to increase minority mental health providers and the necessity of having greater access to mental health care for minorities. The community is absolutely correct. But that is as far as rational discussions go.
More often than not, discussions take place in an echo chamber. The community points fingers at the patriarchy, white supremacy culture, the diet culture and apply many other inflammatory labels … and nothing is accomplished. The community is defined by the past. A failed past. Instead of embracing a bold future.
Solutions to provide mental health care for our minority population can only be found by looking to the future. A future filled with hope and unlimited possibilities.
The mental health system in the United States is inundated with inequities and is hindered by limited access to care. Universal complaints about mental health include gross underfunding of services, provider shortages, fragmented care between mental and physical health, inadequate insurance coverage and widespread stigma that creates policy and opportunity barriers for people with mental illness. No one disputes that reality.
When significant cultural issues confront us and change is demanded, generally there are two types of people.
There are those people who lead, who are people of vision. They recognize and identify the problems and then commit to explore workable, rational, obtainable, collaborative solutions. These people who will negotiate with Satan himself if it leads to more people receiving the help they so desperately need.
Then there are “the ROYS.” In Texas, that acronym stands for “Rest of Y’alls.” This constitutes the vast majority of people. Those who are content with only complaining about the problems without being willing to invest in finding a rational, reasoned, collaborative solutions. When facing those issues, they immerse themselves deeper in their tribes safely ensconced in the comfort of their echo chamber. They are satisfied with whining and applying inflammatory labels to the issues. Their egos and fears drive their lack of vision. They refuse to interact with anyone who does not agree with them.
With that backdrop, how may we presume the eating disorder advocacy/therapist community responds to the daunting issues confronting mental health in general, and eating disorders specifically?
In the past few years, I have spoken with research professionals, medical doctors, therapists and advocates about the state of the eating disorder community. All seem to be unanimous in their view that things have never been worse in the eating disorder industry and communities.
As such, it should come as no surprise that the community seems largely content to address daunting, societal mental health issues by fostering divisiveness through utilizing inflammatory labels on their websites, publications and even a purported certification program. In general, inflammatory labels are cavalierly directed toward other people in the community, but only from a person’s keyboard.
So, what is inflammatory labeling? Inflammatory labeling is just as it sounds. It is when we assign highly negative or even cruel labels to people or organizations.
Focusing on inflammatory labels instead of solutions in social justice movements, or for that matter in any context, hinders progress by reducing complex issues to oversimplified caricatures. This practice intensifies social divides, alienates potential allies, and prioritizes outrage over tangible reforms. While rhetoric is central to advocacy, the way it is framed can either drive constructive dialogue or deteriorate into unproductive polarization.
Studies on social movements have found that extreme or inflammatory rhetoric, including labeling, tends to decrease public support for a cause. This is because such tactics reduce the average person’s sense of identification with the movement, making it difficult to find common ground. Inflammatory labels simplify people into negative stereotypes, making it harder to recognize their full humanity.
This reflects the sociological concept of “labeling theory,” which posits that assigning a negative label can lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy and further entrench deviance. Labeling opponents with charged terms can create a binary “us vs. them” mentality, making it difficult to challenge ideas through reasoned debate. Instead of addressing the complexities of an issue, discourse devolves into a culture war of labels, name calling, and finger pointing all of which obscures real policy solutions.
By way of example, radical eating disorder activists casually throw out inflammatory labels like:
There are so many others: White Privilege, Whitestream Research, toxic masculinity. These inflammatory terms of derision are directed at anyone who does not agree with their viewpoints as well as the mainstream medical and mental health communities. In addition, the term “invasive species” is even being used to define or refer to the same White Supremacy Culture and people and organizations which fall under that umbrella. And that is supposed to be productive?
As for any proposed practical, realistic collaborative solutions to address the inequities in mental health care? They propose none.
