False complaints don’t just harm reputations — they destroy lives.
For many in the helping professions, the public is unaware of just how vulnerable we are. One complaint — even if false, malicious, or unverified — can spark a years-long process that leaves mental health practitioners emotionally, financially, and professionally devastated.
As a practising counsellor with over a decade of experience supporting individuals, couples, and families across New Zealand, Australia, and internationally, I found myself living through exactly this nightmare. What followed was a perfect storm of procedural negligence, reputational destruction, and institutional silence — all unfolding during one of the most globally destabilising periods in recent memory: the COVID-19 lockdowns.
A Complaint Without Truth – And a Process Without Fairness
In 2020, a former client filed a complaint against me with the New Zealand Health and Disability Commissioner (HDC). The allegation was shocking, but even more so was the process that followed. I was contacted via email — without any clear explanation of who the sender was, what the process would involve, or what rights I had as a professional.
There was no phone call. No introduction. No guidance. No offer of support.
Despite the vagueness and impersonal nature of the correspondence, I replied — outlining my side of the story. In doing so, I revealed, truthfully, that the complainant had shared disturbing information during a session, including the fact that she had made a false allegation against another man in the past. She admitted to using complaint systems against others who had upset her, not because they had harmed her, but because she felt offended and wanted revenge.
I had no doubt this was another one of those cases.
An Uphill Battle During the Pandemic
As this case dragged on, I was already struggling. The COVID-19 lockdowns in New Zealand had eliminated the ability to meet clients face-to-face. People were scared, uncertain about their jobs, and not prioritising counselling. My practice — built on years of trust and effort — began to deteriorate.
Emotionally, I was unraveling. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think clearly. My mind was consumed by fear, anxiety, and a deep sense of dread about what would happen next. I turned to alcohol to numb the pain, gained weight, and found myself caught in a spiral of overthinking, hopelessness, and exhaustion. My relationships suffered. My business began to collapse. Clients stopped booking. The phone stopped ringing. The identity I had built was being publicly dismantled — and I felt powerless to stop it.
This wasn’t just stress. It was trauma. It was a slow, silent implosion of everything I had worked for.
A Second Complaint, A Weaponised Pattern
As the original complaint dragged on, another unrelated issue arose involving a couple I had worked with for some time. During one of our sessions, the husband asked me about a medication—Citalopram—that he had found in his wife’s bag. I explained what the medication was and what it was commonly prescribed for. Sometime later, the wife accused me of breaching her privacy, claiming I must have told her husband she was taking the medication.
I hadn’t. He found it on his own and raised it himself. I explained this to her clearly, but she chose not to believe me. From that moment forward, I was no longer seen as neutral or safe in her eyes. She became angry and turned against me.
Although this second complaint was still unresolved and undergoing assessment, the HDC referenced both complaints in their public report, presenting it as though I had a pattern of harming clients or breaching standards. No context. No balance. Just the damaging implication that I was a “repeat offender”—as if I were some monster to be avoided.
That framing — by a regulatory body entrusted with impartiality and public trust — was not just careless. It was reckless, unjust, and profoundly cruel. Without context, without balance, and without fair process, I was presented to the public as someone dangerous or unethical — someone to be avoided, distrusted, or even feared.
But I’m not a criminal. I’m a counsellor. A human being. A husband. A professional who has dedicated his life to helping others find peace and clarity in their darkest moments. And yet, with a few words in an official report, the HDC painted me as the exact opposite — stripping me of my credibility, damaging the trust I had spent years building, and placing a permanent cloud of suspicion over my name.
This kind of framing doesn’t just damage reputations — it destroys lives. It creates a ripple effect that touches every part of a person’s world: clients, colleagues, income, family, mental health, and future opportunities. And the worst part? Once it’s released into the public domain, you can never fully take it back.
No Peer Review. No Informed Assessment. No Justice.
