Sorry it has been a while since I’ve been in a space to share something I’ve written. I’ve written a lot of angry incoherent things and a lot of circular sad things. I’ll admit I’ve been in a fog seeing all of the sexual assault and harassment allegations in the news. I’ve been following a lot of the women who have come forward against some hugely powerful names in Hollywood and politics and my admiration for these women is next level. While I wish none of these women had to experience the fear, guilt and pain of the trauma they’ve endured, I hope they know they are incredible role models for young girls and women including myself. From their stories, I feel my own strength and ability to vocalize what is acceptable behavior and what is unacceptable behavior in the workplace coming out more easily than in the past.

While I have not been a direct victim of sexual assault, I have grown up in a misogynistic environment and have felt micro aggressions coming from male peers and authority figures such as professors and bosses. For years I’ve endured inappropriate comments about my mixed race and had my ability questioned because of my gender. I learned that acting overly feminine, sweet, and selfless got me nowhere but feeling taken advantage of, overlooked, and often threatened. While I could be those things in my personal life, at work I had to have my guard up. It is my greatest hope these women’s stories change the course of history. It already has me reminiscing about the stories the women in my family told me growing up.

As a little girl, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be independent and in charge of my own life. I used to love when my mom would get together with my aunties and grandmother because that’s when I would get to hear their stories. While I didn’t know it at the time, this was how I decided early on, who I would become. They told me stories about being humiliated on a plane for looking “oriental;” stories about rejecting a family fur from a white matriarch who was racist, thereby rejecting her in return; stories about sexual abuse from male authority figures and the path to healing; stories of being denied access to renting property; stories of being considered less intelligent than their male counterparts when they were equally qualified and often more talented. The list of injustices I can name alone from the women in my family goes on and on…What makes them so strong, you ask? They were unafraid to share the experiences that affected them to their cores: The things they were ashamed of; the things that made them afraid of the dark; the things that kept them awake at night. I learned how in their own individual ways of not giving up, they were taking a stand, and by passing on their stories they were strengthening me. Re-telling their experiences was how they resisted. I carry all of those stories around inside and most days they stay tucked away with all the other young Hannah memories. But every now and then, when I hear another story from a woman who felt guilt, fear, and unworthiness from a male figure I am reminded of the strength of the women who raised me.

I don’t have an answer on how to make the world a better place as I often get lost in the state of things and feel despondent. I do know that it’s important we not forget the little girls looking up at us with big eyes and open ears. We must tell them our stories. Perhaps it is by sharing our own experiences of injustices brought against us that we can help strengthen the girls now who will someday soon become women. Perhaps telling our stories is a larger contribution than we will ever know.