A few years ago, a small group of people published a letter directed at eating disorder organizations and treatment centers. Amongst the demands made in the letter included: providing reparations to Black People, Indigenous people and People of Color, (“BIPOC”) especially queer and transgender BIPOC; hiring a transgender consultant to revise your marketing material; establishing sliding fee scales for BIPOC, transgender and gender diverse clients; redistributing wealth from the for-profit ED treatment world; providing access to Hormone Replacement Therapy.
Other radical activists equate mental health research and treatment as a zero sum game. That BiPOC, LGBTQ+, fat therapists and professionals must be centered and that there is no space for white, straight and thin people to jump in. Or that white, liberal female therapists should focus more of their attention on social justice issues and political reform in all they do.
Of course, in the unlikely event the latter ever happened, those therapists would then be labeled as White Saviors and would be publicly eviscerated in the town square ala Lindo Bacon.
There must be a way. Other than inflammatory labeling, whining and complaining, what possible solutions exist which could be explored to address some of the inequities in mental health care systems?
Inequities which include far too few medical doctors, therapists, counselors and other medical and mental health professionals who are BIPOC. Minority and BIPOC communities are far underserved. Medical school training largely ignores eating disorders and BIPOC issues. Far too few BIPOC persons receive mental health care. Access to meaningful mental health care is severely limited for BIPOC persons. Research has not included significant BIPOC participation. Mental health care can be prohibitively expensive.
These complex, daunting issues require collaborative wisdom. And when progress is made on these issues, as they surely must be, this necessarily will result in a more enlightened society. So, the question must be asked again … how are name calling, tribal mentality and inflammatory labeling going to be remotely effective in addressing these serious issues? Answer … they aren’t.
A roadmap does exist for systemic mental health reform in the U.S., prioritizing enforceable, high-impact interventions first while building toward longer-term initiatives. The roadmap assumes some federal and state collaboration, leveraging funding, licensing, audits, and measurable metrics. But it is possible. It will not be easy. It will require participation, wisdom and sacrifice from society as a whole. It will require us looking past our human frailties and being bold and forward thinking. But it is possible.
2025 Weight Stigma Awareness Week (“WSAW”) is upon us. Much of what it stands for was clarified in 2023. That year, WSAW produced a white paper entitled, Impact Council White Paper (“ICWP”).
The ICWP states it, “… hosted an Impact Council roundtable with advocates, educators, clinicians, and leaders in healthcare, non-profit organizations, and media to discuss the greatest roadblocks to accessibility and inclusivity, as well as goals for the future.”
The ICWP has two major premises:
Premise 1 — “The medical community has done significant damage by promoting the idea that ‘obesity’ is a greater risk to individual and public health than weight stigma and anti-fatness are.”
Premise 2 — “Lived experience should be treated as credible data and prioritized (as much as or more than textbooks and quantitative research) for clinical recommendations and treatment plans.”
These are foundational, core premises at the heart of the weight stigma awareness movement. If these premises can be objectively proven to be accurate, then the corresponding recommendations and information arguably have more substance and merit and need to be thoroughly explored by a collaboration of organizations and professionals.
However, if the foundation, the core premises collapses, so does everything built upon them. The corresponding recommendations would be grounded in science fiction, not science, and if ever adopted, would inevitably result in doing greater harm to patients.
So, let’s explore more closely these two premises.
Premise One
“The medical community has done significant damage by promoting the idea that ‘obesity’ is a greater risk to individual and public health than weight stigma and anti-fatness are.”
There is no dispute that weight stigma is itself harmful to health. Stigma increases stress, social isolation, depression and anxiety, and can worsen cardiometabolic outcomes through behavioral (avoidance of care, disordered eating) and physiological (stress-axis) pathways. When clinicians stigmatize patients, it reduces trust and adherence and discourages preventive care (fewer screenings, delayed care).
Certainly, focus on BMI alone oversimplifies risk. BMI is an imperfect proxy for health; it doesn’t capture fitness, fat distribution, socioeconomic drivers, or comorbidities. Over-reliance on BMI can miss metabolically healthy people who need care and wrongly pathologize others.
