What happened, and what I own.
In 2006, my license was revoked. I had my own clinic, I was going through a divorce, and I entered a romantic relationship with a client. That was wrong. It went against the ethics of my profession, and I knew better.
The biggest mistake I made was not addressing it immediately. I was so ashamed and so humiliated that I didn't engage with the board or fight for myself. If I had, I probably would have kept my license under probation. Instead, I lost it.
I was told I could reapply in two years. I did, and I was denied. Two years after that, I applied again, and I was denied again. The people closest to me told me to let it go — that this part of my life was over. I didn't believe that. Being a therapist was too much of who I am.
During COVID, when everyone needed a therapist, I made my case one more time. I got my license back under three years of probation: meetings with the board every three months, and an employer willing to take on the extra work of supervising me. I did all of it. I've now been off probation for about three years, and I run my own clinic again.
About my name. I was given a birth name, then an adopted name, then a first husband's last name. When I was done being named by other people, I chose my own: half of my maiden name, Decker, and Lovely. DeLovely. It isn't a way to hide — there aren't many DeLovelys, and I say it proudly. It's the first name that felt like me.
I'm sharing this publicly because I'm taking back control of my own story. I'd rather you hear it from me than read it from someone who wasn't there.