Under New Zealand law, the Health and Disability Commissioner has the ability to consult with independent, qualified professionals in the same field as the person being investigated. This is called peer review, and it exists for a reason — to ensure that investigators without specialist training don’t misinterpret clinical situations or misjudge ethical nuances.
In my case, this never happened. The HDC proceeded entirely on their own. No professional counsellor was brought in to review my actions, assess my responses, or provide an informed perspective. The investigation was conducted by non-clinicians making non-contextual decisions that ignored the professional standards, therapeutic intent, and ethical constraints under which I operate.
They even asked me to hand over all my notes and private documentation relating to the complainant. I declined — not out of defiance, but out of ethical duty. I had been trained that unless compelled by a court of law, I should never provide private client records, especially when doing so may itself breach confidentiality laws.
I was later told that the case would be forwarded to their Director of Proceedings — a serious escalation. However, the Director found no legal basis on which to proceed with formal action.
Despite this, my name and my business were still published online. The damage was already done.
The Cost: Mental, Financial, and Familial
The toll this process took on me cannot be overstated.
- I experienced constant anxiety, insomnia, and suicidal thoughts.
- I used alcohol to cope, engaged in reckless behaviour, and withdrew from people I loved.
- My family relationships suffered and fractured.
- My finances deteriorated. I lost clients. I lost income. I was unable to keep up with taxes. My professional reputation — and the business brand I had worked so hard to build — was shattered.
- Worst of all, I had no support. No legal advice offered. No mental health assistance provided. No ethical backing. I was left completely on my own while a faceless process decided my fate in the background.
This is the reality for too many professionals caught in systems that appear fair from the outside but, behind the scenes, operate with bias, opacity, and institutional indifference.
When the Process Becomes the Punishment
One of the most damaging — and least acknowledged — realities of our current system is this: the process itself becomes the punishment. Not the verdict. Not the evidence. Not the outcome. The sheer existence of a complaint, no matter how unfounded, can be enough to completely derail a professional’s life.
By the time any findings are released — or even if no legal wrongdoing is found at all — the damage is already done. You lose income. You lose clients. You lose sleep. You lose trust — both from others and, eventually, from yourself.
There is no “pause button” on life while an investigation unfolds. The world doesn’t stop turning so you can clear your name. Clients quietly disappear. Referrals dry up. Future bookings vanish. And in the background, your reputation is being reshaped by whispers, speculation, and Google searches.
All the while, you’re expected to carry on — to continue working, paying bills, supporting a family, and maintaining your own mental health — while the machinery of bureaucracy grinds forward, slowly and silently, offering you no clarity, no timeline, and no assurance that the truth will matter.
And this entire ordeal unfolds without the basic safeguards that any fair system should offer. There is no legal representation provided. No mental health support offered. No clear roadmap. No presumption of innocence. No contextual understanding. Just a cold, clinical process that assumes compliance equals guilt and silence equals wrongdoing.
This isn’t regulation. It’s institutionalised abandonment. And for many of us, it’s not just unjust — it’s traumatic.
Counsellors Are Particularly Vulnerable — Here’s Why
What makes counsellors especially vulnerable in these situations is something the general public — and even many within legal and regulatory frameworks — often fail to understand: we are bound by strict ethical codes of confidentiality that prevent us from easily defending ourselves.
In many professions, a person accused of wrongdoing can simply produce a chain of emails, text messages, recordings, or transactional data to back up their version of events. But counselling is different. Our work is relational, not transactional. We don’t deal in digital receipts — we deal in human complexity, private disclosures, and deep emotional truths shared in confidence. That confidentiality isn’t just a policy — it’s a sacred foundation of the therapeutic relationship.
And so, when a false complaint is made, we are immediately put in an impossible position. Our defence is limited — not by guilt or avoidance — but by professional integrity. In most cases, we cannot reveal what was said in a session without the client’s explicit consent. We cannot share notes, recordings, or summaries — not because we have something to hide, but because to do so would violate the very trust we are sworn to protect.
