I wonder what I’d write without considering who’s looking.

My paper journal and a void. No hustle culture or keyword rankings.

Suppose each follower didn’t make me afraid for my safety, for my little family.

Bound to warn of monsters, yet stressing over imperfect words til they slip away nowhere.

And when I do manage to cling to them? Water the mind, wait for words to ripen.

Still, a looming threat of the wrong one discovering. Checking dark corners for violent ghosts hovering.

Would I write more or less? Would it relieve more of my stress?

Am I doing it wrong? Forgive me.

Is it writing for myself, or all, that’s healing?

It occurs to me now that the way my life looks in this moment — kicking ass in my master’s program, excelling at work — is what my undergraduate life could’ve looked like, had I not been assaulted a month or so into freshman year.

I’d always been a gifted and engaged student. I worked hard, loved writing, was always super curious and involved, and just really enjoyed reading and learning.

After that night, I stopped caring about school. Nothing I’d learned had protected me.

So I drank and partied and ran miles around campus. I lost weight, isolated myself from friends, and my GPA dropped so low I lost my academic scholarship.

I didn’t go to class. I could see my professors’ disappointment as my grades slipped. I didn’t reach out for help, wouldn’t let myself care. I’d forget projects or miss tests, then drop the class because I was too scared to ask for help. I didn’t know how.

I lost more weight. Started getting dizzy to the point of passing out. If I skipped enough lunches, maybe I could forget completely. Maybe I could disappear.

I lied to my parents about it any way I could. Called it the college experience while silently screaming.

At the time, I didn’t attribute any of this to the assault. I hadn’t even admitted to myself it happened yet. That would take years.

Because I went out one particularly sad night that spring and landed in an abusive relationship. I couldn’t tell you what was going on for about a year and a half after that. I was just numbing out anyway I could.

I was frozen in denial for years, surrounded by the people and places most likely to keep me stuck there. In that place, I made plenty of mistakes. Things I can’t take back.

I was doing the best I could with what I had at the time. But I can hold myself accountable for my actions, while allowing grace for the fact that I was acting from a state of functioning crisis.

It’s the grace I’d extend to another in my circumstance. The grace that, nearly a decade after that first assault, gave me hope to finally break free of the cycles of abuse I found myself trapped in. The same grace inspiring me to devote myself to this field to help others do the same.

It’s the same grace we’ll need to move forward as a country from here.

All these years later, my graduate degree will be dedicated to the vulnerable young woman who lost her innocence that night. She took a difficult path to get here, but it’s helped her prepare for everything that comes next.

I hope she learns to be nicer to herself one day.

Your apartment complex hosted an outdoor movie night at the pool, and it healed something in all of you.

Neighbors voted between 3 movies, but who even cares what the other two were? By a landslide, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl was the obvious choice.

When your partner got home from the office that day, you were both practically giddy. You swim-suited up early and headed to the pool to claim the best chairs.

You read books and held hands as neighbors trickled in. The property manager rented a popcorn machine, which was handed out for free with soft drinks.

That morning, you’d prepped and packed the motherlode: fresh pineapple, rainier cherries, baby carrots, pretzels, plantain chips, cookies, a 6-pack of local beer. Budding friends passed mismatched dishes and cans generously.

By the time the sun began to set, the place was hopping. Couples, families, and college-aged groups watched the movie from lounge chairs, inner tubes, and directly from the shallows. Entire families with apartments facing the pool even watched from their patios.

Anyone who grew up watching Pirates quoted favorite lines with gusto; to the delight of children experiencing the action for the first time. Kids shrieked with laughter as parents made mini waves in the water to accompany the big ocean battle scenes.

Surely cooped up after another day of scorching summer heat, it became an unspoken village responsibility to keep the little ones safe and entertained. The task was accepted warmly, without question or complaint.

Tomorrow, who knew? But tonight, you were all one crew.

“Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.” — Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl

By the time the ending was happy and credits rolled, the complex was all smiles. None of you realized how much you’d needed this moment together.

The atmosphere felt joyful; revitalized in a way that’d been tough to come by in this worrying timeline. It was a productive kind of hope, like it could be paid forward and put to use.

When was the last time you’d been to a free community event, without expectation to buy or do anything other than enjoy? When did you last offer to drop by a friend’s house to keep them company while they do chores?

Community comes together if we let it.

What if we let it?

Good coffee is a beautiful thing about being human. A flip book through time.

Grandpa enabled curiosity for the warm, sweet smell early on. He’d pick up doughnuts on weekends we visited; secretly letting me dunk bites of long john in his mug while grandma was in the other room.

As my hair and legs grew long, I began sneaking sips from dad’s post-church cup as we (to my recurring dread) socialized in the lobby.

Eventually caught — outed by a tendency for biting the cup’s Styrofoam edges — I was surprised to be asked if I wanted my own.

Adulthood finally hit in college, when I bought my own 2-cup carafe and began near-constantly brewing up some of the worst coffee you’ve had in your entire life.

Today, I don’t own a machine; just an old glass pour over and kettle. But I love seeking out local roasters nearby and picking up beans when I travel. My favorite little luxury; a gift to myself and loved ones.

The beautiful social excuse; a much needed break in the day: Want to meet up? Late morning cup on me.

Tough day? Great day? Perfect. I even recently discovered the joy of a good decaf.

When enjoying a slow morning just how I like it, all I can think is how grateful I am to still be here.

Our brains have a tendency to hold onto things til it thinks we’re ready for them. This is often, annoyingly, much later than we think we’re actually prepared to receive them.

I have trouble trusting my own reality after so heavily denying it to keep the peace and survive the moment. Things that were so highly normalized at the time feel absurd/outlandish to look back on now. As we know, this is all part of the manipulation.

Reflecting on times of abuse may bring up feelings of shame, self-doubt, distrust, and isolation. Feeling like the only witness to those painful memories can be an overwhelming realization in itself.

We should be nicer to ourselves, of course. Although we do our best, sometimes we need some assistance. A lil backup love generator when the self love power grid experiences a temporary outage.

It’s impossible to overstate how much of an injury trauma is on your body. Recovery takes time, practice, and energy. It is, in a word: annoying.

As you gradually get to where you can take a breath (one day, I promise) and your brain feels safe enough, whatever that may mean for your particular injuries; you may realize you’re remembering things a little more clearly.

Normalize feelings and triggers coming up when they do, even if that means some things showing up again and again as you begin to heal. Acknowledging trauma doesn’t make it go away immediately, but it does help significantly in managing its ongoing effects.

I hope you get to have a good, hard cry soon. The kind of cry that releases stress and floods you with endorphins.

I hope you drink a tall glass of cold water, then take time for a hot shower and a long nap. I hope you wake up so refreshed that you call a friend about it.

I hope you still hope it will get better, a few moments at a time.

The blessing of surviving long enough to get a haircut he’d hate.

Soon after escaping, I cut my hair into a bob. He would have hated it.

It was a big change from the long, braided waves he loved; an act of defiance that would’ve infuriated him.

So obviously, I went shorter than I’d ever gone with it. I also impulsively decided to go for a curtain of bangs for the first time since elementary school.

Don’t get me wrong, they looked cute as hell. They were also a shield. An attempt to disguise myself; even as I settled into a new home across the country, far from his whiskey and firearms and groping hands. They were perfect.

Nearly five years later, I’m realizing how much my curly curtain of bangs prevented me from actually looking others in the eye.

Wearing them pulled back recently for the first time in years has been such a jarring increase in my field of vision. How much have I been missing with this excuse to keep my gaze down?

It took an old friend pointing out how much more I look like my old self lately to realize what an accomplishment that was.

Now, sometimes I stare in wonder when I catch my reflection, so out of view for years. Is that still the color of my eyes?

As much as cutting it short was for me, maybe it’s about time I let myself start growing it back out.

Take our tears, and that’s not nearly all.

Introduction: Intimate to imperial violence

Abusive tactics naturalize violence across scales, from intimate partner relationships to state border enforcement and colonial expansion. Whether through physical force, exploitative legal frameworks, or narratives framed as protection and care, the outcome remains the same: elimination, exploitation, and control. This abuse follows some predictable patterns. For example, the likelihood of psychological control preceding physical violence (O'Leary 2001), protection rhetoric masks domination (Kaplan 1998), and spatial control produces differential treatment justified through victim-blaming narratives (Rowe 2004). These patterns aren’t coincidental, but structural.

This review organizes existing literature and ideas on imperialism around recurring strategies of domestic violence. Examined will be how patterns of domestic abuse such as psychological degradation, isolation, surveillance, and narrative control function similarly across intimate relationships and imperial projects. Research draws from existing scholarship on settler colonialism and imperialism, as well as patterns in abusive relationships and narratives around domestic violence.

We first establish what abuse looks like at the interpersonal level by observing patterns that naturalize violence. Understanding these parallels is crucial for larger contemporary resistance movements; as abusive structures that operate in intimate relationships also built into broader societal issues like border security, media, law enforcement, and imperial projects, “Abuse does not simply exert power and control, it wields power and control to extract labor, broadly defined: paid and unpaid; sexual, affective, and reproductive” (Chew 2022). These patterns can also help us better understand and be prepared to react to instances of abusive control before they escalate into physical violence.

