I was told my life would change if I let strangers prod my deepest wounds. But I wasn’t sure: were these group training sessions empowering or exploitative?
On a Saturday in March in a conference room with ugly carpeting near Los Angeles international airport, I meekly muttered “thank you” as a group of six people – all strangers until the day before – enumerated my deepest flaws.
“I see you, Katherine, as inauthentic,” led the charge.
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