Vulnerability and Me, Too
Earlier today, my husband and I were driving home from the grocery store. I casually mentioned the "Me too" movement in response to the recent spotlight on the pervasiveness of sexual assault and harassment that women and men face. I commented on how brave the women were to step forward, that each time I saw a colleague, a friend, a schoolmate's status read "Me too," I felt red, angry, and proud of their ability to speak out. That, for so long, just the idea of being vulnerable and allowing myself to cry in public over something beautiful, or something sad, made me feel anxious, even scared. "Will you make it your status? Will you say, 'Me too,'" my husband asked. I said I didn't know. That it felt like too much. That it wasn't something I wasn't ready to admit. The act of writing those two words were on my mind all day today. Yes, it was me, too. I was fresh out of college, working at a crappy factory as a receptionist, and