For your own good: Isolation, surveillance, and control of movement

O'Leary's (2001) empirical review demonstrated how psychological aggression in intimate relationships can exact effects as deleterious as physical abuse, while almost always preceding physical violence. Recurring strategies of interpersonal abuse were identified: verbal denigration (insults, ridicule), isolation and control (restricting access to resources, monitoring behavior and movement), and dominance behaviors (ordering partners around, treating them as servants). Findings revealed psychological aggression, threats, and manipulation predict later physical aggression; with a shocking 72% of women in physically abusive relationships rating emotional abuse as having greater negative impact than physical abuse. The rate at which psychological abuse precedes physical abuse offers a warning for imperialist study: emotional and verbal control mechanisms normalize and excuse violence before physical force ever enters the picture.

Before violence can be normalized, those targeted must first be categorized as less than fully human, less deserving of safety and dignity. Conceptual emptying is introduced as a first step in colonization, where indigenous people are made invisible or categorized as valueless before physical removal (Kundnani and Kumar 2015). Colonizers fabricate discovery of dark, unknown lands, conceptually emptied of humanity and existing culture so their 'wilderness' might be brought to order. Abusers take similar steps to isolate victims; often rewriting history to paint them as the problem and gradually chipping away at their social circles, sense of self, and freedom. This behavior doesn’t happen all at once, but escalates over time (O'Leary 2001).

Whether in intimate or imperial contexts, surveillance was never meant to protect those being watched. It instead produces compounding vulnerability by creating categories of people coded as inherently suspicious or dangerous, restricting movement and autonomy, and twisting those circumstances as evidence for further restriction. Kundnani and Kumar (2015) argue surveillance systems, rather than simply observing pre-existing differences, actively produce racial categories that justify ongoing oppression; enforcing compliance and punishing resistance. Surveillance operates as both a mechanism of control and a tool for producing categories justifying that control.

This surveillance-as-control finds parallels in intimate partner violence. O'Leary's (2001) research documents how psychological abuse includes dominance and isolation tactics: restricting access to resources, monitoring behavior, limiting contact with others, and restricting access to social support or other resources. These controlling behaviors not only observe the victim's movements; they produce a restricted reality, causing immense psychological harm and using symptoms of that harm to justify further control. Victims isolated from friends and family, prevented from working, and monitored constantly are portrayed as dependent, withdrawn, irrational, unwell, or unable to function without their abuser. This opens them up to further isolation and control, as well as devaluation. Zooming back out, Kundnani and Kumar (2015) demonstrated how surveillance produces race as a sociopolitical category through systems like the U.S. census, gang databases, and terrorist watchlists; creating a closed loop where security threats justify surveillance, surveillance reveals threats, and threats justify more surveillance.

Spatial surveillance and control operate to produce different privileges of mobility. Borders aren’t just physical boundaries, but sites determining who can move freely and who faces monitoring, detention, and violence (Rowe 2004). For example, anti-immigration discourse frames racialized migrants as threats requiring monitoring and control, while simultaneously creating and upholding conditions that make migration necessary (ex. economic exploitation and political intervention) and profitable (ex. exploitable labor). Immigrants who cross the border become simultaneously hypervisible to state surveillance systems and invisible as rights-bearing humans. Kundnani and Kumar's (2015) warning that "if real change is to be brought about, the racial history of surveillance will need to be fully confronted—or opposition to surveillance will once again be easily defeated by racial security narratives" applies to resistance across these scales. We can’t resist abuse while accepting existing categories and narratives justifying and covering it up.

In much the same way, domestic violence victims are hypervisible to monitoring both within the physical borders of home and now beyond through current technology. Meanwhile, they find themselves increasingly isolated from support systems that might offer safety or validation (O’Leary 2001). Both systems of control create categories (dangerous/safe, good/bad, compliant/resistant), use surveillance to enforce those categories, then point to the results of surveillance as justification for its escalation.

“When women from countries in the southern region are imprisoned because they have entered this country to escape sexual violence, instead of being granted refugee status, this reinforces the generalized tendency to punish people who are persecuted in their intimate lives as a direct consequence of pandemics of violence that continue to be legitimized by ideological and legal structures” – (Davis 2003).

The victim who is monitored constantly, falsely accused of everything under the sun, and prevented from having independent relationships is analogous to racialized populations labeled as threats, surveilled extensively, and surveillance data used as proof of inherent criminality or danger.

Gendered narratives and imperial nations as abusers

Dominant narratives typically portray globalization and capitalism as enabling upward mobility for women in the global South, yet this framing obscures how imperial economic structures perpetuate gendered violence. Chew’s (2022) research on the Philippines shows how US military and economic interests continued their exploitation, contributing to ongoing abuse both at the governmental and home level while acting as a protector/liberator:

“…structural adjustment has fueled abuse by heightening their gendered precarity: lack of stable housing and livelihood at the intersections of informalization and state abandonment. Domestic abuse is reinforced by urban poor women’s gendered marginalization in the labor market; by a long-standing, dire lack of social safety nets; and by state investments in militarization—all of which are integral facets of a neocolonial political economy of extraction” (Chew 2022).

These structural conditions combine to cyclically trap poor women in both abusive relationships and oppressive, exploitative labor roles. Individual controlling behaviors documented by O'Leary (2001) mirror strategies Kaplan identifies in imperial discourse, where euphemism and narrative control precede and enable physical domination. Kaplan's (1998) analysis of domesticity in relation to external and internal threats parallels abusive relationships, where protection rhetoric justifies control. The term domestic holds double-meaning, linking the individual familial household to the nation while opposing both to anything considered foreign. Kaplan also introduces the idea of imperial domesticity, where women's withdrawal from direct political agency was paradoxically represented as a more potent force for national expansion.

Domestication as a process involves conquering and taming the so-called wild and foreign, thus connecting domestic ideology to imperial efforts. Language of home, safety, and civilization operate across scales to naturalize this xenophobic violence. These narratives were deployed to colonize western territories and sanitize violence of American expansion into a shared origin story (Kaplan 1998). The concept of domesticity united (white) men and women as national allies against racialized others, making demarcations of otherness (non-whiteness) more determining than gender divisions.

Racialization as abuse: Structural dehumanization and categorization

By exploring constructions of U.S. nationalist rhetoric, Rowe (2004) examines violence against racialized bodies. Manmade borders are described as not merely physical, but sites that produce different mobilities and lived experiences. Anti-immigration discourse inverts violence by projecting blame onto racialized bodies, legitimizing state-sanctioned violence while creating an exploitable labor force (Davis 2003). This inversion demonstrates victim-blaming strategies operating at the state level; with abusers blaming victims for their own oppression and ongoing harm while positioning themselves as protectors of order and safety. Political, economic, and state control mechanisms combine to create compounding exploitation (O’Leary 2001).

Wolfe (2006) proposes the term 'structural genocide' to capture ongoing elimination that happens through laws, policies, and institutions over long periods, without always requiring mass killing events. For example, while settler colonialism always seeks to eliminate Indigenous populations, it doesn't always use methods we typically associate with genocide (mass killings, concentration camps, etc.). Elimination is what makes settler colonialism what it is, and genocide is just one method among many: this violent act can be accomplished through forced assimilation, legal frameworks, policy, and what may appear otherwise to be peaceful and legitimate means. That’s because the goal isn’t always explicitly to kill, but to get maximum exploitation with minimal resistance.

What are the ethical, political, and material differences if the outcome is elimination either way? It feels a lot like trying to quantify whether physical abuse is worse than psychological abuse, as though one is any less of a trauma. Both cause profound, long-term harm, and the severity is contextual and complex. With intimate partner violence being as prevalent as it is, at what point do we begin to consider intimate partner violence as it’s own form of genocide?

Compounding harm: Intersectionality and domestic violence

The structural violence that shapes racialized women's lives operates simultaneously at intimate and imperial scales, compounding harm through overlapping systems of oppression. To be a woman in an imperial country means to be surrounded by domestic violence. For racialized women, these experiences compound at every level in oppressive structures that mirror and perpetuate dynamics found in intimate partner violence. Delgado & Stefancic (2017) describe intersectionality as the overlapping identities create unique experiences of oppression. Microaggressions, 'like water dripping on sandstone', erode that sense of identity and cause immense harm over time. Chew (2022) demonstrates how economically marginalized survivors experience repeated cycles of abuse throughout their lives, beginning with childhood violence, continuing through exploitation of domestic work, and persisting in intimate partner relationships. Pathways these individuals may use to seek safety or economic opportunity (including migrating to escape abusive situations) are themselves shaped by structural violence, creating conditions where victims can’t find home, livelihood, and freedom in the same place.

Just as an abusive partner shifts responsibility onto the victim, imperialist states force economically marginalized women to compensate for the state's abdication of its obligations. Abuse simultaneously diminishes victims' worth while exploiting various forms of their labor (whether emotional, sexual, reproductive, or paid): “Urban poor women live at the intersections of interpersonal gendered and state violence at the hands of armed forces” (Chew 2022). This control manifests in many forms: privatization and austerity measures increasing women's unpaid caregiving burdens; globalization's downward pressure on wages pushing women into precarious informal economies as the state refuses to redistribute resources to dispossessed populations; and militarization violently enforcing territorial boundaries and resource extraction.

