Prologue.

#MeToo woke me up. The movement that made the world aware of rampant prevalence of sexual assault and abuse. It felt empowering, like there could be justice. People, mostly women, were speaking out without the fear, shame, humiliation, or being called a liar. It broke the silence. It broke the degradation. It broke something in me.

I remember my amazement because, for the first time in my life, some things shifted. Men who raped, assaulted, subjugated, committed physical, emotional and sexual violence because they had power to do so might to have to answer for their actions. #MeToo was a strong voice, and a platform for mostly women-especially young and vulnerable women.

I remember watching it explode on Twitter on October 15, 2017. The stories about Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, Larry Nassar, Kevin Spacey, Ray Moore, Charlie Rose, James Levine, Roger Ailes, and of course, Donald Trump. Those stories had been paraded out as lies, slander, or ancient irrelevant history (if they made the news at all). Often reported with the underlying conviction that accusers are liars, gold diggers, attention seekers, unbalanced or spurned lovers bent on revenge. But what happened that day was completely different. Story after story, the sheer numbers were staggering, and the villains were not the victims. Unleashing #MeToo fractured an impenetrable barricade that protected abusers.

I remember scrolling through my Twitter, astonished. Actors, powerful women, successful women were, with one shattering tweet after another, telling the worst moment in their lives followed by #MeToo. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t about shame and hiding. Their revelations gave me space and permission to look back, to remember, to dig deep and finally face what was done to me. 

It has been awful. It has been wretched. It has been so sad. It almost broke me. I do not know now how I went through it back then. I used to think it happened because I was weak, but I think I understand now how strong I was, how strong I had to be. 

#MeToo