#MeToo: Over 30 Years Later, I’m Reporting My Harassers

When the #MeToo movement first emerged, I thought that I had no interest in saying the words myself.

The Price of Being First

I had been a member of that Integration Generation, a “first,” a foot soldier enlisted to break barriers that should never have been erected in the first place. Now, I would need to develop new survival skills that would get me past the minefields of race and gender firsts.

Making Space for Girls

This year, four Pascua Yaqui Native American girls got the chance to be the first of their tribe to go Space Camp.

A Mass Lesbian Wedding at the End of the World

The last time I felt hope was on a hot summer day in Provincetown.

#MeToo: This Time I’m Not Letting It Go

When men say “you misunderstood,” or “it wasn’t intentional,” I don’t believe them. I didn’t believe them then and I don’t believe them now—especially now, after years of slights, innuendos and deliberate disrespect.

The Trouble with Confidence

Women make choices daily between the freedom to enjoy solitude—whether alone at home or in the world—and safety. Oftentimes, men can’t comprehend what that’s like.

#StandBesideHer: 10 Ways Women Can Support Girls Every Day

From mentorship to random acts of (feminist) kindness, these are just 10 ways to support—and empower—the women and young girls in your life.

#MeToo: No Longer Anonymous

Less than two years ago, I worried about exposing my daughters to the fact that I was abused. Now, I realize that the silence around sexual violence is a greater danger to them than the truth.

One Family’s Trip Through the History of U.S. Racism

Little did I know when we set out on the trip that the scab of racial hatred would be torn off once again this summer over Confederate statues. Uncannily, we found ourselves in southern locales that frighteningly mirror the past with events of the present.

I Was My Boyfriend’s Servant: How I Escaped Financial Abuse

I’d slip on a tight dress, nylons and heels and walk the seven blocks to his apartment. I washed his dishes; cleaned every inch of his counters; scrubbed the inside of his fridge, removing a moldy mess in one of the drawers. I cleaned everything I could find in his tiny bathroom. I did his laundry once a week at the laundromat across the street. I scratched a record of all my hours on a little yellow notepad with a broken pencil.  

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