And when he left, he blended in with the rest. And I changed my sheets and cried in the shower, while trying to scrub off what was left of our friendship.
Unfortunately, sexual assault isn’t a very rare thing.
I couldn’t believe how healing the entire process was: the writing itself, the discussions prior to publishing, and then the conversations it allowed me to have after it was published. It felt like scrubbing myself clean after years of feeling a mix of blame and shame and disgust and numbness.
All I wanted was a half-priced drink after my 9-to-5. Yet I called an Uber because I know […]
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At 14, my assault defined me as a feminist. Ten years later I’m writing openly about what happened […]
I’m scared to love things. In light of the recent focus on sexual harassment in Hollywood, I’ve discovered […]
My mother is from Brooklyn. Flatbush, to be exact. She is also a red-head. As a red-headed, freckled […]
According to the RAINN, the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence location, every 98 seconds an American is sexually assaulted. […]