For most of my life, I’ve carried things I didn’t recognize as trauma.

Not because I didn’t remember them — but because I didn’t believe they were allowed to hurt. I told myself they weren’t bad enough, that I was fine, that other women had it worse. It was easier to make myself small than to face what really happened.

Maybe that was my brain’s way of protecting me. Perhaps it was my body’s way of saying, You’re not ready to look at this yet.

The wall

During my sophomore year of high school, a boy shoved me up against a wall in the middle of a busy hallway, pinned my arms, and aggressively kissed me.

I didn’t want it.

But I froze.

I didn’t know then that freezing is a survival reflex, not a choice. And afterward, I told myself it wasn’t assault. It was simply a teenage boy acting as one does. That I should be flattered, maybe even grateful to be getting attention from a boy. I laughed it off when my friends teased me about it. I swallowed the discomfort because the language for consent hadn’t been given to me yet. No one had told me that not wanting it was reason enough for it to be wrong.

So I buried it.

Now I know it wasn’t a misunderstanding or an impulsive crush. There was a deliberate calculation in the way he pinned my arms, a deliberate choice to seek his own sexual gratification at the total expense of my well-being-being and consent.

The nursing home

A few years later, I entered the healthcare field as a CNA. At eighteen, I was navigating the profound responsibilities of a caregiver, tasked with the dignity and daily survival of the elderly. Here is where the violation became repetitive, almost rhythmic. Elderly men frequently targeted me, their hands finding my body as I leaned over to provide aid, turning a moment of service into an act of entitlement on their end.

In this professional setting, the gaslighting was systemic. When I sought validation for my discomfort, I was met with a chorus of institutional excuses. “They have dementia”, “They’re just confused,” “It’s part of the job.” This narrative created a dangerous dissonance between my professional role and my personal reality. I was conditioned to believe my empathy required the total sacrifice of my boundaries.

I see now that any medical diagnosis is not a license for sexual assault. Being told to ‘ignore it’ ignored the reality of the situation: these weren’t accidental grazes. They were intentional acts of sexual entitlement. My body was being treated as a tool for someone else’s gratification, while my humanity was treated as an afterthought.

Minimizing is a survival skill

It has taken me almost a decade to understand that minimizing my experiences was not a character flaw or a sign of weakness. It was a profound act of psychological survival. My brain utilized minimization as a protective filter, allowing me to continue moving through a world that felt increasingly unsafe. I developed a scripted internal monologue designed to neutralize the pain:

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m fine.”

“It didn’t count.”

“Others have it worse.”

These phrases weren’t just lies; they were armor. They served as a necessary buffer, insulating my psyche until I reached a place of internal and external safety where I could finally afford to take the armor off. For years, I mistook my silence for recovery. I realize now that I wasn’t healed, I was expertly shielded.

And now, for the first time, I am safe enough to stand without it.

What healing looks like

Healing has looked like sitting with my younger self and telling her, “You were right to feel uncomfortable.” It looks like naming what happened instead of trying to downplay it. It looks like understanding that my body remembers everything my mind tries to forget.

Sometimes healing feels quiet — a journal entry, a prayer, a breath.

Other times it’s messy — grieving a girl who didn’t know she deserved better.

But it’s all movement towards truth.

It counted

I used to think only the worst stories counted. That, unless it left bruises, broken bones, or made headlines, it wasn’t “real.” But trauma isn’t ranked. No scale decides who’s allowed to hurt. What happened to me wasn’t any less wrong just because it didn’t look like someone else’s pain.

Every time my “no” or my silence was ignored, it counted.

Every time my body was touched without permission, it counted.

Every time I convinced myself I was fine, I was just trying to survive.

What I know now

Now I know that naming what happened doesn’t make me weak — it sets me free.

I can honor both truths at once: that others have suffered in ways I can’t imagine, and that what I experienced was still wrong.

I can hold compassion for the girl who didn’t understand.

And I can thank her for getting me here — still tender, still healing, but finally honest.

Being honest means acknowledging how the hallway and the nursing home aren’t the whole book. They are chapters combined with childhood trauma that, for a long time, left me with a deep mistrust of men—naming that has made me observant. It’s the truth of how I got here, and it’s the reason I’m so determined to build a world where safety isn’t a luxury.

Turning pain into purpose

Maybe that’s why I’ve become so drawn to advocacy — why I can’t shake this quiet, steady longing to work in a space that protects others from what I went through.