Social determinants and structural drivers matter. Emphasizing individual “weight control” can obscure food access, economic inequality, built environment, racism, trauma, and other upstream determinants that shape both weight and health.
Even with this reality, the obvious flaws in the first premise are legion.
First, the medical and scientific communities without exception embrace the reality that there are measurable health risks associated with higher adiposity for many people. Epidemiologic studies link higher BMI (particularly when accompanied by central adiposity) to type 2 diabetes, osteoarthritis, some cancers, and cardiovascular disease. Discounting these risks wholesale would be irresponsible.
Further, there is a false dichotomy risk at issue. Framing this issue as “either stigma is the main harm or obesity is” sets up a false binary. In reality, both can be true: stigma causes harm and excess adiposity can increase risk for some outcomes. Policies must address both.
There is the aspect of public-health communication challenges. Minimizing messages about risk could reduce motivation for preventive behaviors in those who would benefit. Public health must balance non-stigmatizing language with clear information about risk and actionable steps.
There are other factors involved. There is heterogeneity of evidence and population differences. The magnitude of adiposity-related risk varies by age, sex, race/ethnicity, and metabolic profile. Broad absolute statements risk ignoring subgroups with high absolute risk.
One of the biggest flaws and drawbacks from the ICWP, is that the people behind the ICWP represent that the medical community has caused more damage by emphasizing that obesity is a greater risk to health than weight stigma and anti-fatness. They have phrased this issue using an absolute criterion while needlessly pointing fingers to assess blame. They have placed their own beliefs and interpretation of their own life experience at the forefront of this issue. They erred.
There are different study designs and evidence strength. The obesity→mortality evidence includes very large pooled prospective cohorts and individual-level meta-analyses (GBMC/Di Angelantonio et al.) with millions of participants and long follow-up that estimate dose–response relationships and cause-specific mortality. That level of evidence supports an accepted causal inference for some outcomes.
Contrarily, much of the stigma literature is smaller, newer, and more heterogeneous: cross-sectional studies, smaller cohorts, and observational work using self-reported stigma measures. Even the stronger longitudinal analyses are far smaller in scale than the pooled obesity cohorts. This difference in scale and design limits how directly you can compare effect magnitudes.
Second, there are measurement differences and misalignment of outcomes. Studies of obesity typically measure objective exposures (BMI, waist circumference, body composition) and hard outcomes (incident diabetes, MI, cancer, all-cause mortality).
Studies of stigma usually rely on self-reported experiences (e.g., “have you experienced weight discrimination?”) or internalization scales — valuable but inherently subjective and vulnerable to recall bias and reporting differences. Outcomes often include psychological measures, behavior change, intermediate biomarkers, or, in a few cases, mortality. These are not directly isomorphic to the obesity literature’s end points.
Third, there are confounding and directionality / causality problems. People who experience weight discrimination are, unsurprisingly, often higher weight; disentangling whether worse outcomes are caused by stigma per se or by the underlying higher adiposity (or by shared upstream causes) is difficult. The study conducted by Sutin et al. adjusted for BMI and some covariates and still saw an association, but residual confounding (socioeconomic factors, comorbid illness, lifetime exposures) and reverse causation (illness leading to both weight change and discrimination) remain plausible. Further, establishing causality (stigma → disease → mortality) requires randomized or natural-experiment evidence or sufficiently rich longitudinal mediation analyses; those are scarce.
Fourth, population attributable burden has not been estimated comparably. To claim, “stigma causes more harm than obesity,” we need comparable population-level metrics (e.g., population attributable fraction of mortality or years of life lost due to stigma vs due to elevated BMI). Those metrics exist for BMI (GBMC estimated mortality burden across BMI categories), but do not exist in a comparable, robust form for weight stigma.
The study by Sutin et al. reports an HR for mortality but translating that into population attributable mortality would require representative exposure prevalence estimates, reliable adjustment for confounders, and replication across populations.
