Scott Allen Ginther

I acknowledge that I can be emotionally intense. I have PTSD, and many of my behaviors are consistent with that diagnosis. I chose Scott because he identified himself as a trauma therapist. On several occasions, he emphasized how skilled he was in trauma work. I worked with Scott for 18 months. While there were helpful moments early on, the experience ultimately became emotionally destabilizing and painful. I’m writing this review not out of anger or resentment, but because I wish I had access to a review like this before starting therapy — especially for those navigating complex trauma and attachment wounds. In the beginning, Scott was accessible and supportive. He encouraged contact between sessions, reassured me that he wouldn’t abandon me, and created what felt like a safe and consistent environment. As someone with a history of abandonment and fears of being “too much,” this was deeply meaningful and helped me begin to trust. That sense of safety broke down after a single,… significant rupture in our relationship. During that conflict, I attempted to express what had felt invalidating and hurtful. Scott became visibly frustrated, raised his voice, and made comments that left me feeling emotionally unsafe and ashamed. He referred to me as “reactive,” which felt dismissive and wounding — especially given the emotional intensity of the moment and my vulnerability in trying to repair our relationship. I left that session physically shaken, emotionally destabilized, and confused. It didn’t feel like therapy anymore; it felt like I was being punished for expressing pain. Despite my visible distress, there was no follow-up, no effort to acknowledge or repair the rupture. I made every effort to take responsibility for my part, to communicate directly, and to remain engaged in the work. What I hoped for — and what trauma-informed therapy requires — was mutual accountability and repair. That repair never happened. Instead, my concerns were minimized and reframed in ways that felt shaming. When I sought support outside of the therapeutic relationship, I was told I was “involving too many people.” These responses mirrored the relational wounds I had come to therapy to heal — feelings of being too much, of being dismissed or pathologized instead of understood. I believe it is a therapist’s responsibility — particularly in trauma-informed care — to co-regulate, validate, and hold space for emotional discomfort. Not to escalate it or shut it down. In our rupture, it felt like protecting his own ego and avoiding accountability became more important than supporting my healing. To be fair, Scott may be a good fit for clients with less complex trauma. But if you’re seeking trauma-informed, attachment-focused care — especially if you have a history of abandonment, invalidation, or emotional neglect — I urge caution. Despite his claims of trauma expertise, my experience left me feeling retraumatized, emotionally unsafe, and mistrustful of therapy. I don’t trust easily, and I trusted Scott. This review is not written to discredit him as a person. It’s simply the truth of my experience — and one I wish I could have read before starting therapy with someone who said they understood trauma but, in practice, did not seem able to hold space for it in a healing way. If you’re in a vulnerable place and looking for true trauma-informed care, please choose carefully. What looks like safety at first can shift dramatically if the therapist doesn’t have the capacity, humility, or willingness to repair when harm occurs.