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When thought-terminating clichés are used by leaders or in groups, they can foster toxic cultures by discouraging questions, dissent, and accountability if not addressed and handled properly. Most of these phrases we heard often from leadership at Orange. The phrases listed here aren’t inherently toxic, but when used to shut down dialogue, avoid responsibility, or discourage truth-telling, they become tools of coercion and control.


Not every organization or leader who uses these clichés has bad intentions. However, a healthy organization and a healthy leader will welcome pushback when concerns are raised about their use.



“We are a family.”

This phrase demands and exploits loyalty, usually enacting backlash when that loyalty is broken (i.e. quitting your job). It creates a false unity that guilts people into silence and discourages conflict resolution.


The reality is, there’s a difference between being coworkers or employees, and family members. And blurring those lines can allow boundary-crossing and enmeshment.



“That’s just how they are.”

This statement absolves the person of accountability, and communicates they are unable, or shouldn’t have to, change.


Other than blantantly dismissing red flags or harmful behavior, this phrase blocks change and innovation—especially when used by someone in leadership.



"If you don’t agree, you can leave."

This silences dissenters, reinforces authoritarian control, abuses power, and punishes vulnerability or feedback.



"Let’s not dwell on the past." or “Let’s move forward.” or “Let’s focus on the future.”

These phrases dismiss harm and impedes healing, especially after misconduct or abuse. It essentially communicates “just stop thinking or talking about it.”



“Trust then verify.”

When used to defend someone in power, this phrase can be harmful. When used to believe someone with less power, this phrase is exactly the course of action.



“If even one person gets saved, it’s worth it.”

This can be used as an excuse for abusive leadership or toxic systems for the sake of spiritual reward. In other words, as long as there’s a perceived “good” result, the suffering of those involved is “worth” it.


No system whose goal is redemption requires abuse.



“The mission is too important.”

This prioritizes organizational goals over individual well-being, often silencing concerns about misconduct or burnout and justifying unethical behavior for the “greater good.”



"God will judge them."

This avoids accountability in faith-based settings, sidelining justice and victim advocacy. This can be used to allow an organization to do less when it comes to accountability for abusers.



“Everybody's business is everybody's business.”

At first glance, this may seem to foster transparency and unity, but when used by leadership to micromanage, it’s used to shut down boundaries, privacy, and dissent. It suppresses autonomy, enables gossip, and encourages an echo chamber.



“Greatness comes from character and character comes from pain and suffering.”

This phrase creates an environment where abuse can happen, under the guise of character-building. It’s dangerous, and misleading.



What are other phrases you’ve been told by someone in leadership that might’ve silenced you or dismissed your ability to think critically?

 
 
 

Hearing these stories may stir more questions than answers. Here are a few resources if you’re interested in how to support, advocate, and respond to victims of abuse.



 
 
 

submitted by jeremy zach


"I was loyal until it cost me my voice. Then I stood up.


I betrayed my seminary friend, Jared—the very one who got me into Orange back in 2010. Instead of standing by the friend who believed in me, I let Reggie turn me against him.


That choice still gnaws at me.


Jared stood by me in my seminary and early youth ministry years, giving me hope that maybe ministry really was for me—a wild, unchurched meathead with a heart for the kids most churches ignored.


And I traded that loyalty to be a part of the Orange mission.


I watched Reggie treat his wife, Debbie, like shit—over and over. No audience. No conference stage. Just raw, private moments of disrespect that made my stomach turn.


And I said nothing.

I kept showing up.

Kept playing along.


In the 8 years since I left, over 30 current and former Orange staff have reached out. They carry wounds—burnout, betrayal, gaslighting, manipulation.


What’s most disturbing?

Their stories all sound the same.

Same patterns.

Same tactics.

Same harm.


This wasn’t an isolated leader problem—it was a culture problem. To function at Orange, you had to carry some dysfunction.


Honestly, I liked the chaos. Healthy, grounded people wouldn’t last a second there.


What baffles me most is the performance of ignorance.


“I didn’t know.”

“I never saw it.”


Bullshit.


I wasn’t in the inner circle. I was mid-level—and I saw it immediately.


Hell, the Orange janitor saw it.


But the influencers? They just didn’t want to risk their access, paycheck, or platform.


I confided in Reggie and Debbie about my personal and marital struggles.


