Mission

Healthcare, academic, legal, and digital systems carry enormous power over individual lives. Most were not designed with the most vulnerable people in mind, and few have meaningful accountability mechanisms when they fail. Jennifer Freyd’s framework names this precisely: institutional betrayal occurs when institutions cause harm through action or inaction against those who depend on them. The affirmative counterpart — institutional courage — is what this firm exists to produce. I work at the intersection of data science and public health because rigorous, transparent research is one of the most effective tools for moving institutions from one toward the other.

That shows up differently across my work: statistical methods that make neuroimaging research more reproducible; educational resources that demystify data for people navigating complex institutions; consulting that helps organizations understand what their data actually says rather than what they hoped it would. The thread running through all of it is that information asymmetry is a form of power. Restoring information symmetry is foundational to that work.

Making survival operational is part of that accountability. My version of that work was shaped by data engineering on the federal COVID-19 response, and it now shows up in a personal context: smart-home automation for safety and privacy, workflows that preserve records, and AI-assisted thinking for situations no human should have to navigate alone.

I name what others prefer to leave unnamed. In government, that meant pushing for transparency in systems that defaulted to opacity. In academia, it means treating methodological rigor as an ethical commitment, not merely a technical one. In my research on coercive control, institutional betrayal, and psychological harm, it means taking the evidence seriously — wherever it leads. Institutional courage, in Freyd’s framing, is not comfort — it is the willingness to prioritize doing right over doing easy. That is the standard I hold this work to.

The intersection between social engineering and personality disorders — narcissistic PD, borderline PD, antisocial PD — is particularly challenging outside workplace settings where cybersecurity awareness is standard. I’ve experienced DARVO firsthand in my personal life for being cybersecurity-minded: being called “paranoid” destabilizes and disorients, combining denial and attack in a single label. That discomfort is what makes people vulnerable to social engineering, and it’s why this work exists — not everyone has the character armor to withstand such tactics.

I am not interested in comfortable conclusions. I am interested in accurate ones — and in ensuring that accuracy reaches the people who need it most, not only those who commission the research.

Anthropic — the company behind Claude — recently published a framework ↗ for how AI compresses the timeline between vulnerability discovery and exploitation. Their focus was cybersecurity infrastructure: patch windows closing, finding volumes surging, processes built for last decade’s threat pace. The same compression applies with equal force to coercive control and institutional betrayal. The tactics have always existed. AI gives them velocity.

Evidence fabrication that once required weeks of sustained manipulation now takes hours. Impersonation is scalable and convincing at a level no human team could sustain. Gaslighting scripts are machine-generated and iterable. Institutions already practiced in delay and denial can use AI to produce plausible-sounding refusals, flood complaint queues with boilerplate, and route cases through processes that look thorough but aren’t. The information asymmetry that has always defined institutional power over individuals has been handed a force multiplier — and the people least likely to have AI-literate advocates are the most likely to face AI-equipped adversaries.

This is why technical literacy is not optional in survivor advocacy. Understanding the threat model operationally — not abstractly — determines whether documentation holds or can be undermined, whether an institutional record survives scrutiny or collapses under a well-timed AI-generated counter-narrative. I work at this intersection because most advocates don’t. And because the people who need this knowledge most are the ones least likely to have encountered it.

I move between roles — researcher, analyst, educator, writer — as a problem requires. My technical training is in biostatistics and data engineering; my research interests span psychopathology, public health, and the structural conditions that produce harm. I try to bring the same standards to both: define the question clearly, gather the best available evidence, and be honest about the limits of what the data can tell you.

I believe in making my work legible — to collaborators, to clients, and to the people whose lives it concerns. Opacity protects bad systems. Transparency is how individuals protect themselves, and how communities hold institutions accountable.

The ouroboros is one of the oldest symbols in recorded human history — a serpent consuming its own tail, forming an unbroken circle. It appears in ancient Egyptian iconography, in Greek alchemical texts, in Gnostic cosmology, and in Carl Jung’s writing on the psychology of individuation, where he read it as an image of the self that destroys and regenerates itself in the same act. What the symbol captures, and why it names this firm, is the idea that endings and beginnings are not opposite states but the same moment viewed from different angles. The work I do — with survivors rebuilding after coercive control, with institutions asked to account for failures they would prefer to forget, with data made to speak clearly about systems designed to obscure — is predicated on exactly this: that what consumed something can become the condition for its renewal. That the record of harm is also the instrument of remedy.

The logo carries two marks. The ouroboros is rendered as a lemniscate — the figure-eight, the mathematical symbol for infinity — which adds a dimension the circle alone does not carry: not just cyclical, but continuous. Not just renewal, but persistence. Alongside it, ♟→♛. In chess, a pawn reaching the far rank transforms — not by returning to where it started, but by completing a trajectory that was always about forward motion. There is no retreat built into the rule. Transformation is the destination.