Beyond the Pedestal: Real Accountability in Spiritual Teaching

After sharing my story last week, I received several DMs, and one prevailing theme emerged: questions I believe every woman should ask any male spiritual teacher and in fact, I don’t even think it should be only women that ask, but all living beings should ask: 

How do you handle accountability and power dynamics?

Especially as a white cis male entering a space where abuse of power has been rampant for decades, this isn’t just a fair question; it’s essential. I was aware of these abuses long before I entered this arena, which is quite telling about the industry as a whole, now that I think about it.

In my former career as a fitness studio owner, my role as a self-defense instructor often put me in a room alone with vulnerable women and children daily. This wasn’t something I took lightly. It was a position I recognized could cause harm, could further exacerbate trauma. We were trained to hold space for the abused, and I must confess, it was never easy.

When a woman or child came to our studio asking to learn self-defense, it was never because they wanted to learn a new skill, get in shape, or look cool. It was because something had happened. Usually something bad, and they wanted to make sure that bad thing never happened again.

No one ever had to tell me their story. I knew, because they would ask questions like ‘what should a person do in this situation’ – as if to pretend it was hypothetical…and listening to these types of questions on the regular took a toll on me so heavy that even though I’ve been out of that business for almost a decade, it still weighs on me today.

 So when I stepped into spiritual teaching, especially work involving sacred sexuality and vulnerability, I brought that same awareness of power dynamics with me. I knew I needed systems in place – not just for my students’ protection, but for my own integrity. 

Let’s roll back a bit, to a time in my life when I was a concert promoter and producer for a living. I had risen to the top of my profession and became ‘the club owner’ – and if you want to talk about power dynamics, here I was in my late twenties with more power, control and authority than anyone my age should have had.

But even then, I knew that just because we could, didn’t mean we should. I had strict rules in place for my staff – they were instructed never to lay a hand on a clubgoer. In an industry where complaints were often met with ejection from the venue, we sought to create one of the first ‘safe spaces’ in the field.

As I write this, I can’t help but feel nostalgic, as well as grateful for the staff I had back then, who upheld a code of honor and held me to mine as well. Decades later, I still run into the occasional person with nothing but positive stories from those days.

 

But I digress

I’m not telling these stories to paint myself as any sort of saint or claim that I’m perfect – because I’m not. I’m human like everyone else, and I’ve surely made my mistakes. No, I share these stories to illustrate a pattern…

…a pattern of understanding that real power isn’t about what you can get away with – it’s about what you choose not to do. It’s about recognizing that every position of influence comes with the potential to heal or to harm, and actively choosing systems that support healing.

Whether it was my staff holding me accountable in the club, the code of ethics in self-defense training, or the accountability structures I’ve built around my spiritual teaching – I’ve learned that the lone wolf mentality that served me in seeking doesn’t serve anyone when you’re in a position to guide others.

That’s why today, I’ve built what I call my integrity ecosystem.

First, I’m part of a men’s group – not just any men’s group, but one specifically designed to hold each other accountable. These aren’t guys who will pat me on the back and tell me what I want to hear. These are men who will call me on my shit, who will ask the hard questions, who won’t let me hide behind spiritual bypassing or ego inflation. For the first time in my life, this lone wolf has chosen his pack – and I chose men who won’t let me get comfortable in my own power, men who are heart centered, grounded, impeccable with their word, and who have integrity beyond reproach.

I have monthly therapy sessions. Non-negotiable. Because the moment you think you’ve done enough inner work is the moment you become dangerous to others. My therapist doesn’t care about my spiritual credentials or how many workshops I’ve taught – he cares about my shadows, my triggers, my unconscious patterns that could harm the people who trust me with their vulnerability.

I have an accountability team – people who have permission to challenge my decisions, question my motivations, and pull me back if they see me veering off course. They’re not yes-people. They’re truth-tellers.

And perhaps most importantly, I remain a student. Always. The moment I think I’ve arrived, the moment I stop learning, is the moment I become exactly the kind of teacher I swore I’d never be.

Because here’s what I’ve learned: the same surrender that transformed my spiritual life is what makes ethical teaching possible. That lone wolf who spent decades seeking? He had to learn that real power comes from belonging to something bigger than himself – whether that’s a lineage, a community of accountability, or simply the truth that we’re all in this together.

My reputation and integrity mean everything to me – not from ego, but because trust is the only currency that matters in this work. Without it, I can’t serve anyone.

So here’s how I structure my practice: Most of my teaching happens in groups or online sessions, which creates natural transparency. When I do offer in-person sessions, there’s a strict intake process – something I learned was necessary to protect both myself and the client, to ensure they’re ready for the work. In workshops, I don’t engage in physical connections with participants. And I would never sleep with a client – that’s the absolute no-go zone.

But beyond logistics, I’ve chosen collaboration over isolation. I rarely work alone, preferring to partner with other facilitators and healers. This isn’t just safer – it lights me up. I thrive when helping other coaches develop their message, when working alongside peers who can witness and challenge my approach.

And here’s something the spiritual community needs to hear: we need to stop putting teachers on pedestals. I tell my students often – if calling me your guru feels good, I’m fine with that, but I’m not looking for followers. I’m here to make leaders. Please don’t put me in your glass box, because like you, I’m human and one day I will make mistakes.

What I’ve observed in our community is that when spiritual teachers fall from grace, it’s rarely about the act itself – it’s about how they handle it afterward. The defensiveness, the deflecting, the complete lack of accountability. That’s what destroys trust.

I want to be humble here and acknowledge that yes, in my life I have caused harm. To the best of my knowledge, I haven’t caused harm in my role as a teacher, but in my personal life, I’ve made mistakes – some I’ll never be able to make right, mistakes I must live with forever.

But that’s exactly why I can hold my own feet to the fire now. I’ve been on the other side. I’ve struggled with these processes, thought I had to defend myself or risk looking weak. I learned that true leadership is about vulnerability – allowing others to see your humanity, understanding that I don’t actually have to be perfect.

The accountability isn’t just about preventing harm. It’s about recognizing that the moment we think we’re beyond accountability is the moment we become dangerous.

So what should you look for in any spiritual teacher? Ask about their accountability structures. Who challenges them? Who do they answer to? How do they handle mistakes? What safeguards do they have in place? If they can’t answer these questions clearly, walk away.