What the best current evidence shows: Weight stigma is independently associated with worse mental health, adverse behaviors (disordered eating, activity avoidance), physiological stress markers, and — in at least two cohorts — higher mortality after adjustment for BMI and some covariates.
What the evidence does not show: There is no robust, widely accepted, population-level set of criteria demonstrating that weight stigma causes more total harm to population health (e.g., more deaths, more DALYs) than obesity itself. The obesity→mortality/evidence base is far larger, multi-cohort, and quantifies dose–response relationships; stigma literature is convincing in signaling independent harm but is currently smaller, less consistent, and lacks comparable population attributable estimates.
Clearly, the goal should be to move clinicians toward respectful, trauma-informed care; strengthen social-policy responses (food access, housing, anti-discrimination); and develop interventions that improve health without weight stigma.
So, should we be asking with this shared goal, why would the people behind the ICWP frame this issue as an absolute? Especially when they have no reputable, scientific, medical or socio-economic studies to support their position that an emphasis on obesity has caused more harm than anti-fat bias?
Without any reputable, third-party studies, they framed this issue as an absolute to fit their narrative. The tragic, unfortunate reality is the solution was right in front of them. All they had to do was rephrase this issue in a strong, evidence-based, factual manner … such as …
“Weight stigma and anti-fatness are inextricably intertwined with obesity and should be collectively classified as a public health issue. This would require the medical and scientific research communities to increase their research, study, understanding and treatment of these serious health issues on an equal basis.”
What is there to disagree with in that phraseology? This would have removed the finger pointing blame game perpetrated by the ICWP and would have provided a collaborative way forward together. But that was not to be. And the reasons for that lack of vision are set forth in our analysis of Premise No. 2.
Premise No. 2
“Lived experience should be treated as credible data and prioritized (as much as or more than textbooks and quantitative research) for clinical recommendations and treatment plans.”
The second central premise—that lived experience should be prioritized above textbooks and quantitative data—turns medical practice into witch doctory and personal storytelling. This is not a serious framework for healthcare; it is activism dressed up as evidence.
The problems with this premise are legion.
There are obvious methodological problems. Anecdotes do not constitute medical evidence. Individual stories can be powerful but lack controls, generalizability, and statistical rigor. Treatment guidelines based on lived experience risk being skewed by outliers or vocal subgroups.
There are also bias and recall issues. Patients may unintentionally misreport causes, timelines, or treatment responses due to memory bias, emotional interpretation, or secondary gain.
We are also required to consider over-representation of advocates and activists. Those most active in advocacy or online discourse are often not representative of the broader patient population, creating sampling bias.
Then there is the risk of undermining evidence-based care. There is “treatment drift.” Prioritizing anecdotes could encourage clinicians to substitute “what worked for one person” for protocols validated across thousands in trials.
The medical community must also consider neglect of biological mechanisms. Obesity and eating disorders involve complex neurobiological, metabolic, and genetic components. Patient narratives may not reflect these dimensions.
There is also false equivalence. Equating lived experience with systematic research elevates subjective impressions over reproducible science, undermining evidence hierarchies critical for patient safety.
For obesity, some narratives reject all weight management as “harmful,” ignoring evidence that structured interventions improve metabolic outcomes. This can fuel distrust of effective therapies.
The medical and scientific research communities would inevitably experience ethical and legal challenges and concerns.
There is standard of care liability. If guidelines deviate from established evidence to favor lived experience, clinicians risk malpractice exposure when outcomes are poor.
There are also equity gaps. Vocal groups whose experiences get prioritized, may dominate marginalized, silent or less empowered populations.
Potential conflicts of interest exist. Patient advocates with financial or ideological agendas could influence treatment norms, displacing objective science.
The systemic consequences of this misguided belief are obvious and notorious. This belief would lead to an erosion of research investment at a time when research grants have been eradicated. If lived experience is placed on equal or higher footing, incentives to conduct rigorous trials would diminish, weakening long-term scientific progress.
It would also result in fragmentation of care standards. Different doctors, clinics and treatment centers might prioritize different anecdotal narratives, leading to inconsistent, non-comparable practices.
