It almost seems impossible, really, that most of the time I forget about this thing that has sat heavy in my chest for 17 years. There’s no other aspect of my life that is simultaneously so crucial to my internal narrative, and yet so distanced from it. Most days, it feels like my ED belongs to someone else—or millions of someone else's—more than it does to me.
"Georgetown and its students say survivors are not alone. We write it on the walls of our buildings and host rallies and shout together, but what will you do when the perpetrator is your friend or partner? What will you do when rejecting them means a major change in your life? What will you do when empowering a survivor is inconvenient for you? What will you do when your student organization is enabling abusers? What action will you actually, truly take to make sure a survivor is not alone?"
My years at Georgetown as a PhD student were undoubtedly the most difficult years of my life. This was not because of the rigor of coursework and research activities, as... Read more