Joel Millard

Many fond memories of working with Joel and Sally as I managed the Project Reality Residential Treatment Program — both were dedicated social workers and administrators as well as supportive colleagues. First worked with Joel at the Utah State Prison in the early 1970’s as he did some group therapy work there. I always felt validated and supported by Joel as I worked with him and completed my own MSW degree. He was a great mentor and friend.

In 2013, I was just a young graduate student walking through the practicum fair at the University of Utah, trying to figure out where I belonged. Booth after booth blurred together until I stopped at one presentation that felt entirely different. A man named Joel stood speaking about Project Reality, and while I cannot remember every word he said, I remember the feeling of hearing him speak. He used psychoanalytic terms I had never heard before. The language was unfamiliar, complex, and somehow magnetic. I remember standing there thinking, I have no idea what he is talking about… but I know that is where I need to be.

At the time, I had never even heard of medication-assisted treatment. Addiction work was still new terrain to me. But Joel made it feel profound. Human. Layered. He did not look at people as diagnoses or behaviors to manage. He observed people with this quiet, almost sacred curiosity. I used to watch him early in the mornings walking through the parking lot or through the clinic halls, studying interactions, expressions, defenses, pain—always with what we all came to know as Joel’s psychoanalytic eye. He taught me that therapy was not just about what people said. It was about what they could not say, what they reenacted, what they defended against, and what lived underneath the surface.

Over the years, Joel shaped the clinician I became. So much of the way I think about therapy, attachment, resistance, transference, and human suffering traces back to him. Supervision with Joel was never simple. It was layered with silence, reflection, strange one-liners, and comments that would hit you hours later like a revelation. We all had our favorite “Joelisms,” those deceptively simple statements packed with wisdom.

One I still hear in my head often is: “Either way, it’s going to hurt.”

He said it while discussing the impossible tensions between parents, therapists, boundaries, and change. At the time it sounded blunt. Years later, I realized it was compassionate realism. Joel never promised painless growth. He taught us that avoiding pain often creates more of it.

I also remember countless empty-chair role plays during supervision. Joel somehow had this ability to make you uncomfortable and deeply understood at the same time. He would sit back with that gaze—the one that seemed to see ten layers deeper than everyone else in the room—and say something so concise that it completely reorganized your thinking.

One supervision moment has stayed with me for years. I was 23 years old and frustrated because a client kept saying, “I feel like we’re around the same age.” The client was 39, and I remember feeling so bothered by it, taking it personally, wondering why she perceived me that way. I brought it to Joel, expecting reassurance or interpretation about me. Instead, with that calm look, he simply said:

“She needs to make you her age.”

That was it.

I remember thinking, What does that even mean?

But Joel had this way of planting seeds in your mind. He did not hand you answers; he taught you how to think psychoanalytically. Years later, I fully understood what he meant about identification, relational dynamics, and unconscious needs within the therapeutic relationship. That was Joel. He expanded your mind in sentences.

And then there are the memories that still make me laugh through tears.

One day I was walking past his upstairs office wearing some new heeled boots I clearly had no business wearing. I peeked into his office and cheerfully yelled, “Hi Joel!” while stepping onto that terrifying spiral staircase. I missed a step and went tumbling all the way down the stairs in spectacular fashion. Mortified, sprawled at the bottom, I remember yelling out, “Don’t come out!”

Even now I can picture it perfectly.

That is what grief does. It lets humor and heartbreak sit beside each other.

Joel was more than a supervisor. He was one of those rare people who fundamentally alters the trajectory of your life simply by being who they are. He made clinicians think deeper, look closer, tolerate uncertainty, and stay curious about human behavior instead of rushing to judgment. He taught many of us how to truly see people.

On May 20th, the world lost Joel at 87 years old. But pieces of him remain everywhere—in therapy rooms, in supervision conversations, in the clinicians he trained, in the pauses before interpretations, in the questions we ask ourselves when sitting with suffering.

I think that is the remarkable thing about mentors like Joel: they never really leave the work. Their voice becomes part of your own clinical voice forever.

He will truly be missed

I was heartbroken to hear of Joel's passing. He was such an important part of my life for so many years, and I will forever be grateful for the impact he had on me personally and professionally.

I began working at Project Reality when I was 17 years old and stayed for 15 years because of the leadership, encouragement, and belief he had in me. He was an incredible mentor who always saw my potential and pushed me to grow. Over time, he became so much more than a boss — he became a dear friend and family to me.

After his retirement and my transition to another position, we continued our friendship through our Sunday breakfasts at Mimi’s Cafe, something we both looked forward to every week. Those conversations, life lessons, and moments together became incredibly special to me and are memories I will always treasure.

He dedicated so much of his life to helping others through mental health and substance abuse recovery, and his compassion and commitment touched countless lives. He carried himself with a quiet strength and sincerity that earned the respect of everyone who knew him.

He will be deeply missed and lovingly remembered always. My thoughts and prayers are with his family and everyone whose lives he touched.

Oh man. I did not see this until Just now. Joel and I were friends for so long. He was one of those people that you could love and trust from the beginning. He was a friend. A mentor. A teacher. I am so grateful to have been his friend.

I send all the family my love. Thank you so much for the care that you gave him.

Meg Averett

To my cousin,
I am so sorry for the loss of your dad.
I will forever remember the sledding adventures and Easter egg rolls.
Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

When I was a young social worker nearly 30 years ago, Joel was one of the first professionals I met in the field. His mentorship, leadership, and passion inspired me to always strive to do better and to lead with kindness and compassion. He made a lasting impact on both my professional and personal life. My friend will be deeply missed, and I will always be grateful for the example he set for so many of us.