Most alarmingly, obesity and eating disorders already carry high morbidity and mortality; steering care away from empirically validated interventions risks worsening public health outcomes.
Again, we should be asking why would the people behind the ICWP frame this issue as an absolute? Especially when they have no scientific, medical or socio-economic studies to support their position?
The ICWP had the ability to reconcile both premises into a practical clinical and policy approach. They chose not to. Perhaps one of the co-founders of Weight Stigma Awareness Week gave us the reason for this ill-fated, Quixotic position when she said, “It bothered me that all the air was taken by a white perspective … This is no space for white, straight and thin folks to jump in … Those of us who have done the work around our internalized biases no longer trust the medical establishment to actually help us.” … Public health in this country is getting it so wrong and there is a better way, but we need to be willing to actually listen to those being harmed.”
These people are not embracing science. They are embracing science fiction.
Perhaps the answer to all legitimate questions asked above is simply … to maintain their voice, to assuage their feelings of pain, self-loathing and anger, the maladjusted, militant fat activists must embrace their own reality because society will not.
The ICWP fails
The ICWP fails at the starting line. Its first major claim—that medicine has caused more damage by warning about obesity than by neglecting weight stigma—is not just wrong, it is reckless. It is divisive. It dismisses decades of clinical evidence linking obesity to disease and early death, replacing science with ideology.
Its second central premise—that lived experience should be prioritized above textbooks and quantitative data—turns medical practice into guesswork and personal storytelling. This is not a serious framework for healthcare; it is radical advocacy dressed up as evidence.
Beyond the flawed premises, the rhetoric in the ICWP itself gives the game away. The authors rely on moralizing language and sweeping accusations, framing the medical community as a monolithic villain rather than engaging with the nuance of scientific debate. Raw emotion is substituted for data, using anecdotes and identity politics to demand deference in place of proof. This kind of rhetorical sleight of hand may stir outrage, but it does not withstand scrutiny.
When the core assumptions collapse, so does everything built upon them. The ICWP is not grounded in science but in science fiction. Far from being an authoritative white paper, it is merely a manifesto masquerading as scholarship, and it deserves to be treated as such.
Tragically … it did not have to be like that. But, when so-called leaders place the manifestations of their own mania before reputable, medical and mental health based criteria, their message is lost. The Power of the Message is lost.
And all that is left is chaos, shattered dreams, and the final, weak beats of a Tell-Tale Heart.
Recently, after expressing my views on the eating disorder community and its many dysfunctions, I was informed by an “eating disorder advocate” that I only had “righteous indignation.” In the past, this same person also opined that I was in the eating disorder community solely to make money.
Righteous indignation? Solely to make money? Let me answer both plainly: my anger is earned, and my motives are grief-forged — not mercenary. I paid my entry fee into this dysfunctional community with the dearest blood possible: my daughter’s. I did not come here to be liked, or to join the chorus of vapid, comfortable, egomaniacal voices. I came because someone I loved was ripped from life. Silence would be complicity.
Make no mistake, there are some incredible, soulful, intelligent, compassionate souls in the eating disorder community. Unfortunately, they largely remain silent, on the sidelines. Fearful of being ostracized or cancelled by the hate filled, social justice warriors.
I wish with every fiber of my being that I was not in this decaying eating disorder community. I wish that I did not know even one person in this horrifically comical, appalling community. For that would mean my daughter, Morgan lived. But since she died, I will allow my “righteous indignation” to illuminate what having a beloved child ripped from life is like.
Sunday nights in an intensive care unit in a hospital in a large city can be very quiet. But, not for you. You hear the ear shattering blaring of alarms, screaming out “Code Blue.” Death is sounding for your daughter. Death has come for you!
With panic in your eyes, you look into her room and cannot even count the number of hospital employees trying to bring her back to life. For at that moment, she is dead. Her heart is not beating. And you feel nothing at that point. The greatest fear a parent can face has you in its powerful, icy grip. Your brain has stopped working. You are not aware of anything… except the frantic efforts to bring her back to life. Finally … they detect a faint heartbeat after nine excruciating minutes.
