When a Disability Rights Institution Silences Survivors: Why I Was Blocked by the Minnesota Council on Disability — and Why This Matters for All of Us

 The world may never be fair.

But as long as I have breath, I will speak.

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Even when it’s inconvenient.

Even when powerful institutions pretend I do not exist.

This is a story of what happened when I — an international woman, a survivor of emotional abuse, and an advocate for truth — left a public comment on the Minnesota Council on Disability’s Facebook page. A comment that mentioned a man affiliated with them. A man I once trusted. A man who spoke the language of justice while operating from a private cycle of harm.

They didn’t respond.
They didn’t reach out.
They didn’t inquire.

They deleted my comment. Then they blocked me.

And in doing so, they made something very clear:

For some institutions, reputation still matters more than responsibility.
For some spaces, even justice is selective.
And when harm happens behind closed doors, it becomes easier to ignore than investigate.

This Story Isn’t Just Mine. It’s Ours.

You might think this is personal — and on one level, it is. I was emotionally harmed by a man I loved and trusted. I was ghosted after emotional intimacy, promises of future, and daily connection. I was left in emotional fragments, and when I tried to find accountability through the professional network that publicly aligned with him, I was erased.

But what happened to me — and how the Minnesota Council on Disability (MCD) responded — matters far beyond my own experience.

This is about:

1. The systemic silencing of emotional abuse survivors
2. The complicity of organizations in protecting abusers.
3. The weaponization of silence by institutions that claim to serve justice

This is about a disability rights organization choosing to block a woman who raised a concern, instead of asking a single question.

Why Emotional Abuse Deserves Institutional Attention

When we talk about abuse in public spaces, we often think of what’s visible: harassment, violence, discrimination. But emotional abuse — manipulation, love bombing, ghosting, gaslighting — leaves invisible scars that shape a survivor’s entire sense of self.

In my case, this abuse was not only personal. It was political.

The man who harmed me works in disability policy and rights. He speaks at panels about justice and equality. He posts about inclusion. And yet in private, he enacted the very opposite — emotional control, abandonment, and power misuse.

When someone like that is protected by the very institutions meant to serve marginalized and vulnerable populations, we have to ask:
Whose justice are we really talking about?

If a man can work in disability rights while privately harming others emotionally — and if the institution he is connected to deletes the voices of those raising concern — then justice becomes performance.
Not practice.
Not truth.
Not real.

Why This Case Should Matter to the Public

This isn’t just an interpersonal conflict.
This is a case study in institutional cowardice.

The public deserves to know:

1. That organizations are not always what they claim to be.
2. That emotional harm is often dismissed unless it fits into a “PR-safe” narrative.
3. That women — especially BIPOC, immigrant, or international women like me — are often blocked before they are believed.

The Minnesota Council on Disability is publicly funded, trusted by citizens, and tasked with upholding equity and advocacy. Their digital spaces are public. Their mission is public. Their accountability should be public, too.

When they delete a survivor’s comment without review, they not only betray their values, they also fail their community — including people with disabilities who experience emotional, psychological, and relational abuse, often in silence.

This should matter to anyone who believes in due process, transparency, and integrity — especially in movements built on justice.

What Institutions Like MCD Could Have Done — and Still Can

Let me be clear: I did not ask MCD to punish anyone.
I did not demand an investigation.

What I asked — implicitly — was recognition.
A moment of pause. A trace of compassion. A willingness to ask: “Is there more we need to know?”

But instead, I was blocked.
And in that act, they told every survivor, every whistleblower, every woman who has been emotionally abandoned:

You are not our priority. Your pain is not our business.
As long as our name stays clean, your voice can stay gone.

But emotional abuse is their business. Because emotional abuse is often part of the broader web of systemic harm: ableism, patriarchy, racism, and invisibility. It often affects those without access, power, or a safe place to speak.

If organizations only support people who fit neat, media-friendly stories of oppression, then they are not advocates — they are curators of illusion.

The Deeper Karmic Pattern

I didn’t want to write this. I didn’t want to be “the one who speaks up.” Again.
But silence, too, is a decision.
And I’ve spent too much of my life swallowing my pain for the comfort of others.

This is not just about Joel Runnels PhD.
This is about all the men who use language as camouflage — men who align themselves with justice in public but ghost, manipulate, or emotionally sabotage in private.

And this is about the institutions that enable them.

When the emotional safety of survivors is deemed less important than the social comfort of abusers, justice dies silently.

We Can’t Heal What We Refuse to Acknowledge

As long as institutions like MCD continue to block people like me, the wound festers.
Not just mine.
But the wound of the community.
The wound of trust.
The wound of false allyship.

I write this not out of vengeance — but out of responsibility.
I refuse to let the next survivor believe she imagined it.
I refuse to let her be blocked into silence.
I refuse to let institutions think they can escape accountability through delete buttons.

Final Words — For Anyone Listening

To MCD:
This is your moment. You can choose silence again, or you can choose integrity. Your response matters — not just for me, but for every person who looks to you for moral clarity.

To survivors:
You don’t need anyone’s permission to speak. You are not dramatic. You are not too much. You are already enough. Keep telling your truth.

To the public:
Pay attention to who gets silenced.
Pay attention to what institutions do when no one is watching.
And remember: the fight for justice doesn’t stop at physical access.
It includes emotional safety.
It includes dignity.
It includes truth — even when that truth is inconvenient.