Notes on plagiarism, and my integrity

Early in my career, I cut corners. I used language from other writers without proper attribution, incorporating them into my own work — sometimes closely paraphrased, sometimes verbatim. This was plagiarism. I own that. I will continue to own that. 

Looking back, the reasons for my decisions were foolish and shortsighted. I was unwilling to face the limits of my own abilities. As The Chronicle’s sole reporter, working for scraps, dodging sexual harassment and physical threats, I ran on urgency instead of rest.

I made the mistake of letting that pressure warp my judgment — confusing mere survival with integrity, losing sight of the vibrancy and heart I once brought to this work. I let urgency override presence, and exhaustion replace ethics.

I broke trust — with the community that had grown to care for me; the mothers, elders, and individuals who had trusted me to honor them on their best and worst days, to approach their stories with openness and understanding; the mentors who believed in my spirit, who shared wisdom and hard-earned lessons; the family that had made space for this work, even when it pulled me further and further away; and the version of myself that began writing from a place of joy. 

Most of all, I broke trust with the writers whose work I took without attribution — whose bravery and labor I failed to respect. In an age of journalistic relativism and regular distortion of the truth, I know that my mistakes reflect poorly on the profession, practice, and calling of journalism. For all of this, I am deeply sorry. 

I know now, years later, that care was missing. Care for the version of me who kept pushing, even when the ground went soft. Care for the work itself — its integrity, its purpose, and its power to hold truth.

I’m not here to excuse my mistakes. I’m here because I still believe in this work — and in earning back the right to do it.

But trust isn’t something words alone can restore. Since that difficult time, I’ve taken additional courses in ethics, reporting, and narrative craft — not to start over, but to start better. I attribute obsessively now. I track influence, cite sources, and name every hand that helped shape the work. I’ve built a process around transparency, not assumption. This includes saving full interview transcripts, clearly labeling source material, fact-checking my own work, and documenting influence throughout. I’ve shared drafts with mentors, asked harder questions, and re-learned how to listen.

I’m proud of the work I’ve done since — not because it redeems what came before, but because it proves I can write with integrity. That I can create something honest, deliberate, and wholly my own.

So I return to the page, time and time again, not to prove something, but to pay attention. To move more slowly. To ask better questions. To create from a place of honesty, not urgency. 

This failure will stay with me — not as a scar, but as sediment, pressed into everything that comes after. Collapse cleared what could not hold. And in its place is not redemption, but renewal.