Only in the past few years and with the rise of fascism have I begun to understand advocacy and why it’s important. Our world moves by influence. When you’re given a spotlight–however small or large–that comes with a responsibility to understand that your voice echoes, and that what you say, or don’t say, has consequence. When I was approached to write this piece on an event that I had considered well and truly behind me, I realized that it would never be behind me. I realized that the shadow of that event has shaped so much of my darkness and light, so much of my art, that to pretend that a few years of therapy and a blog post confession would forever put to bed the issue was a child’s fantasy. I write. I speak. I am an advocate simply because I have been given a voice and an audience. I am a voice for the voiceless, for those who do not have the means or reach for others to understand their pain. Here is what I said for them.
I’ve embedded the link above, which you can click to see the story, since I would never want to force this kind of discussion on someone. You may read at your own will. Regardless, I want to thank the many people who reached out for both solidarity and comfort after the piece went live. I want to thank them for their stories and for their courage in surviving violence.
All my love,