Character Is Destiny — Even When the Episode Doesn’t Drop
The Los Angeles Trip.
A little update on the advocacy efforts.
Hey everyone,
I flew to Los Angeles in May for a second conversation on Soft White Underbelly.
I went in with a clear intention: share a short life update, lay out the strongest research on CSA, talk about prevention, and point people toward the writing I’m doing here and occasionally for Rebels-Raiders. In the end, the episode didn’t move forward.
That’s okay.
Sometimes the clearest test of character isn’t what we get to say on camera—it’s what we choose to protect when the moment asks us to trade it away.
I’m committed to telling my story on my terms and timeline. There are parts of my story that are, and always will be, private.
Immediately before the conversation, it became clear that things were moving toward parts of my story I had already communicated as off limits.
It was also brought up while the camera was still rolling, despite this previous understanding.
I know that speaking publicly has cost me something, and that those costs are not mine alone.
Some may read this as an attempt to save face. I cannot do much about that. Publicly telling this story has already cost me whatever polished reputation silence might have preserved.
I chose to hold that line anyway.
I do not care that the topic would likely have gone viral again.
I do not care what opportunities were being sold to me if I just agreed to talk about it.
That topic does not serve the advocacy. Discussing it would serve no one around me.
And as useful as airtime can be, I did not set out to become an influencer. I set out to become a writer, advocate, and author. I remain deeply uninterested in filming myself simply to remain visible.
Regardless, the message I prepared is still worth delivering, so I’m sharing it here instead.
I’m most active right here on Character Is Destiny, where the ongoing work lives—turning pain into purpose, examining what we become after violation, exploring character, discussing philosophy, and refusing to let circumstance write the final chapter.
Some of the strongest research in this field, led by David Finkelhor at the University of New Hampshire, shows something most people still don’t want to hear: child sexual abuse often does not resemble the stranger-danger story we were taught.
In one large, nationally representative U.S. study, more than 70 percent of the reported sexual abuse and assault episodes examined were committed by other juveniles—76.7 percent of episodes involving male victims and 70.1 percent involving female victims. Most perpetrators were acquaintances.
When there’s no consent or equality—or when age, size, or power is used coercively—it’s abuse. The trauma can be profound. The shame can be enduring. And the effects can follow a person well into adult life.
This changes how we think about prevention.
Finkelhor’s Four Preconditions Model remains one of the clearest frameworks we have.
Abuse happens when an offender has motivation, overcomes internal inhibitions, gets past external barriers like supervision and bystanders, and overcomes the child’s resistance.
For parents, schools, and communities, the final two conditions offer the clearest practical points of intervention: strengthening supervision and external safeguards, while giving children the language and confidence to recognize boundary violations and seek help.
Practical steps that actually move the needle:
Age-appropriate conversations about body autonomy and the simple rule: “This doesn’t feel right—say no, get away, tell a trusted adult.”
Closer, more intentional supervision of playdates, sleepovers, and group activities—even as kids get older.
Early intervention programs for children and adolescents showing problematic sexual behavior before patterns become entrenched.
Refusing to rank one kind of violation as “less serious” than another. There is no hierarchy of suffering that erases anyone’s pain.
We protect all kids, or we protect none.
If you’re carrying something heavy that people have minimized or told you “wasn’t that bad,” I see you.
Your story counts.
Healing is possible.
So is becoming someone stronger on the other side of violation.
Later this month I’ll be in Utah for something else.
In a few months, I’ll be in New Jersey to talk to a bestselling author I look up to.
I’ve learned my lesson about discussing things before they arrive, so that is all I’ll say for now.
The work doesn’t stop because one conversation didn’t happen. Character is proven in the quiet moments when we choose who we’re going to be—even when no one is watching, even when it costs something, and even when the plan falls through.
If you want the deeper, ongoing conversation, that’s what I’m building here. You’re in the right spot, and becoming a paid subscriber will always be optional.
Character is destiny—especially on days like that.
—Nick




Nick, I deeply appreciate your clarity about telling your story on your own terms. Protecting what is private does not weaken your advocacy—it gives it integrity. Your willingness to hold that boundary, even when greater visibility was offered, speaks powerfully to the character you write about. I’m glad to have found your work and look forward to reading more.
One passage stayed with me:
“Character is proven in the quiet moments when we choose who we’re going to be—even when no one is watching.”
That feels like the heart of the entire piece. Holding a boundary when the incentive is visibility may never become a headline, but it says more about character than any viral interview ever could.
I also appreciate that you redirected the conversation toward prevention and evidence instead of spectacle. The research matters, the advocacy matters, and so does modeling that survivors retain ownership of their stories.
Wishing you continued success with the work ahead, Nick. The writing has always seemed like the destination—not merely the path to something else.