Do you know what it’s like to have your child dead for 9 minutes while you look on helplessly? It is a lifetime. You are drenched in sweat. You are aware of nothing. Except … for the briefest of times, she is living again.
Until once again … she dies … and you again hear those horrific alarms of death. Again … her room is filled with employees doing all they can to bring her back. You are numb. Your entire world is in that room … on that incredibly dark night. And once more … they briefly bring her back.
That is when the doctors pull you aside and tell you … each time it is more difficult. You ask if she feels any pain. They cannot give you a straight answer. They tell you that in all likelihood, there is already substantial brain and organ damage. You ask them if there is truly any hope. They cannot look you in the eyes and are mumbling non-answers. And you know. You know. You are faced with the most difficult decision any person will ever have to make.
You remember one time in the past, your beloved daughter saying … “Daddy … don’t let me die.” And you know, you know, for an absolute certainty … that your life will never be the same. You wonder if you can ever forgive yourself for betraying those sacred words.
There is nothing performative about that grief. It is not a credential.
You slowly nod your head and quietly, while tears are pouring down your cheeks, say … no more alarms. No more bells. She will go in peace.
You sit next to her, holding her hand, praying for a miracle … knowing that one will not come. Finally, you hear those words which rip the heart from any parent … “She’s gone.”
You slowly walk down the dark hospital hallways. Sunday nights can be quiet in a hospital. You go to a waiting room where your daughter’s mom is waiting with friends. You can’t say the words… only shake your head. And you hear that heart wrenching scream of anguish. And yet, you feel nothing.
Your life as you knew it … is over.
You live in a fog. Making funeral arrangements, service arrangements. You feel nothing. Food has no taste. Your soul is numb. You wonder if you even want to wake up.
But you find a way, some way, to wake up and to keep living. Now, imagine that for most of your professional life, you had been a shallow, superficial, asshole. An attorney without a soul. But something has awakened within you. You begin to feel driven. Perhaps for the first time in your life, you are aware of something far greater than you.
In your daughter’s name, you only want to make a difference. You want to help others. But you are so broken. You make mistakes. You live in a constant state of guilt and shame. Nonetheless, you pledge to help others. And so, you try.
You then discover in the eating disorder community, children’s lives are being reduced to talking points, a and mortality is sidelined in favor of crowd-measuring. You read that this is no place for thin, white people to jump in. You realize that families are being betrayed by radical activists who only wish to parade their own ignorance and internal pain. Nonetheless, you continue to try. You try to serve.
You give two TEDx talks on eating disorders.
You organize and with a medical doctor, present a talk to Apple … and its 150,000 employees. The talk was broadcast on Apple’s North American network.
You organize and with that same medical doctor, present a talk to Raytheon … and its 75,000 employees. Also broadcast on its national network. This talk was so informative and compelling that the Raytheon office hosting it won a national corporate award for collaboration with the community.
You organize and present a 30-minute segment every week on a local radio station entitled, the Mental Health Moment. You have national experts on mental health appear on your show.
You appear on the local CBS and Warner affiliates talking about eating disorders.
The methodist church you belonged to does a video on your daughter and her struggles. With over 300,000 views, no other videos this church has done comes even close.
You speak to school district’s counselors and nurses. You organize presentations to communities. You visit young people in treatment programs. That is still not enough.
You are still living in a twilight that knows not joy, nor love, nor happiness.
Because you do not check the correct political and social boxes, because you frighten people, the eating disorder community turns on you. Have you made mistakes? Hell yes.
But it gets worse. Just five years ago, your father, your mother and your older brother all die within 14 months of each other. Your brother was the picture of health. And he only trusted you to tell the doctors to end his bodily functions. Imagine that much death in such a short period of time.
At that moment in time, your son and his wife have a baby. Imagine the very first time you hold your granddaughter in your arms, you have to tell your son you are flying to Florida the very next day to tell doctors to remove life sustaining equipment from your brother.