Legal and social structures in the U.S. have historically legitimized domestic violence while silencing and dehumanizing victims. For example, women could not independently own credit cards until 1974, and employment discrimination remained legal until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (Delgado and Stefancic 2017). Davis (2003) documents how women incarcerated for killing their abusers receive longer sentences than men who kill their partners, revealing how legal structures punish resistance to abuse while enabling its perpetuation

I do not feel 'safer' here because 'the abuse has stopped’. It has not stopped. It has shifted shape and paced itself differently, but it is as insidious and pervasive in prison as ever it was in the world I know outside these walls. What has ceased is my ignorance of the facts concerning abuse—and my willingness to tolerate it in silence."—Marcia Bunney (Davis 2003)

The legal system itself becomes weaponized by abusers who smear victims in court proceedings and drag out divorce, custody, or protection order cases to further traumatize and financially devastate their targets. Similarly, immigration detention facilities trap survivors in impossible positions, where cooperation with law enforcement through mechanisms like U-visas requires engagement with the same state apparatus that surveils, detains, and deports their communities.

Narrative control: Revisionist history

Once legal and social structures establish who can be harmed with impunity, narrative control determines how that harm will be remembered, justified, and perpetuated.  Abusers throughout history have weaponized storytelling to invert responsibility and position themselves as victims or protectors rather than perpetrators. Victim-blaming, protection narratives, surveillance, emotional exploitation; these can operate similarly in domestic violence and nationalist motivations (Ireland 2011). Whoever controls the archive controls the dominant understanding of the past. Narratives of domesticity and home protection from those in power naturalize violence, painting control to sound like care rather than domination. These tactics cause victims to internalize harmful, silencing attitudes and feelings of shame/blame. Deconstructing this rhetoric in individual relationships shows it to be similar to framing of imperial expansion throughout history as protective rather than exploitative.

The way we tell stories, even ones we tell ourselves, can be weaponized. Imperialist nostalgia (Rosaldo 1989) operates through a "pose of innocent yearning" that simultaneously captures people's imaginations while concealing complicity with brutal domination and erasure. Colonizers mourn destruction of the cultures and ways of life they themselves have transformed and destroyed. This mirrors how abusers position themselves as victims, mourning relationships they destroyed while obscuring their own agency and accountability.

Museums, historical databases, even current media; these trusted sources of information are not neutral. They're all funded by someone and thus serve someone's interests. Ireland’s (2011) discussion of museums as "official depositories of history" describes how abusive narratives become institutionalized on a large scale. Unitary language sanitizes and propagandizes violent military history through tourism industries, museums, memorials, and historical texts. They decide which events matter, which sources are reliable, and which stories are worth telling (surprise: in their version, the military is always the hero).

The same acts described with different terms create completely different understandings of what happened: perpetrators become mourners and violence becomes a regrettable necessity to be painted over. If we can recognize this in our personal and national histories, can we learn to rewrite them?

Unitary language, gaslighting and victim blaming

Unitary language sanitizes and propagandizes violent history through avenues like tourism, museums, memorials, and historical texts. This mythology requires maintenance and reinforcement through euphemisms, passive voice, and strategic omission of harms. The past is manipulated to justify the present; so when the U.S. invades, it's for national security, economic interests, and/or spreading democracy. When the "other" resists; they're savage, irrational, terrorists violent for violence's sake. This inversion allows those in power to maintain narratives of American innocence and exceptionalism while creating exploitable labor forces and justifying border militarization. This erases the obvious fact that resistance to occupation is in itself political.

In intimate partner violence, abusers use sanitized language to obscure responsibility and avoid accountability. Recognizing patterns across contexts reveals how power maintains itself through language that obscures ongoing harm and makes domination appear benevolent. Abusive behaviors O'Leary (2001) identifies include not just physical restrictions but heavy control of the narrative. Abusers insult, ridicule, and engage in verbal denigration in ways that break down and rewrites the victim's reality. Recurring criticism, erasure, and emotional abuse cause partners to develop low self-esteem and fear, outcomes parallelling colonial narratives create populations that internalize their own supposed inferiority. When victims do resist or leave, they’re blamed for the relationship's failure or called dismissed as irrational (O'Leary 2001), mirroring how resistant colonized populations are labeled as savage or violent rather than as justified in their opposition (Ireland 2011).

Ocean’s rise, empires fall: Resisting erasure and misinformation

Power maintains itself by obscuring systemic harm, inverting responsibility, and making domination appear like protection. Just as abuse can look the same across systems and scales; so can resistance strategies. This recognition is important for contemporary resistance, because resistance requires not just opposing individual acts of violence but challenging narrative frameworks that make violence appear justified, natural, or protective. Counter-narratives disrupt power structures by making visible what has been obscured and by validating experiences dominant narratives deny. They require access to suppressed or alternative sources of knowledge, depend on communities that can validate counter-narratives, and work by making visible what systems of abuse require to remain hidden.

Resistance strategies that work across scales share common features: they require access to suppressed or alternative sources of knowledge, depend on communities that can validate counter-narratives against dominant stories, and work by making visible what systems of abuse require to remain hidden. We cannot address intimate partner violence without confronting imperial systems that produce vulnerability through border enforcement, economic exploitation, and surveillance. Nor can we resist imperial violence while accepting the intimate forms of domination that train us to see control as care and protection as justification for harm. Recognition of these patterns is only the first step in building resistance movements that challenge abuse wherever it operates.

References

• Arvin, M., Tuck, E., & Morrill, A. (2013). Decolonizing Feminism: Challenging Connections between Settler Colonialism and Heteropatriarchy. Feminist Formations, 25(1), 8–34. https://doi.org/10.1353/ff.2013.0006.
• Chew, H. (2022). On Intimate Reaches of US Empire: Neoliberal Imperialism and Domestic Abuse in Metro Manila. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 47(3), 637–663. https://doi.org/10.1086/717695.
• Davis, A. (2003). Are prisons obsolete? Seven Stories Press.
• Delgado, R. & Stefancic, J. (2017). Critical Race Theory (Third Edition): An Introduction (3rd ed., Vol. 20). NYU Press. https://doi.org/10.18574/9781479851393.
• Ireland, B. The US Military in Hawai’i: Colonialism, Memory and Resistance . 1st edition. Palgrave Macmillan; 2011. doi:10.1057/9780230294592.
• Kaplan, A. (1998). Manifest Domesticity. American Literature, 70(3), 581–606. https://doi.org/10.2307/2902710.
• Kundnani, A. & Kumar, D. (2015). Race, Surveillance, and Empire. Center for Economic Research and Social Change. International Socialist Review, 96. https://doi.org/https://isreview.org/sites/default/files/styles/175x234/public/issue/96/cover-96/index.jpg.
• O'Leary, K. D. (2001). Psychological Abuse: A Variable Deserving Critical Attention in Domestic Violence. In R. D. Maiuro (Ed.), Perspectives on Verbal and Psychological Abuse (pp. 31-56). Springer Publishing Company.
• Rosaldo, R. (1989). Imperialist Nostalgia. Representations, 26(26), 107–122. https://doi.org/10.2307/2928525.
• Rowe, A. (2004). Whose ‘America’? The Politics of Rhetoric and Space in the Formation of U.S. Nationalism. Radical History Review, 89 (Spring), 115–134. https://oldcapitolbooks.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/13272329.pdf.
• Wolfe, P. (2006). Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native. Journal of Genocide Research, 8(4), 387-409.

Something from my time in law enforcement that gives me the willies to this day (aside from all the bigotry) are license plate readers (LPRs) on patrol cars.

LPRs don’t only read the plate of a person being pulled over for a violation. They automatically collect and store plate and location info for every single car they pass, moving or parked.

They track where you drive/park regularly, who you interact with, and whether you have warrants attached to your plate. This information is recorded even if you’re parked in your own driveway. It happens each time the officer passes, further triangulating your movements.

Records are stored in an insecure database where any officer or law enforcement agency can easily search it. They don’t need to provide justification or probable cause to access this info; it’s just one of the many handy databases at their disposal that they pinky promise not to use to violate our constitutional rights .

I used to know cops who’d spend hours driving up and down parking lots, slurping up all that data on innocent people’s movements (only .3%-ish of which actually results in any useful investigative leads). They were looking for petty traffic warrants they could arrest people for as they left the grocery store.

Anything for that number, just as they were trained.

Tracking your every move: Now powered by AI!

In case cameras on patrol cars weren’t intrusive enough, for the past several years Automated License Plate Readers (ALPRs) have been quietly installed in cities across the country to capture ever-more intrusive information about passing vehicles.

Probable cause who?

Has surveillance helped catch people wanted for serious crimes? Sure. But those people were being surveilled because they were wanted for serious crimes.

Does that mean every single person should give up their constitutional right to privacy and be tracked 24/7? What can we do now that our government isn’t bothering to ask?

Combine these AI-powered cameras with those already on patrol cars, streetlights, and highways? The government pretty much knows where to find you at all times. This results in dragnet policing; a recipe for profiling, dangerous errors, and abuses of power.

It should scare you that they’re storing all that info about people who haven’t been accused of anything at all. It should scare you that you likely had no idea.

Surveillance has long been a tactic used by abusers and oppressive governments to instill fear and maintain control. But there are ways to resist.

My abusive ex is still a cop in my home state, by the way. He has a long history of violence, abusing power, and using cameras in our home (as well as other technology) to monitor me during and after our relationship. Understand now why I’m halfway across the country?

Tell your city council representatives to get ALPR companies like Flock Safety the flock out of your town! Copy the template below, then hit the button to spread the word.

