On the way home, he took me here, to this place under the Tappan Zee Bridge, on the shore of the Hudson, on the front lawn of an apartment complex where neither...
Announcing The 2019 #MeToo Essay Award Winners! The 1st and 2nd Place essays can be read by clicking on the links below.
The #MeToo Nonfiction Essay Contest is back! What’s more, our judge is that champion of #MeToo memoir writers, Tracy Strauss! Deadline for Submissions is April ...
"Did you know some hospitals have an entire department dedicated to rape victims?"
I am eight. I am eight, and I am an avocado in a flock of magpies and I want to be a magpie so badly that it makes my fingers curl. I want to know what it feels...
I’d be lying if I said my interest in forensic psychology wasn’t partially fueled by a need to prove I no longer feared men like him, at least in the beginning,...
Fear silences our voices and daily we convince ourselves that life is fixable, that it gets better and becomes whole again. But the fact is that it doesn’t, at ...
It’s got to be near three in the morning and my head still stirs with all the alcohol I had helped myself to. The alcohol I didn’t buy but paid for. Dearly.
TRIGGER WARNING: This #MeToo essay contains references to child sex trafficking and its effects on the writer. You will cry and, bit by bit, it will break your ...
Soon enough it’s clear he’s hellbent on spreading the rumor he fucked you—or is it fact? You’re a 13-year-old freshman who drank a pint of Southern Comfort, bla...
My mom tells me that I can choose who can come to my party. I can choose who can have cake. Tomorrow when I turn thirteen I will tell her that he can’t come to ...
I felt terror but not complete surprise. For a long while, part of me had expected to die like this. I recollected the stories my great-grandmother read from th...
he Julie B Valentine Center is located out on the edge of town near trucking depots and used car lots that cater exclusively to Spanish-speaking customers. The ...
It starts with blood. Mine. So red and stickysweet that my jean shorts catch to my chair in band class. This is womanhood spilling over, me tying a sweatshirt a...
