It's Between Me And Your Husband
Chapter 56 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult
This is a chapter within my memoir, Neophyte, about my time in a harmful cult called the Deer Tribe Metis Medicine Society. It is not meant to be read as a stand-alone post. To view all book chapters, click here.
The Deer Tribe is a dangerous cult. While they present themselves as a spiritual community offering healing and empowerment, their practices are rooted in manipulation, control, and cultural appropriation. Like many cults, they offer moments of genuine connection and personal insight — but these are strategically used to gain trust and draw people deeper into a harmful system. Readers are encouraged to read the entire book before forming opinions about the Deer Tribe.
Chapter 56
I was livid with Necea. She had nearly gotten me fired.
I had posted an offer for a free NLP breakthrough call to attract potential hypnosis clients. Work had been slow since Matthew and I relocated to the Pacific Northwest, and I was hoping to generate a small side income. When Necea saw my post, she was far from pleased. She emailed Crystal, her apprentice and business manager, demanding that Crystal address the issue with me since I worked for Crystal as a freelance writer.
“I trusted you, and you betrayed me,” Crystal informed me sternly over a Zoom call the next day. “I checked with my industry peers, and they all agree this is grounds for termination.”
“Why is it grounds for termination?” I asked.
“Because Necea is offering free breakthrough calls as a way to market her relationship coaching program. She feels you stole that method from us.”
“I didn’t even know you were using that method with Necea. I don’t work on her stuff. Also, last I checked, offering a free call is pretty common in the coaching industry.”
“Yes, but you used the term ‘breakthrough.’ That was our word.”
“I’m sorry, Crystal, but Necea doesn’t own the English language. If you Google ‘free breakthrough coaching call,’ you’ll find multiple listings from all kinds of coaches.”
I could tell I got her with that one. She sighed heavily. “Well, I would like to keep you on as a writer, but you’ll need to sign a nondisclosure form. I realized that you and I never had any formal agreements about what kinds of other work you can take on.”
“That’s fine. Send it over.”
I closed my laptop, relieved to still have employment, but still angry. I was angry with Necea, but also, I was angry with myself for never standing up to her. Well, that was changing now. Feeling courageous, I dialed her number.
“Hi, sweetheart!”
“Hey Necea, I just want to clear up the misunderstanding about my post.”
“Oh, thanks for calling. Look, I’m not mad at you for what you did. I know you probably don’t understand how these things work.”
I listened, flabbergasted. She was speaking to me like I was a child.
“Okay, well, I just want to be clear with you that I didn’t do anything wrong. You actually don’t know much about me or what I do for work. I’m an NLP coach and hypnotist. Perhaps you didn’t realize that, but I am allowed to advertise my services.”
“Oh, of course you are,” she said, her voice smooth as honey. She’s patronizing me, I realized. “It’s just really unfortunate that you chose yesterday to make your post because this week I rolled out the advertisement for my Sacred Intimacy program.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” I asked, struggling to stay calm.
“Because we just don’t want to distract from my offering. In the future, it’s probably wise for you to run your marketing posts by Crystal first, just to make sure they fit in with our calendar.”
Appalled, I didn’t know what to say. Did she really think I needed to shape my business around hers?
“Necea, I’m not going to do that.”
“Well, I’m going to let you and Crystal work that out. That’s why she’s my business manager! Isn’t she awesome? Anyways, we just want to make sure everything is flowing well for all of us, you know? And hey, actually, I’m glad I have you on the phone because I’ve already been thinking that I’d like to hire you as a coach someday. Our hope is for Sacred Intimacy to grow big enough that I’ll need to hire coaches. This could be a very lucrative opportunity for you. What do you think?”
“Oh,” I said, surprised and curious. “Um, well, yes, I’m interested.”
“That’s wonderful. So, if you’re going to be a coach, it would be great for you to experience the program for yourself. And it’s a couples program, so of course, it makes the most sense for you and Matthew to do the program together. Would you like to?”