Message template

Subject: End mass surveillance in [LOCATION]

Dear mayor/councilmember/representative [NAME],

I’m a neighbor in the city of [LOCATION] writing to request your commitment to ending [LOCATION]’s mass surveillance contract with Flock Safety and other ALPR companies.

As of this writing, there are [##] known Flock cameras operating in the [LOCATION] area. These systems are marketed as a safety measure, but are in fact a data grift. They capture data from all vehicles, not just those driven by people suspected of crimes:

“Automated License Plate Readers (ALPRs or LPRs) are AI-powered cameras that capture and analyze images of all passing vehicles, storing details like your car’s location, date, and time. They also capture your car’s make, model, color, and identifying features such as dents, roof racks, and bumper stickers, often turning these into searchable data points.” —DeFlock

These systems are marketed as tools to fight crime, but they ignore tools police already have to track criminals (such as cell phone location data) to create a loophole that doesn’t require a warrant. Companies that make ALPRs have a history of poor security practices, which can lead to data breaches and unauthorized access to sensitive information. Additionally, these systems are object of numerous ongoing lawsuit for violating rights of citizens.

Use of ALPRs is a clear violation of our 4th amendment rights to privacy and protection against unreasonable searches and seizures:

“In our society, it is a core principle that the government does not invade people’s privacy and collect information about citizens’ innocent activities just in case they do something wrong. Clear regulations must be put in place to keep the government from tracking our movements on a massive scale.”—ACLU

I don’t want data about my community shared with government and third-party agencies without cause. There is no evidence these cameras function as a deterrent. There is no real-time response to threats. They’re a threat to our privacy and safety, and only serve as a gift of our data to the growing surveillance state.

Please act now to end the mass surveillance contract with Flock Safety/other ALPR vendors. Say no to normalizing oppressive control of our community.

Thank you for addressing these concerns.

References

• ACLU. You Are Being Tracked: How License Plate Readers Are Being Used To Record Americans’ Movements.
• Consumer Rights. Common Questions, Arguments, & Responses When Discussing Flock Surveillance.
• DeFlock. What are ALPRs?
• Hofer, J. The Independent Institute. The Pitfalls of Law Enforcement License Plate Readers in California and Safeguards to Protect the Public.

Why can I barely look at the page lately?

It’s not that I’ve been avoiding you intentionally, I promise. I couldn’t possibly. It’s just that I was more or less running on cookies, wine, and caffeine for a redacted period of time. Several missed anxiety meds implied.

December is a hard time of year (traumaversary-wise) and it always sneaks up on me. Holiday cheer takes a bit of extra energy when you’re constantly waiting on the jump scare. Then, of course, there’s the general state of the world right now: political violence, media suppression, abuses of power. It’s hard to even keep up, much less feel like there’s anything we can do.

But all of the above is also exactly why we’re here, isn’t it?

Things feel scary. I’m scared every day, and with ever-increasing evidence that’s the correct vibe. The struggle with burnout is basically the new normal for us all at this point, no?

But we will not let our voices be swallowed up or silenced.

The timeline our world is in (largely due to the gleeful madness of abusive leaders) is something that needs artists, researchers, and writers more than ever. Our art is our resistance. If we aren’t documenting and calling attention to the crimes being committed at every level, we risk allowing them to be erased like so many others in the imposed historical record.

How do we move without any clue where to go from here? How do we regain momentum without the same hope of retribution or recovery we had before? What exactly is our motivation? Our call to action?:

This is a time to create. Even when you can’t bring yourself to share your own work: Make. Read. Think. Connect. Support.

While you’re at it: Breathe. Get a good rest when you can. Finish your entire meal. Keep your strength up in the ways most important to you. For goodness sake, unclench your jaw.

It’s a lot to ask, for sure. But we will not let them make us disappear.

We did it, friends.

For almost 10 years now, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on a copy of the police report from the night my ex tried to shoot me.

While violence, abuse, and even threats with weapons were a semi-regular occurrence in those 5 years; this was the only documented report of police involvement. Not that they did much of anything helpful; but that’s a story for another article.

All this time, I’ve been so scared he’d somehow find out, since he still to my knowledge works in law enforcement.

…I know, right? The fuck.

Still, a combination of things recently convinced me to finally go for it. I wanted that tangible proof in my hands, even if it was scary.

And it was scary.

I had to travel to my home state to notarize the request, something I found kind of fucked up considering the circumstances, no? But I’d been planning on visiting family anyway; so I put it on my to do list while I was there.

The moment I touch down at the airport each visit, my nervous system screams for me to get the hell out of there. A low buzz of panic follows me anytime I’m in public; but here it’s an aid call.

As the notary was checking my ID to fill out the request, she mentioned that until a couple years ago she lived in the city I live in now. She was wildly homesick for it.

I said the same to her. I love my new city, but I miss the hell out of my hometown.

At the same time, I also hate being back. That feeling of being surveilled by a ghost who could materialize around any corner. Home is a place I love and fear in battling measure.

The notary told me to write “not applicable” next to additional parties. I joked that we probably wouldn’t be getting the other party’s signature.

I loved that she laughed so easily at that. This is a person who’s seen things.

She mentioned that she used to work at a used bookstore near my current home. She missed the little punch cards they used to have.

Imagine her random moment of joy when I pulled one of the half-filled cards out of my wallet and told her it was my favorite local bookstore. We compared dates, and it’s completely possible we may have run into one another at some point in our overlapping times in town.

She signed her name.

It was the same first name as me.

Also yeah, if I get disappeared now, you know what it is.

What’s ours to own and what’s ours to let go of?

After years of manipulation and societal conditioning tried to dim her light, The Mediocre Black Woman uses her passions for leadership and storytelling to create a welcoming space for Black women to embrace their humanity, reject perfectionism, and rediscover the joy in simply being. Her work recently earned her an award for Best Personal Journals as a Podcast from the 2025 Black Podcasting Awards!

I was thrilled to join Goddess Theadora as a guest to discuss the connections between race, age, and sexuality in our society. We compared notes on narcissistic manipulation, the importance of sexual education in schools, and young women pushed into adulthood without adequate preparation.

Emotional abuse and devaluation ripple across time and bleed into larger systems built by imperfect humans. It can influence our behaviors, beliefs, moods, future relationships, and even our health in ways we don’t always recognize. Conversations like this are important because they allow us to build safety, reclaim our sense of reality, and zoom out and discover patterns together.

In speaking with Thea, the love and compassion she has for others is so clear. I truly enjoyed the opportunity to reflect with her on how difficult it can be to save a bit of that support for ourselves.

It just takes time. Oh, wait, no. Forgot to turn the page. It also takes distance. Long, restless naps; staring accusingly at ceilings. Trying to force a fast forward on time’s syrupy passage.

It takes hikes in the desert, wondering if you should find a cave. Start yourself a new little life far from everything that hurts. You set out alone to scream from the mountaintop; only to find yourself weeping quietly at the peak.

It takes cozying up to the idea Of 4 in the mornings. Of grinding teeth when you do sleep; Fending monsters you know well. Getting a smidge too lit, yet somehow never enough to balm the mystery ache that never quite goes.

It takes crying in the bathroom. While you cook dinner. When you fold the socks. Sometimes even out in the street, on a trip with friends (one of whom you don’t know well enough yet), all because you passed an especially triggering mailbox.

But you wake the next morning, more than a bit hungover. Apologize for the burden of your ugliest tears. Dip your feet in the hotel pool. Devour beignets in dark sunglasses, and begin to steel yourself to catch the next one that falls.

Decorum goes out the window quick when you can’t breathe.

You give a startled cough, and a second follows almost immediately when you try to take a deep inhale. Your body reacts as though you’d tried to siphon smoke from a volcano.

You were headed home from a party together; wandering through campus on a crisp autumn night. He can’t see you like this. Even if it means crawling the rest of the way to your dorm.

Panic makes the coughing worse, which makes the panic worse. You try your best not to spin out into infinity, but it’s compoundingly unavoidable.

You’re a snowball, rolling down a hill. Oh, no you aren’t, you’re just starting to pass out. You need to slow your breathing if you have any chance of preventing a full-blown asthma attack.

You hold onto a gangly tree for support; slowly sinking down against it as carefully as possible. He refuses to leave; asks what you need.

What do you need? You need him to stop looking at you; need him to stop seeing you suffocating to death so humiliatingly in front of him.

But you can’t tell him that, because someone has shoved a shop vac into your lungs and is sucking out all of your oxygen out like they’re those storage bags for comforters.

He sees you struggling to regulate your breathing; puts his hand on your shoulder. Takes a slow, exaggerated breath in through his nose. Show off.

Still, the corners of your consciousness are getting fuzzy, so what the hell? As slowly as possible, you begin as deep an inhale as you dare.

In. Cough. Out. In. Cough. Out.

You’re so fucking tired of this shit. Your lungs have held you hostage all your life; keeping you from sports and outdoor adventures.

Since you started running in high school, you’ve grown slowly stronger. It reduced the asthma attacks, but couldn’t prevent them completely. Allergies and cold weather make them so much worse, hence this latest humiliation.

You breathe in tandem until the attack begins to wane. Your breathing is still ragged and wheezy, but you’d caught it early enough that were able to avoid a more serious attack.

The coughing begins to feel less like breathing through a coffee straw and more like you’ve finally broken the surface of a choppy lake. You fight to keep your breath slow, lest you trigger more coughing, as you greedily fill your lungs with the sweet oxygen it’d been starved of.