I believed our vulnerability was mutual. I thought they cared. Reggie was brilliant at exploiting your weakness to get people to turn on you.


But after I left, those private confessions were weaponized—twisted and used against me.


To slander me.

To dismiss me.

To discredit my pain.


I spent countless hours listening to Debbie Joiner (Reggie's wife and my boss) and Matt Ivy (Kristen’s husband, who worked under me) grieve their marriages.


Breakdowns.

Isolation.

The slow death of being unseen in their own homes.

Carrying the full weight of parenting alone because their spouse was emotionally and physically absent.


But they stayed.


They knew exactly what they were staying with—and they stayed anyway.


I was Reggie’s connection to the youth ministry world. That meant babysitting “celebrity youth ministry egos.” Reggie would assign me to them. I was expected to cushion them, obey them, serve them—so Orange could “play well” with them.


Orange paid them big.

They treated me small.

Doug Fields? A real treat to work with. 


I stayed with Reggie for weeks in his Panama City Beach condo during BigStuf summer camps in 2011 and 2012.


It was just me and him.

Kristen Ivy would stop by for late-night curriculum brainstorms.


That’s where I saw it up close—

The insecurity.

The paranoia.

The need to control everything.


It was suffocating.


The bad new? I’m still healing from a moral injury caused by 7 years inside Orange—8 years later.


I was complicit in behaviors that violated my conscience and core values. Often knowingly. Often silently. All in the name of “fighting for the next generation.”


I did what I was told.

I kept secrets.

I enabled dysfunction.


And each time I did, a piece of my integrity eroded.


That’s moral injury: the internal torment of betraying what you know is right—not by accident, but because the system you served demanded it.


The good news? I am more peaceful, more grounded, and more free than I’ve ever been—because I don’t fear the evil poisonous snakes anymore.


I did the work.

I’m dangerous—and just unhinged enough to be effective.


They don’t own my voice.

They don’t shape my future.

And they sure as hell don’t get the last word.


My suffering lit the fuse. It forced a reset. It gave birth to something better.


Now I work with military personnel in some of the darkest places—and I bring something real.

I know what shame feels like.

I know what rage does.

I know how silence chokes.


And by the grace of God, I now carry light into it.


I made a vow: I will never pretend again.


I won’t perform.

I won’t hide my pain.

I won’t protect a brand at the expense of people.


I know the tactics.

I know the games.

And I know how deeply cowards hate truth-tellers.


They don’t confront me.

But trust me—it rattles them.


As Nietzsche said:

What matters most is not how much comfort you can endure,

but how much resistance, pain, and torture you can withstand—

And still know how to turn it into power.


That’s where strength lives.

That’s where I live now.


Out of your greatest pain,

You are able to contribute the most.


Why am I sharing this? The reason so many of us were drawn to Orange is because most of us were a little nuts ourselves. Reggie represented the chaos we all secretly liked. He had a gift for sniffing out people’s weaknesses—and using them. That’s part of what kept so many of us in line. This is why Reggie was the HR department. He wanted to know everyone's dirt. 


My guess as to why more people haven’t shared their story—or why so many stay anonymous—is because telling the truth requires you to own your own shit.  We all had a part that contributed to the dysfunction. I drank too much. I had a failing marriage. I had a temper. And Reggie? He used all of it against me.


The point isn’t to fix Reggie or rescue a broken system. The point is to fix yourself—to get healthy enough that you can spot dysfunction a mile away and walk the other direction


This post is for me. It’s part of my healing.

I know nothing will change—because Orange cannot be helped from within.

But naming the pain heals me.

Pain heals pain.


I’m building muscle.

This is me practicing how to speak truth while fully aware of the cost.


Because every time I speak up, I know the arrows are coming.

And I speak anyway—and smile.


There is a cost for staying loyal to a toxic system.

And there’s a cost for calling it out.


But the second one?

That one comes with power.

With freedom.

With a kind of respect that can’t be bought—only earned.


And finally—if something feels off, say something.


Confront it.


Abuse isn’t always loud.

It’s calculated. Quiet. Patient.

Abusers are methodical. Selective.


They know exactly what they’re doing.


So call it what it is.


And call it out—early, loudly, and without apology."




 
 
 
This space exists for survivors of all types of abuse at Orange and beyond to share their experiences.

They can do so using their names or posting anonymously.

©OrangeUntold 2025

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