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It all started out as random hateful private messages on Instagram sent by one person from different anonymous accounts.

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Just as I had Jeffrey Tambors in my life, I had Alia Shawkats, too. Their voices, like Shawkat’s, were often drowned out by the Batemans, the Hales, the Tambors who did nothing but undermine their concerns. In a room full of testosterone, there hardly seemed to be any room to speak.

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When you’re complicit in allowing toxicity to continue, you’re just as bad as the person shrugging their shoulders and saying, “Welp guess another line got blurred!” 

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Take notes, ladies.

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Am I allowed to voice that it makes me uncomfortable without being mocked?

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I still have to try so fucking hard to say “no” as loudly as I can, because it’s new to me.

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I am writing this piece for the many brave women who put their careers on the line by outing Weinstein. I am writing this piece for the women across the country and the MANY women in my own community who have been subject to the same façade.

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Every time I share my story, I feel lighter. Its almost as if it has less power over me as the listener walks away, carrying with them some of my words.