As if it hadn’t been all around you. As if it wasn’t your body itself keeping it from you.

You wipe the tears that have leaked into the corners of your eyes.

He slips his hand into yours. Your heart races, but not in the life-threatening way.

The inciting incident

Origins and escalation of a multi-abuser survivor

Surviving multiple instances of abuse is far more common than you think.

I started to type that this was the worst thing I’d ever been through, but that unfortunately isn’t even close to true. It feels more like an inciting incident. The careless elbow knocking the car into neutral on a hill, starting it rolling down, down.

Any negative sexual encounter can, of course, have long-lasting effects, but a traumatic first experience can set the tone for what a person believes relationships and sex are supposed to look like. This is especially true in a society where children aren’t properly educated on sex, consent, and healthy relationships.

My only prior experience with the opposite sex had been one of my best friends, S. I was head over heels for years, but he didn’t reciprocate. While our hookups were steamy by my naive standards, they were also beautifully innocent.

I wasn’t ready to have sex, especially not with someone with whom I wasn’t in a relationship. He knew this and never pressured me. While we’d spend all night kissing and holding each other, that was as far as it went.

Near the end of high school, S started dating a girl from another school. By the time he and I began attending the same college, we’d had a pretty solid run of being “just friends”. The feelings were still there for me, but I was doing my best to be happy for him while enjoying the opportunity to meet new people.

Formal

It was the formal party for S’s fraternity (or whatever they’d decided to call it. Something sexist, probably). His girlfriend couldn’t make it, so he asked if I wanted to go with him.

I deflated a bit when I found out he’d also invited two of our other female friends. All as friends, of course. Of course.

Despite my pining, we were all having a really fun time. Three dates meant we all got to play beer pong at the same time, and we were running the table while talking smack over free mixed drinks.

I went to the bar for another round, where I got talking to C, a handsome senior with a sob story about his date standing him up. He perked up at the mention of S’s multiple dates and us being there as friends.

C asked if he could be my teammate for the next game of beer pong, which we won. I remember him wanting to “cheers” after each cup we made. I was relishing the attention of a cute older boy while secretly wondering if it was making S jealous. This was college, BABY!

At one point, C brought me a strong whiskey Coke, then goaded me into chugging it. Enjoying the attention, I obliged. He made us each another, then asked if I wanted to watch a show in his room upstairs.

Knowing what I know now, it’s ironic that he picked Louis CK’s1 standup.

The futon

His room was pretty typical of what you’d imagine of a fraternity house: lofted bunk beds, cheap wooden dressers, empty alcohol bottles as decor, big TV. C and I sat on his futon (of course there was a futon), and it wasn’t long before we were kissing.

I’d never hooked up with someone I’d just met, but at first, it was nice. He tried to take my dress off, but I didn’t want to.

He quickly relented in a disarming way that made me feel like I could trust him. He asked if I wanted to take off the spandex shorts I had under my dress instead.

I stumbled as I did, realizing at that moment I was too drunk. I was also highly embarrassed because he compared my shorts to shape wear, like the type his running coach made him wear.

His eyes watching me from the futon made me feel on display in a way that made me itch.

He became even more aggressive as he lay me down on the futon. He put his full weight on me, kissing too deeply with too much tongue. I felt like I was drowning, but trying to push his tongue out of my mouth with my own was being treated as a challenge.

Frat party toilet paper

I was a virgin, and the idea that he’d want to have sex minutes after meeting didn’t really enter my mind. I’d made out and messed around, but there had always been a line that needed permission to be crossed.

Any kind of permission.

A word.

A pause.

A nod.

Down.

Down.

He was still kissing too hard while fumbling to (I thought) play with me with one hand. Then suddenly I saw stars as he shoved painfully inside of me.

When had he taken his pants off? Had he even taken them off?

I’m sure to him my protests came out like moans as he continued to force-feed me his tongue.

When he finally broke away it was to ask if I’d “ever done anal”.

I whispered that I’d never done anything, failing to blink away tears from this foreign pain.

Why was I suddenly so embarrassed?

What had just happened?

Was that sex?

When he registered what I meant he was immediately angry, but he didn’t look panicked or sorry. He looked too calm. Like he was nervous I’d scream, but had already decided how he’d react if I did.

He let me go and I stood quickly, pulling my dress back down over my hips. There was blood on the futon. It ran down my legs and onto the floor.

I wanted to disappear.

So naturally, it was at that moment that S knocked on the door.

C told me to get cleaned up and threw me my shorts, but opened the door a second too soon. S’s eyes were on me, but I was too ashamed to meet them as I rushed into the bathroom to clean the blood off.

The giant, 1-ply (I’d guess 1/2 ply if that was a thing) toilet paper roll didn’t fit on the holder and had clearly been stolen from campus. Trying to wet it with water from the sink only created a hopelessly soggy, dissolving mess, so I got a corner of my white shorts wet to clean up the blood. I then had to put them back on, ruined, in the hopes they’d keep the blood from leaking down my legs until I could get back to my dorm.

While trying to compose myself, I overheard S saying one of our friends had too much to drink and that they were going back to our dorm. I texted him that I’d meet them out in the parking lot, hoping the darkness would hide my disheveled appearance and flaming skin.

When I reentered the bedroom a few minutes later it was empty, so I gathered my things and left.

Ponytail

As we got into the sober driver’s car, I put my sick friend’s hair up using the ponytail I always had around my wrist. I was thankful for any task that didn’t require meeting S’s eyes, which were boring into me from the rearview mirror.

I’d always found it easier to stay calm when I could focus on someone else who needed help. Looking back, I’m grateful our friend hadn’t been left alone while she was too drunk.

I lay in bed the whole next day, and the one after that. I pretended I was hungover or sick. I was still bleeding heavily and had horrible stomach cramps.

I saw C at a party a few weeks later. He drunkenly said he had a great time with me and tried to placate me with a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

Then we never spoke of it again. Because we never spoke again. And I never spoke of it again. Not to anyone who believed me, anyway.

The catalyst

Research2 suggests that abuse survivors are at a significant risk for future re-victimization. Since this incident, I have survived two long-term abusive relationships3 featuring abuses of all categories. Each abuser has been more violent, extreme, and lasting in nature than the last.

Why does this happen so often to survivors?

One common explanation is that previous experiences and knowledge can affect one’s ability to recognize and avoid abusive behaviors. Survivors may be left with a distorted sense of what constitutes a healthy relationship. Like an immune system suppressed by a virus, unresolved trauma can leave one vulnerable to being victimized further.

This cycle of revictimization is not inevitable, however. There’s hope for breaking the cycle and healing from the trauma of abuse. Seeking support from a therapist or counselor, joining a support group, and learning about healthy relationships and boundaries4 are all ways to empower oneself and increase the likelihood of forming healthy relationships in the future.

I truly believe teaching the next generation these tools and spreading awareness can help potential victims of sexual assault and domestic abuse, which is the reason I’m speaking out now.

It takes strength and courage to confront the effects of abuse, but it is possible to heal and thrive together.

If you are currently in an abusive relationship, please know there can be an after. Reach out to a trusted friend or family member, call a helpline, or find a therapist who specializes in trauma. There are resources available online, such as the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence5.

You may feel isolated and hopeless right now, but you are not alone.

Hide & Speak is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Trauma sucks. Recovery shouldn't.

1. Coyle, J. (2023, Sept. 12). A new documentary reexamines the Louis CK scandal, 6 years later. AP News. https://apnews.com/article/louis-ck-documentary-tiff-sorry-not-sorry-4b27f0ba37fc75fdfa10460606581e68.
2. Walker, H., Freud, J., Ellis, R., Fraine, S., & Wilson, L. (2019). The Prevalence of Sexual Revictimization: A Meta-Analytic Review. Trauma, Violence & Abuse. 20(1), 67–80. PubMed. https://doi.org/10.1177/1524838017692364.
3. Wren, V. (2023, May 13). We Both Reached for the Gun: Fighting to stay alive in my own home [Substack]. Trauma Sucks. Recovery Shouldn’t. https://veronicawren.substack.com/p/we-both-reached-for-the-gun-5f5502f9beca. [Originally published on Medium.]
4. Cleveland Clinic. (2022, Jul. 12). How To Set Healthy Boundaries In Relationships. Cleveland Clinic. https://health.clevelandclinic.org/how-to-set-boundaries
5. The Hotline. (n.d.). National Domestic Violence Hotline. Retrieved Jul. 4, 2025, from https://www.thehotline.org.

Reads for the exhausted activist

Oct. 2025 book club

Do you know what was probably not a great idea? Trying to read a nonfiction book about a law enforcement whistleblower in October 2025.

As much as it’s highly relatable and incredibly well-written, I was having trouble motivating myself to actually get into it due to tired gesture. It was just a little too close to home with our current reality in the U.S. and it was unwittingly causing me to avoid reading altogether.

Growing up, my mom always told me I was burning the candle at both ends. Between personal research, school, work, and volunteer efforts, I’ve been activisting a bit too hard for too long, and it’s far past time to admit it’s burning me out.

I decided to save that read for next month, when hopefully I have a bit more bandwidth, and give my nervous system a little rest for at least one of my extracurriculars. I’m trying my best (and sometimes almost succeeding) to not hold too much shame in that.

That’s how, on another lovely insomnia evening, I decided my brain needed some comfort food.