Even worse, when we uphold that privacy — as I did — it is often twisted into a sign of guilt or non-cooperation. A deliberate act of ethical responsibility is reframed as defiance. The very thing that makes us trustworthy as counsellors is used as a weapon to undermine us.
This is a cruel paradox, and it demands urgent reform.
No counsellor should ever be placed in a situation where they must choose between upholding their ethical obligations and protecting their own name, career, and livelihood. But that is exactly what’s happening — and until we change the system, every practitioner remains one complaint away from ruin.
This Isn’t Just About Me — It’s About All of Us
The damage done to me has been profound and lasting. I’ve lost income, relationships, health, and years of peace. But this article, and the others that will follow it, are not just about clearing my name. They are about sounding the alarm for a wider truth:
We have created a system where complainants are always believed, counsellors are automatically distrusted, and truth becomes optional.
This is a system that fosters silence, fuels burnout, and deters good professionals from staying in the field. It creates a climate where the most dangerous thing a counsellor can do is be honest — because that honesty might be twisted, weaponised, and used to destroy them.
What Needs to Change
The current system has profound flaws that can devastate professionals’ lives and livelihoods. To address these issues, the following reforms are essential:
1. Peer-Reviewed Investigations
Investigations must incorporate input from professionals within the same field. This ensures that assessments are grounded in relevant expertise and that practitioners are evaluated fairly.
2. Transparent Processes and Clear Communication
From the outset, practitioners should receive comprehensive information about the investigation process, their rights, and potential outcomes. This includes clear guidelines on how information will be used and the implications of participation or non-participation.
3. Support Systems for Practitioners
Mental health professionals under investigation should have access to advocacy, legal guidance, and wellbeing support. Navigating an investigation can be isolating and stressful; support systems are crucial for maintaining practitioners’ health and ensuring fair participation in the process.
4. Balanced Complaint Processes
Complaint mechanisms must be transparent and balanced, avoiding assumptions of guilt. Investigations should consider all evidence impartially and provide equal opportunity for practitioners to present their perspective.
5. Respect for Privacy Obligations
Practitioners often face a dilemma between upholding client confidentiality and defending themselves. Systems must reconcile privacy obligations with fair process, ensuring that professionals are not penalized for adhering to ethical standards.
6. Proportionality in Public Disclosure
The decision to publicly name practitioners should be approached with caution. Given that HDC investigations are not legal proceedings and lack the rigorous standards of a court of law, the potential harm to a practitioner’s reputation and livelihood is significant. In contrast, individuals convicted of serious crimes in New Zealand have, at times, been granted name suppression, highlighting a disparity in how public disclosure is handled.
Closing Thoughts: Speak Up. Demand More.
If you’re a practitioner reading this — someone who has felt voiceless, misrepresented, or punished unfairly — you are not alone. I know how it feels to be accused of something you didn’t do, to have your silence interpreted as guilt, and to feel like your entire career is hanging by a thread while the system remains indifferent to the truth. Please know: your integrity matters, even if others overlook it. Your commitment to ethical care is not something to be ashamed of — it’s something to be proud of.
If you’re a client, a student, or someone considering a future in counselling or mental health — I want you to know this: good counsellors are out there, working tirelessly to help people heal, grow, and survive. But the reality is that many of them are doing this work under immense emotional, financial, and legal pressure. Most have no formal protection, no union, no institutional support when things go wrong. They are vulnerable — not because they lack professionalism, but because the system they work within does not protect them the way it should.
And if you are part of a regulatory body — the Health and Disability Commissioner, a professional board, or any entity tasked with oversight — please hear this clearly: reform is not optional — it is long overdue. Transparency, peer accountability, mental health safeguards for practitioners, and procedural fairness must become the standard — not the exception. Public safety and professional support are not mutually exclusive. You can protect both — but only if the system is willing to evolve.
The time to evolve is now.
For those unfamiliar with the background of my situation, I’ve shared the full story in this detailed statement:
👉 Neil Oliver Counsellor – The Truth Behind the HDC Complaint