It happened to me too.
I was sixteen years old and he was my boyfriend at the time. Still, it does not make it right. It happened, and still, it is happening every day to so many other people. Not every person who falls victim is able to say something, to tell their story, to say “me too.”
After it happened to me, I was afraid to speak up. I thought, really, who would give a shit? I was afraid no one would care. But when the #MeToo movement came about on Twitter, I felt okay enough to talk about what happened.
I read more tweets from victims, more stories filled with fear, guilt, and anger embedded in every line than I would have liked. Woman after woman came forward with their stories. Men tweeted their stories too and that was when it really hit me: this is still happening and it will continue to happen unless people give a shit.
The #MeToo movement first spoke to me in a way I never thought imaginable. When it became a thing, I started paying more attention to politics and other movements that I could support. I started caring even more than I already did because I knew what was going on. I understood. I felt that pain and fear and discomfort and frustration and I let it fuel the fire in me. I know plenty of other people who would feel the same.
#MeToo reminded me that I have a voice and I can speak up. I can inspire others to do the same and comfort them when they do.
When my boyfriend at the time did what he did, he said, “Sit still, I’m doing this.”
So I guess being a part of the #MeToo movement is my way of speaking up and saying that I am still here, still strong, still supported and supporting, and still believing that everything will be okay.