You know the eating disorder community doesn’t care. You frighten them because you do not play their pedantic games. You care about life and death not social justice and political statements.
And so, your mindset begins to evolve. You see the vile, on-going corruption in the community. You see the illness which claimed your daughter’s life being used as a platform to spew forth the community’s social justice and political viewpoints. And you reach a point where you say … enough!
Donors to NEDA come to you so angry that NEDA is being turned into a social justice and political side show by Chevese Turner and her social justice warriors. You have the ability and skill to take action. But first, you give NEDA almost 20 opportunities to talk before you file suit. An expeditious settlement is reached, a settlement which also financially benefits research into the genetic aspects of eating disorders. And yet, the very person who attempted to destroy NEDA’s purpose, skates by with no tangible consequences. She knows that her minions and cohorts in the community will continue to breathe life into her. Consequences and ramifications are foreign to the eating disorder community.
Undeterred, you go after more inappropriate conduct in the community. You see the specter of death appear in the words, “Terminal Anorexia.” Like many others, you are horrified. University-based professors write neatly composed articles opposing it, articles which accomplish nothing. Nothing tangible is being done.
So, you take action. You file a number of medical board complaints. That changed everything. You meet Dr. Jennifer Gaudiani and look her in the eyes. Much to your surprise, you do not find a monster. Instead, you find a professional. A soul. A human being. A person then in pain. You talk. And then collaborate with many others. What grew from that hard work was not triumphalism but human connection: colleagues turned collaborators, pain turned toward repair. And maybe … just maybe, you find through adversity a greater understanding about life and death. You realize that the manner in which we face death is just as important as the manner in which we face life.
Then, there is iaedp. The corruption and stupidity in that organization were and are legion. And the eating disorder community DID NOTHING. It cowered. The rot there was obvious and long tolerated. You initially do not pursue headlines and seek to meet and resolve all issues privately. That outreach is rejected. So, professionals in the community request action. The result: past due taxes, penalties and interest in the hundreds of thousands of dollars are being required to be paid. Board certification is being reformed and made more affordable. Individual chapters are gaining their independence. Thousands of therapists are now being spared needless expense. The community has improved — slightly, imperfectly — and for that action, very, very few people have said thank you. Predictable.
You are not finished. Not nearly. You expose how Chevese Turner and others of her ilk took down the Legacy of Hope. And for their misconduct, they have been rewarded and still have a voice. The community blindly accepts those who think like they do. Contrarily, you continue to exist. Living with the greatest heartache possible.
No matter how many times textbooks say, “it’s not a parent’s fault,” or some vacuous therapist tries to convince you of that, they fail. They haven’t lived it. They don’t live with the daily pain, the heartache. The anguish.
I do. Every … single … day.
I have made mistakes, and I will make more in the future. Grief is not a moral compass. But the stubborn refusal to confront corruption, the eagerness to defend the performative rather than the practical, that is the real moral failure. When children’s lives are reduced to talking points, when mortality is sidelined in favor of crowd-measuring, the community betrays the very people it claims to serve.
So — righteous indignation? It is paid in blood and sleepless nights. It is the only honest response left when an industry cloaks politics in the language of care and ignores the medical science in front of it. If you are offended by my anger, consider why the community has earned it.
I do not wish to be part of this community. I wish — every day — that I did not know anyone in it. I wish my daughter, Morgan, were alive. I mourn her constantly. My activism is not grandstanding; it is grief turned toward accountability, toward saving the next life.
If you call that righteous indignation, so be it. I am guilty as charged. And I will keep speaking and acting until this feckless culture chooses truth over theater.
So … righteous indignation?
A brilliant light was extinguished in Dallas on October 30, 2016. That tragedy is the ledger against which I measure every day. Righteous indignation is paid with the dearest blood possible — and I will not apologize for the balance I keep.
A DAD'S JOURNEY WITH EATING DISORDERS 