“Well, sure! I mean, I have to check with Matthew first, but I’m sure he’ll say yes.”
“That’s great. The program includes a weekly two-hour group coaching call for two months. Right now, we have five couples enrolled. It’s high-end transformative coaching. Now, of course, you won’t be paying anything, but I’ll share the price to give you an idea of its value. The cost is either seven, eight, or twelve thousand dollars, depending on whether they want private sessions with me.”
My jaw dropped. How had Necea convinced five couples to pay her seven thousand dollars?
I set up a FaceTime call between Matthew, me, and Necea. “I would love to invite the two of you to join as my guests,” she said with a smile. Matthew agreed, and we dove in. While the coaching calls were interesting, they didn’t seem particularly life-changing. I couldn’t help but wonder at Necea’s gumption in charging what she did.
Four weeks later, our lives were upended again. It hadn’t even been a year since we’d moved into my cousin’s farmhouse, and now we had to leave.
Living together as two families had seemed great in theory, but with the arrival of their first child and disagreements over COVID-19 protocols, the arrangement was no longer working.
The decision came as a shock to me, but Matthew was ready. He had already found us a place to stay. We would house-sit for Reina, an old friend from the Ashram who had joined the military and now lived two hours north in Olympia. She was leaving in two weeks for a month of training and was happy to have us stay at her home and care for her dogs.
So, once again, we packed up our belongings, said our goodbyes, and set off.
Reina’s house was tucked deep in the countryside, on a quiet road far removed from the sounds of traffic. Each morning, I brought my coffee to her back porch, where her dogs, a Malamute and a Pit Bull, played happily. The yard stretched into a lush expanse of green grass, bordered by towering evergreens. Reclining in a lounge chair, I savored the quiet and cool summer air.
For the first time in my life, I had almost nothing to do. No commitments, no real job, and no idea what would come next. My mind felt foggy and blank. I knew we needed work and a more permanent place to live, but I couldn’t seem to connect the dots of how to make those things happen.
I drifted through the days listlessly, comforted only by the fact that we had shelter. Then, one afternoon, three weeks into our stay, Necea managed to piss me off again.
“Necea texted me,” Matthew’s voice broke through my daydream. We had been quietly sitting together on the porch.
“What does she want?” I asked him.
“She asked if I would help her with a computer project,” he said, pausing before adding, “She also asked if it could be a work trade since she’s gifting us her coaching program.”
“What?!” I said furiously. Indignation flared in my heart. “Tell her no.”
“I can’t tell her no.”
“Why not? That wasn’t our agreement with her.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. It probably won’t take me that long.”
“That’s not the point. She has no right to ask that of you! If she wants your skills, she can pay you for them. We need the money.”
“Here you go again about money.”
I could feel an argument brewing. Wanting to avoid one, I stormed into the house. Of course I was concerned about money. My freelance writing was our only source of income, and it barely brought in anything. Why was Matthew such a pushover when it came to medicine people? Just because Necea was "leadership" and a "Sacred Pipe Carrier" didn’t give her the right to demand things from us, “lower-level” apprentices. But that seemed to be the attitude in the Deer Tribe.
The more I thought about the situation, the angrier I became. I decided to confront Necea and called her. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hi Necea,” I said, trying to sound friendly and pleasant. “I wanted to discuss the work trade request you made of Matthew. From my understanding, our participation in the program was a gift. You wanted me to experience it because you said you’d like to hire me as a coach one day.”
“Yes, that is correct. I offered the program to you at no cost because I said maybe, possibly, one day I would like to consider you joining my coaching staff. But we never discussed Matthew’s exchange for the program.”
“You invited us to attend as your guests.”
“No. That offer was for you only.”
Liar. “Well, anyway, we aren’t in the best place right now. We had to move out of my cousin’s house, and neither of us has work, and Matthew needs to put his energy into finding work that produces an income. So he can’t do this project for you.”