Enter…

The Heartbreak Hotel

Ellen O’Clover

• Thriftbooks
• Kindle

What I really loved about this book was not only personally relatable it was, although goodness it was in many ways. What I really appreciated was how it addressed trauma, and the ways it can affect relationships and development at multiple stages of long term growth.

Meeting such a delightful variety of fictional characters going through their worst moments; and seeing how they showed up for one another and themselves, was so needed in this moment.

People who’ve been through similar traumas; whether breakups, loss, or abuse, can have wildly different responses. Two people who go through the exact same event can have completely different experiences and be affected differently. Yet we can still relate to the pain we see one another going through.

This book was a lovely depiction of two people who’ve been hurt in such different ways learning to see and understand one another through communication; even when those conversations are a little bumpy.

I think that’s such a gift of learning to talk about trauma that I don’t know if I’ve put into words before. It’s ok to be actively learning how to cope with something. That won’t always look perfect, but as long as you’re open about how it’s affecting you others will be there to support you.

Most of my very closest friends are people who have been through incredibly hard things. I would argue that most people have been through incredibly hard things. It’s just that some people learn how to talk about it and some don’t.

Those who don’t feel so lonely. And loneliness is mean. It tells you that people are right to stay away. That you’re broken and no one cares.

But they do. I do.

Top quotes

“I believe every word I said: nature is the greatest force of calm I’ve ever known. There’s nothing better for my own enormous feelings than to be made to feel small.”

“You trusting me feels like love. Because you’re so smart, and so successful, and when you trust me — it makes me trust me, too. I need that from you.”

The Black Angels: The Untold Story of the Nurses Who Helped Cure Tuberculosis

Maria Smilios

• Thriftbooks
• Kindle

(Did I say something about taking a break from activism? Don’t worry, I decided to revisit a book I loved from a few months back.)

It’s a gorgeous thing to read a book where the author is clearly so passionate about the subject matter. That was very much the case in The Black Angels: The Untold Story of the Nurses Who Helped Cure Tuberculosis.

Smilios’ highly-researched deep dive into the lives of these compassionate trailblazers is a powerful reminder of the importance of intersectionality in healthcare.

By centering narratives of Black women who were nurses at the forefront of the deadly TB epidemic, she illuminates a critical aspect of medical history that’s been glossed over for far too long.

The story of The Black Angels offers a stark contrast to the often sanitized portrayal of medical progress; highlighting issues like unethical experimentation, inhumane treatment, and lack of access to resources. Their composure in the face of appalling conditions and systemic racism is both inspiring and heartbreaking.

The distrust many underserved communities hold towards the medical field is rooted in historical injustices like those documented in this book. Smilios’s work shines a light on the complex and often oppressive systems that have shaped healthcare in America, making The Black Angels an essential read for anyone interested in digging up the toxic roots of health disparities.

Top quotes

“Maps and lines had defined her entire life. They were drawn throughout history, straightened, elongated, bent up and down by people who met in town halls and state capitals and now in the federal government. She had spent too many years confined inside those lines, told where to go, when, and for how long. She had come here to change her life, to live as a professional, and to put down new roots.”

Get literature

Something I find beautiful about book clubs is the space and opportunity to share insightful ideas about things we value. There are countless incredible, intersectional accounts of activism, art, and experiences out there; and I intend to share them in a new resistance reading community.

My free newsletter highlights 2 books each month: one fiction and one nonfiction. Read what you want, when you have bandwidth. Hop in and out of the conversation. It’s a cozy evening in with loved ones.

Read it & Weed book club: Get literature

For the grassroots activist who sometimes needs a moment outside

If they want to take our education, they'll have to try harder than that. What they can never understand (and the reason they’ll ultimately fail) is that we are a community. We protect one another.

They want to prevent us from organizing? Unfortunately for them, my contributions to the resistance are reading a bunch and being organized as hell.

Something I find beautiful about book clubs is the space and opportunity to informally share insightful new ideas about things we value. There are countless incredible, intersectional accounts of activism, art, and experiences out there; and I intend to share them in a new resistance reading community.

I’ll highlight 2 books in my free Substack newsletter each month: one fiction and one nonfiction. I may also share curated reading lists by community request.

These may be what I’m currently reading, or just great reads I find topical/important. Maybe there will be some books you wouldn't have otherwise picked up; which is amazing. I’d love to hear how your own experiences shaped your review, as well as recommendations on what I should read next.

Want to read ahead?

Those who want to dive deeper can join us in the Read It & Weed discussion community. I’ll be sharing prompts, quotes I loved, recommendations for further reading, and thoughts on each topic. I encourage you to jump in with your own comments!

Don’t have time to commit to a full book? You’re still invited to the group chat! The point is feeling connected to others in this time of massive worry and anger.

We're all busy as hell and the world has gone mad. That’s why there’s intentionally no monthly subscription fee. Who needs that extra pressure?

Read what you want, when you have time and bandwidth. Hop in and out of the conversation. It’s a cozy evening in with loved ones.

For a limited time, new paid subscribers to Hide & Speak will receive lifetime access to the discussion community on Notion, including instant updates and commenting access.

Access will also be available for a flat fee in my shop. Did I mention paid subscribers and founders will also receive a discount on my brand new merch?

Part of the fun is that there's so much more to come. Be sure to check back as updates on books, reviews, and new features are added.

In five years’ time

The luxury of looking ahead

This weekend, I’m “celebrating” (?) five years since my last sexual assault.

Five years since I’ve had to sneak around the house, hiding as many guns as I could find from my blacked-out abuser (never could get them all).

Five years since I’ve had to lock myself in the spare room with my dogs and sleep on the floor.

Five years since I’ve worried about catching something from the women he was cheating with.

Five years since I’ve had to feel complicit in excuses about his extreme drinking problems; glossing over what was happening to me behind closed doors.

Five years since I’ve wondered if tonight would be the night the gun would go off again.

I can’t believe I get to wonder: what will the next five years bring?

Recovery that doesn’t suck: Reading guide

The best of exposing the baddest

I wanted to take a moment to sincerely thank you for taking the time to check out my work. I so appreciate you. To thank you for joining us (and to get any new friends up to speed), I’ve pulled together some of my most popular work to date.

Articles below have been recognized in some way; whether by winning an award or contest, hitting Top Story (Vocal+), or receiving a Medium Boost.

Health advocacy

Societal Response to Sexually 'Naive' Victims: #WhyIDidntReport

April 10, 2025

Staying Soft in a Harsh World (Out of Spite)

September 18, 2024

Hidden Costs and Lasting Shame of Financial Abuse

December 25, 2023

Essays

The Hazy Intersection of Vulnerability and Visibility in Writing

January 12, 2025

Sorry for Browning Out at Your Baby Shower, My Dog is Dying

November 18, 2024

Dearest Extroverts and Mentally Well Buds: You Can Keep Your Peak Hours

July 15, 2024

Chalk Therapy: Overcoming Trauma Symptoms Through Climbing

June 18, 2024

Takeaways from 2 Years of Duolingo Spanish

June 10, 2024

4 Ways My CPTSD Brain is Annoying as Hell Today

March 5, 2024

Are They Dismissive Avoidant or Just a Dismissive Asshole?

July 1, 2023

The Annoying Trauma Response Born of Narcissistic Abuse

May 24, 2023

Poetry

Hair Ties That Bind

August 6, 2023

Stripped Teas

May 27, 2023

I’ll be traveling a lot the next couple weeks and prepping for class to begin again.

If I can manage to stay away, I may use the time as a reprieve from the heavy work of writing about the politics affecting community health. Lord knows we could all use one.

Til then, catch me by the water with a book!

Donations and optional paid subscriptions directly support my dream of building a free, welcoming, researched-based community.

If an article above teaches you something or helps you feel less alone, I’d be honored if you’d consider showing your support!

Google AI may be orangewashing Trump's legacy before our eyes

How algorithmic bias shapes collective memory and understanding

Unregulated AI systems can be manipulated to benefit the powerful while silencing those who challenge them.

When the most widely-used search engine in the world suppresses documented evidence of a powerful man's hateful rhetoric while pushing "inspirational" content about that same figure, we’re seeing algorithmic bias in real-time.

In light of the Trump Justice Department’s recent attempts to deny the existence of the Epstein client list, this seemed too oddly relevant not to share.

Last night, I was reviewing one of my recent research articles to repurpose for another platform. It’s an analysis of the #WhyIDidntReport movement, which gained popularity in 2018 after Dr. Christine Blasey Ford accused Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh of sexual assault.

Trump, who nominated Kavanaugh to the position, sent out a Tweet criticizing Ford, sparking backlash from 700,000+ survivors who used the #WhyIDidntReport to share stories of coercion, distrust, and fear that had kept them from formal reporting.

I was checking links and making sure everything was formatted correctly, as one does when they’re meticulous af.

When I went to cite one quote, “A man’s life is in tatters” (said by Trump about Kavanaugh after the allegations), Google’s AI Overview inexplicably insisted Trump had never said that:

Having done a metric crap-ton of research on this subject just weeks earlier, I absolutely knew this to be a valid quote. Yet when I scrolled past the AI Overview to the actual results, nothing on the first few pages contained anything remotely close to what I was looking for.

I’d love to point out that they couldn’t even find enough nice/inspiring things Trump has said to fill the first page of results. That stolen Victor Frankl quote? Amazing.

