When I was a student therapist at an elementary school, I sat across from a kindergartner who told me he was being abused. I did what I was trained — and legally obligated — to do: I filed a report with child protective services and sent home a consent form so we could continue therapy.
A few days later, he tearfully told me his father had torn it to shreds — right in front of him.
That was the last time I could legally speak to him.
That moment wasn’t just devastating — it was soul-crushing. He had just begun to feel safe. He trusted me enough to say what no young child should have to say aloud. Then that trust was taken from him — not by me, but by a system meant to protect him. And I was left having to trust that system, knowing it was already stretched beyond its limits. I knew the odds.
Utah’s new law, HB281, makes moments like this more common. It gives parents sweeping power to control what therapists can discuss, often silencing children just when their voices most need to be heard. Supporters call it “parent empowerment.” But for kids seeking refuge, it’s systemic abandonment.
For therapists, reporting abuse isn’t just morally right — it’s legally required. Therapists are among the most tightly regulated professionals in the country. My license holds me to strict standards. If I break confidentiality or coerce a disclosure, I risk lawsuits, discipline, and violating trust. But if I ignore a suspicion, I could lose my career — or worse, miss a chance to save a child.
HB281 doesn’t relieve me of those obligations — it just makes them more dangerous to navigate.
It forces therapists to choose:
Obey the law — or save a child’s life.
That’s not empowerment.
It’s losing sight of something far more sacred:The inherent sanctity of human life.
Bryan Dalley, Springville
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