“Well, he is not obligated. If he doesn’t want to, he can tell me no.”
“He’s not going to tell you no, Necea. And this is causing conflict in our marriage. So I’m asking you, as a fellow sister, to please back out and retract your request.”
“Like I said, he is not obligated. It may help you to look at this from a different perspective. This is between Matthew and me, and has nothing to do with you. As my Buddhist teacher would say, ‘not your business.’”
I realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, so I ended the call. Fury surged through my body. Not my business? Where did she get off telling me that?
I walked outside for some fresh air and glanced at the boxes containing all our worldly belongings, stacked against Reina’s garage and covered by tarps to protect them from the rain. My car died shortly after we arrived. Reina was returning in a couple of weeks, and we had nowhere to go.
As had become my habit, I called June to vent and seek advice.
“So what do you think?” I asked after rehashing the situation.
“Well, he’s your husband. So I’d say it’s kind of your business.”
“Exactly!”
An idea struck me. Matthew and I would quit Necea’s coaching program. That way, she would have no grounds to request free work from him. After discussing it with Matthew, I sent Necea an email informing her that we would no longer participate in Sacred Intimacy, and therefore, a work trade between her and Matthew would no longer be necessary.
Within a few hours, Andie replied, “We want you guys in the program! I talked to Necea, and Matthew doesn’t need to do a trade if you want to stay in. We want to help you heal.”
When I told June about it, she laughed.
“You and Matthew would be just fine if these Deer Tribe folks kept their hands out of your marriage,” she said.
“I’m so angry! You know what? I want Necea out of my life. Neophyting was deeply traumatizing. I don’t know why I ever wanted to do it. And attending multiple Qs with my mother? That was so wrong. I can’t believe I thought that was okay.”
“I’ve told you multiple times. That was not your fault. That’s on Necea. She should really be reported because allowing that to happen was extremely unethical. Anyone with any amount of common sense would never have allowed that. If you don’t want to confront her directly, why not write a letter to the Deer Tribe? You could send it to the Council of Law.”
The Council of Law was a group of upper-gateway apprentices who functioned as a governing body for the Path. Their role was to serve both apprentices and the Path itself. We were told that if apprentices encountered issues with a teacher or their apprentice guide, they could reach out to the Council of Law for support in facilitating a resolution.
The thought of writing such a letter was terrifying. It stirred up my deepest shame. Despite what June said, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was solely responsible for what had happened. I felt disgusting. Writing a letter would mean exposing everything, not just what had occurred but how deeply it had affected me. I would have to confess that I wasn’t strong enough to conquer my negative emotions through the warrior disciplines. What would they think of me? Would they accuse me of playing victim? Of being in pity?
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I needed to do this. For nearly ten years, I had played by their rules, giving them everything and never questioning their methods. It wasn’t just about my specific experience with my mother. There was something fundamentally wrong with the way Q instructors handled delicate situations, and the Deer Tribe leadership needed to know.
Late that afternoon, Matthew and I took the dogs for a walk, and I spent the time quietly reflecting. For most of my life, I had made rash decisions, rarely thinking them through and acting impulsively. This time, I did something different. I imagined the future timeline of my letter. If I sent it, it would open a big can of worms. Could I face that? Would I want to? Could I continue attending SunDance each year, encountering Necea and the council members who would know my deepest shame? I didn’t think I could.
Sending this letter was no small thing. It was a momentous action. It would mean leaving the Path, and with that, never serving on the SunDance drum again. Sadness pierced my heart, and waves of grief rolled through my body as I contemplated the loss. I would be giving up what brought my soul alive, what gave me the greatest joy. But I couldn’t see another way. Staying on the Path now felt like an act of self-destruction. Despite my grief, I made my decision.
“I know what I’m going to do,” I said aloud to Matthew. “I’m going to leave the Path.”
With painful acceptance and clarity, I devised a plan.