When I went back to the AI Overview to look at the source it was supposedly citing about the quote being false, it led to an article written back in 2015 about a completely unrelated (and debunked) Trump meme. The overall call of that article was bizarrely (or maliciously?) to be more suspicious when it comes to anti-Trump messaging.

How interesting.

If that wasn’t weird enough, the bot was also pushing… inspirational Trump propaganda? It even cautioned me to be careful where I get my information:

I think I can speak for all of us when I say: AI-brow raise?!

Failing, as usual, to heed the cryptic warning, I dug into my previous research until I found footage of the rally I was looking for on Youtube (below).

The video has 31k views and was shared by the official account of the Associated Press, so why does AI absolutely insist Trump did not say those words?

And you know what, Google? Just for making me sit through this victim-blaming drivel again, I typed up the entire video to help you remember it better. The entire quote went like:

Couldn’t resist slipping in the mention of how attractive the young daughters were, could he? Vomit.

Trump's statements about women, assault survivors, and marginalized communities aren't just controversial opinions; they're documented evidence of a pattern of dehumanization with real-world consequences. Rhetoric like this directly reinforces the cultural narrative that false accusations are more dangerous than actual assault.

Now that I had a more complete quote, I tried searching the entire thing to see if AI would properly attribute it to Trump. Zero results found.

Since I’m a nosy little investigator, I tried a shorter section. Interestingly, while the AI Overview showed completely unrelated results about break-ups, there were a few actual search results that did refer to the quote:

Why didn’t these results show before, and why does Google seem to be so determined not to speak ill of Trump? Is it burying only specific quotes, or is the intention to suppress all negative results related to him?

The tech industry's homogeneous leadership (predominantly white, wealthy men) inevitably shapes our systems in ways that protect their interests and supports their views. This creates an environment where powerful men's reputations are valued over women's safety and dignity.

These systems aren't neutral. They're trained on data curated by humans with inherent biases, then deployed by corporations with financial and political incentives to maintain existing power structures.

When AI systems become the primary way people access information, their biases reflect and amplify existing power structures. The result is AI that systematically protects the powerful while undermining those who challenge them. Yet another oppressive system created and controlled by abusive men.

This sanitization of the historical record has profound implications for democracy and accountability. If we can't access documented evidence of how our leaders speak about victims, how can we hold them accountable for their actions?

Algorithmic bias is actively silencing the legitimate criticism of powerful figures. This is particularly troubling given the context of the quote that sparked this rabbit hole: the dismissal and silencing of sexual assault victims.

This technological dimension adds a new layer to understanding why survivors don't report. By casting doubt on documented statements minimizing sexual assault, these systems contribute to the very culture of disbelief keeping victims silent.

This is why we must remain vigilant against all forms of oppression, including those that come disguised as helpful technology. It’s not about just one quote or one politician, it's about who controls the historical record in the digital age.

…It’s also about the fact that Trump is absolutely on Epstein’s client list.

Anyway, always remember to fact-check and subscribe in case this article gets scrubbed from the internet!

Falling apart (but make it art)

Trauma recovery by design

Sometimes I have to laugh when I think about how cliché of a survivor I am; trying to make my pain into meaningful art.

But you know what? I’m proud to be a part of this group of tortured artists.

It’s wildly badass to have endured what we did and to be able to express that in the ways that best serve our healing, whatever that looks like. Often, that’s all a survivor can do; our only real retribution.

If my writing and research manage to reach one person who’s been where I was and could benefit, that’s all I really need. To me, that’s therapy.

So go ahead. Take that pain and make it all gorgeous. Feel that anger, then find a way to release it bit-by-bit; in words or paint spatters or candle making or aerial yoga.

Find community in it. Revel in it. Reclaim your sense of self and inspire action in others with it.

Your creations will look different as you move through recovery and experience the emotions that come with it. Let them be as jagged or as soft as you need them to feel. Allow them all to be valid, accepted parts of you.

While you’re at it: scream, dance, laugh, break down completely, and learn to feel safe all over again from scratch. Repeat as needed.

If you’re comfortable sharing; I’d love to see examples of your art, whatever form it takes! Perhaps you’ll even reach someone else who really needs it.

Nobody wants to talk about your abuse

Surviving without the heroic ending

How unoriginal of a topic is domestic violence? It’s so ridiculously common that sometimes I stress out about how I could ever bring something new to the conversation.

What’s worse is, I didn’t even formally report mine. I survived, more or less played dead, then ran for my fucking life across the country.

That’s it. No savior. No policy change. No heroic ending with my abuser behind bars. No Goodbye Earl revenge montage.

Just another woman chewed up and spit out by the putrid, smug grin of a man.

Another cisgender, straight, white man whose upbringing and societal experience primed him for violence and privilege; skating by sans repercussions.

Another victim who survived knowing her successful escape hinged on other women taking her place.

It’s exceedingly rare to find someone who genuinely wants to talk about your domestic abuse. As soon as it’s mentioned it’s like a totally different mood. Forecast calls for uncomfortable silences, pitying looks, and rapid subject changes.

A well-known and highly common move of abusers is to isolate their victim from loved ones, and we all play right into their hands. We don’t want to risk an uncomfortable conversation, so we ignore the warning signs. None of our business, right?

As a result, domestic violence is treated as something that just happens. Tragic, yet inevitable.

But it’s not.

Talking more openly about abuse; whether before, during, or after actually encountering it, gives everyone involved in the conversation a better chance of fighting back. And that’s absolutely doing something.

Writing is mostly me attempting to get it all off of my chest so I can finally file it away in the past. As if a haunted house could become anything other than a tourist attraction (and a target of skepticism) by letting the world see its ghosts.

Processing trauma is a heavy burden, but being able to write about them helps me put those memories down. Not permanently, not yet; but it does help me at least take a rest to breathe before picking them back up.

Sometimes I even dare to imagine they feel a bit lighter.

St. Louis tornadoes show need for grassroots disaster response

Show me mutual aid

Times of crisis highlight existing gaps and failures in our official systems. However, they can also show strength of community networks and possibilities for restructuring.

Tornadoes the weekend of May 16, 2025, tore a 23-mile path through St. Louis, Missouri. The disaster left seven dead, 38 injured, and an estimated $1.6 billion in damage to homes, schools, and businesses.

Long-known gaps in coverage in St. Louis’s emergency alert system reportedly left historically underserved areas of North City without warning of the incoming storm.

If this weren’t enough, it took nearly a month for the Trump administration to approve the federal disaster declaration in the aftermath; leaving families in limbo awaiting basic assistance. It took over a month for the first FEMA center to finally open in the city to help those affected.

What exactly was the hold up in aid? Why did thousands spend weeks without basic resources like power, shelter, food, and medical care?

The answer lies in a version of history many would prefer to forget; one which continues to play out each time we ignore it.

The storm’s path tore through areas infamous for redlining, racism, and violence going back long before the city’s founding. As a result of this oppressive infrastructure, already underserved communities in St. Louis were left, as usual, to organize their own recovery.

The May 2025 storms weren’t just a singular natural disaster: they were a predictable amplification of existing structural violence. St. Louis is located in a region of the midwestern United States colloquially dubbed Tornado Alley due to the frequency and intensity of tornadic activity and other severe weather. It’s located in a flood plain, with many areas prone to dangerous floods and ice storms.

Despite well-documented evidence that escalating climate emergencies are intwined with institutional racism, federal programs continue to leave those most vulnerable unprepared and unsupported.

The same chronically under-resourced neighborhoods that are over-policed daily are the first to be governmentally abandoned or violently militarized (often some combination) when disaster strikes.

In St. Louis, this meant generationally black-owned homes and businesses, communities that have fought so hard for a shred of safety and security, were left sifting through the rubble themselves.

St. Louis blues: A harmful history

Looking at a map of the tornado’s path, we can heartbreakingly foresee which neighborhoods will recover quickly and which would be devastated by this newest trauma.

Anyone familiar with the history of the area could see that this was the system as usual. Oppression compounding on itself; each additional crisis digging another groove into our collective memory that things have always been this way and should, therefore, be treated as normal.

How much has racism built into our core systems; from local ordinances, to healthcare, to zoning, to housing, contributed to what’s happening in St. Louis now?

Walter Johnson’s historical analysis in The Broken Heart of America: St. Louis and the Violent History of the United States provides context for the impact of these storms on areas unjustly burdened by centuries of structural violence, white flight, and racist urban planning:

The May 2025 tornadoes are just another example of traditional humanitarian frameworks that perpetuate harmful systems by underreacting to symptoms rather than addressing their causes.

Looking to another large-scale disaster from recent memory; federal response during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic highlighted stark racism and bigotry built into the core of cities like St. Louis.

Vulnerable populations were more at-risk of facing environmental circumstances out of their control, putting them at higher risk of exposure. Some examples include necessity of using public transportation; lack of access to PPE; living in areas of higher population density; inability to quarantine due to job or living situation; lack of access to healthy food options and testing facilities; and pressure to work while sick.

The pandemic disproportionately affected people of color due to existing disparities in healthcare, education, financial, and legal systems. As a result of this compounding harm, Black and Latino populations were three times more likely to contract the virus and twice as likely to die in comparison to white populations.

Natural disasters, aid, and compounded oppression

Communities can and do come together to respond after disaster, but how can they address the deeply-rooted systemic problems when they’re so busy fighting its many heads?

The humanitarian imperative shouldn’t be complicated: when disaster strikes, we band together and respond with everything we have, immediately. But that must include challenging systems that create vulnerability in the first place.

A study of volunteering in response to the 2011 Tuscaloosa tornadoes provides quantitative data on community response patterns. Shown were ways communities consistently demonstrate capacity for self-organization that challenged assumptions about needing external control during crisis. Yet traditional humanitarian frameworks rarely account for or strengthen these existing community assets in their response.

A more effective approach requires acknowledging the fact that communities facing crisis are not blank slates awaiting salvation. We possess existing networks, knowledge systems, and survival strategies that have sustained us long before any outside intervention.

Mutual aid networks glimpse what grassroots disaster response could actually look like given proper support: sustained community accountability that builds alternatives rather than begging existing harmful systems to reform.

This requires moving beyond the “temporal violence” of emergency response and learning toward engagement with the structural conditions that produce vulnerability.

Media and construction of disaster narratives

Media representation plays a crucial role in shaping public understanding of disaster response. A recent documentary about another infamous Missouri tornado that occurred in Joplin in 2011, Twister: Caught in the Storm highlighted how popular media often emphasizes individual heroics and dramatic rescue stories while overlooking the sustained work of mutual aid efforts that continue long after cameras leave.

While highlighting individual stories can draw attention to the importance of systemic issues, focusing on spectacle and emergency temporalities can also support humanitarian frameworks that rely on crisis virality rather than addressing underlying structural conditions.

Mainstream media tends to focus on emotionally-evocative stories of individual resilience, exceptionalism, and charity rather than true structural change; often missing the transformative potential of community-led response and structural support. This glamorizing of disaster narratives hearkens to what’s been described as the “CNN effect”.

As a result of this imbalanced attention; media coverage doesn’t simply document crises, but participates in their social construction, determining which suffering becomes visible and actionable and which goes unseen.

Coverage of the St. Louis storms demonstrates similar patterns: mainstream media sources covered the excitement of the disaster itself. Only local, increasingly limited coverage continues to show efforts at recovery and criticism of emergency management by the federal government.

(Even more) unprecedented times: Bureaucracy and privatization of aid in Trump’s second term

Since his reelection in Jan. 2025, Trump has been attacking, discrediting and defunding federal aid and health organizations. He’s made dramatic cuts to organizations such as FEMA and USAID in a clear attempt to push responsibility to individual states.

At the same time, those same states are actively and desperately calling for emergent federal help due to lack of resources.

In the period shortly after St. Louis tornadoes hit, 17 disaster requests were left pending, a dramatically high number for the time of year. Just weeks before the storms, Trump slashed nearly $1 billion in disaster aid meant for Black and low-income neighborhoods. Much of the money was meant specifically to improve crisis management in these areas.

This isn’t just administrative inefficiency; it’s a cruel, deliberate strategy that treats disaster relief as a political tool to be withheld rather than a human right.

When you’re already dealing with the psychological impact of losing everything, bureaucratic uncertainty becomes another form of violence.

When disasters like this happen, we see people forced to fend for themselves as the infrastructure around them fails. Every day of delay compounds the harm.

People displaced from homes, jobs, and resources by natural disasters (including those impacted by climate change), don’t just need shelter. They need stability, predictability, and hope.

What can we do instead?: A grassroots approach

For too many communities, 911 is the only social support available. What if we dared imagine something better? What might emergency response look like unfiltered by institutions built without control at their forefront?

Each delayed ambulance response, every neighbor stranded without basic resources, every preventable emergency deemed unworthy of attention; these are patterns showing the system failing exactly as intended.

What good are our supposed rights when the systems responsible for enforcing them are the ones withholding and violating them? We refuse to accept false promises that harmful systems can be reformed into just ones. Instead, we imagine and build alternatives that don’t rely on their broken logic.

Critics might argue that local mutual aid, however admirable, can’t handle disasters of this magnitude alone. A $1.6 billion disaster requires federal resources and coordination that grassroots networks simply cannot provide.

But this criticism misses the fundamental point of a grassroots mindset. The St. Louis tornado response teaches us that communities already know how to care for each other. That was never the question.

The question is whether we’ll build systems that support this knowledge, or continue investing in band-aid frameworks that treat symptoms while ignoring (or actively contributing to) causes.

This is a long term vision, one with a focus on rooting out and breaking down oppressive systems to create something new.

Conclusion: Aid and hope when disaster hits

It’s no secret current federal systems of emergency response aren’t serving all areas equitably. But if these systems so obviously aren’t working for people when they need them most, what are we doing?

The delayed response in St. Louis was a bureaucratic failure that reflected fundamental harm in maintaining existing power structures. But as the systems around them failed, who stepped up with everything they had?

Community-led relief efforts mobilized during and immediately after the storms. Individuals, local organizations and mutual aid networks popped up to respond and effectively help their vulnerable neighbors with whatever they could contribute.

Organizations like Food City StL, City Foundry, and Action St. Louis organized crowdfunding and direct aid; building networks of care recognizing collective humanity and need for community health.

Grassroots community organizers have shown themselves capable of quickly showing up for those most impacted; using local knowledge to rebuild from the ground up rather than waiting for permission from politicians.

These are the tools we should be investing in. These are the example we should be following.

What disaster response demands isn’t elimination of large-scale coordination, but transformation of how aid coordination operates. The entire logic of top-down relief that assumes external agencies know better than communities themselves needs turning on its head.

Rather than siphoning resources from struggling communities during normal times (only to paternalistically return inadequate aid during crises), we need approaches that strengthen existing community-led efforts.

Supporting grassroots efforts to fill existing gaps in federal services is how we can work our way toward improved crisis response and gradual nonreliance on our current failing systems.

This isn’t an overnight fix, but one requiring ongoing community support and participation. No one can do everything, but everyone can all do something. Knowing what we know, anything less than this isn’t just policy failure: it’s moral failure.

What recent events have impacted your local community? How did your community respond and what can we do better in the future?

Survivorship discount

Because if anyone deserves a discount, it’s you

Jay and silencing Bob

Freedom of expression and political Dogma

Procrastinating productively

Hyperfocus as a distraction from coping

Do you have a story that needs to be told so badly that you keep putting it off?

I’ve been bustling around all morning, so excited to finally have a whole day off to write. No work. No politics. No plans until this evening.

Now I just need to make my writing conditions perfect. I’m tackling one of my particularly difficult experiences, so I should feel extra comfortable, right? It’s as though my body won’t let me tell the story until I feel perfectly safe in my surroundings.

But that’s never gonna happen. I’m never going to feel perfectly safe again.

The article I should be using this rare free time to write is about something that’s really weighing on me. One of those “Big T1” traumas I've been in the process of writing about for years now, but can’t quite fully get onto the page to my satisfaction. I have a folder full of them at this point; notes jotted in a frenzied moment of passion and momentum, then abandoned like so many old wounds I’d prefer to ignore.

Even now, after several years and hundreds of miles, my hypersensitive2 nervous system tells me I can’t stop to reflect because I’m still in danger.

It makes it so hard to look at that I end up wiping down all of the kitchen counters…

And chairs.

And tables.

And bathrooms.

And vacuuming.

And having a 2nd cup of cold brew.

And shitposting on Substack Notes.

And sitting on the patio.

And doomscrolling about politics news.

And bothering my shih tzu.

And putting on chapstick.

And hiding in the bedroom to make a voice note about a totally different article with an adjacent topic like how difficult writing about trauma is.

And bringing my partner a sparkling water.

And listening to an audiobook…

All by 10:50 a.m.

I’m not a procrastinator by nature. I’m typically pretty hyper-productive and high-achieving. My brain doing its best to say hey, you don’t want to look over there at your pain. Just avoid it and focus on what you can control.

People with CPTSD3 have poorer health outcomes4 in nearly every category, so overachieving and taking time for healthy activities feels like the best way to beat the statistics.

Look over here instead. Accomplish this. Get this certification. Do this home improvement project. Incorporate just one more daily habit to improve your health. (This week? An apple a day. I hope it sticks.)

But that’s also why we desperately need to learn to slow down and find actual calm. Stop burning all of our precious spoons5 so we can have energy to focus on the things that are actually important.

I’ve learned how to be calm in so many types of crises in both my professional and personal life. A 100% success rate is required for surviving that many guns in your face; screaming threats; and nights locked in the spare room, hoping to stay out of my abuser’s drunken path.

So why does my heart race when I sit down to write?

There’s something there that needs patience to come into the light, if I can only manage to relax enough to let it happen.

Ok, great! Now that’s out of the way, I can buckle down and work on that other article. Although first, I could take a tiny break for more coffee…

1 Gardenswartz, C. (2024, Jul. 26). Recognizing the impact of Big T and Little T trauma. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-discomfort-zone/202407/recognizing-the-impact-of-big-t-and-little-t-trauma.

2 Hanley Center. (n.d.). What is complex PTSD?. Hanley Center. https://www.hanleycenter.org/mental-health-disorders/complex-ptsd.

3 Cleveland Clinic. (n.d.). CPTSD (Complex PTSD): What it is, symptoms & treatment. Cleveland Clinic. https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/24881-cptsd-complex-ptsd.

4 The Mental Health Coalition. (n.d.). Roadmap to trauma & PTSD. The Mental Health Coalition. https://www.thementalhealthcoalition.org/trauma-ptsd-roadmap.

5 Mobility International USA. (n.d.). Spoon theory. Mobility International USA. https://miusa.org/resource/best-practices/spoon-theory.