When I look back, I see how easily young women — especially those who are kind, eager to help, and just trying to do the right thing — can be conditioned to silence their instincts. To doubt their own discomfort. To believe they have to endure things that break their boundaries to get by.

That realization lit something in me. It’s what fuels my passion to learn about sexual assault and child abuse advocacy, and to one day be part of that work that brings safety, justice, and restoration to others.

I don’t want another 18-year-old girl to believe that her pain doesn’t count.

If my story can do anything, I hope it reminds someone else that their experience matters. That healing isn’t comparing wounds—it’s about acknowledging your own.

And that there’s always life on the other side of naming the truth.

Because it counted.

It all counted.

And now, I’m using it for good.

`Resources

• National Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): Call 800-656-HOPE or visit online.rainn.org.

• Sexual Assault Center (Nashville): Visit sacenter.org or call the Crisis Line at 1-800-879-1999.

• Joyful Heart Foundation: Learn about their mission to heal, educate, and empower at joyfulheartfoundation.org and see the progress on the backlog at endthebacklog.org.

There is a strange kind of intimacy in being inspired by someone you’ve never met. I don’t personally know these 18 women. I haven’t sat across a table from them or shared a private conversation. And yet, their lives have provided a blueprint for my own.

These women lead. They show me that authority doesn’t have to be loud to be absolute. These women nurture. They remind me that service is the highest form of power. These women stand up and speak out. They’ve taught me that silence is a luxury none of us can afford. These women push boundaries and break through barriers. They prove that ‘impossible’ is just a starting line.

Despite the difficulties we often face as women, I thank God I get to be inspired and challenged by badass women from all walks of life. Here is the ‘why’ behind the 18 women who immediately came to mind this month.

The Leaders

• Kamala Harris: The ultimate ceiling-breaker and a woman of many ‘firsts.’ As the first woman VP, she didn’t just take a seat at the table; she showed us that the most powerful rooms in the world are better when women are in them. Through her, I learned that a woman’s seat at the table isn’t a gift—it’s a right.

• Shirley Chisholm: The first Black woman elected to the United States Congress. She didn’t just show up; she shook the establishment. She helped create the WIC program and ran for a major party’s presidential nomination, among so many other groundbreaking accomplishments.

• Ruth Bader Ginsburg: She understood that to win rights for women, she had to demonstrate how gender discrimination hurt everyone. As the second woman to ever sit on the Supreme Court, she taught me that I don’t always have to shout to be heard. Sometimes all you have to do is write a dissent that changes the trajectory of the future.

• Michelle Obama: Aside from her immense intellect and impeccable style, she taught me there is power in refusing to be anything other than your authentic self. She taught an entire generation that we don’t have to choose between being soft or strong. We can be both!

The Hearts, The Disruptors, The Icons

• Mariska Hargitay: It’s no secret she is my favorite, and it’s because she leads with radical integrity. Mariska has taught me that healing is a creative act of reclamation—a theme she brought to life in her 2025 documentary, My Mom Jayne, where she bravely searched for the real woman behind her mother’s Hollywood mask. Through her example and the work of her Joyful Heart Foundation, I finally found the language for my own experience with SA. She is the reason I no longer look away from injustices and instead find ways to embrace my true, authentic self. Because of her, I now face my past head-on rather than running from it, and I am pursuing this work to help others do the same.

• Dolly Parton: This woman is a masterclass on just about everything. Beyond music, her Imagination Library has gifted over 300 million books to children worldwide. From funding vaccines to quietly paying for her employees’ college tuition, she proves daily that it is possible to reach the top of the mountain without forgetting the people at the bottom.

• Taylor Swift: Whether you love or hate her, you have to admit she is a force of nature. She refuses to let anyone tell her story. From re-recording her entire catalog to quietly donating to local food banks in every city on her tour, she uses her platform to fight for the Equality Act and encourages millions to vote.

• Jane Fonda: She is the ultimate reminder to never stop evolving and always refuse to be quiet. At 88 years old, she is still on the front lines, proving that age isn’t about fading away; it’s about getting louder. Being ‘difficult’ is simply what happens when a woman decides to be honest.

• Greta Thunberg: The young visionary who mobilized a global generation to address climate change. She reminds me that no one is too small or too young to demand a seat at the table when the future of our planet is at stake.

• Tarana Burke: The founder of the “me too” movement, she used the idea of empowerment through empathy to facilitate healing for survivors of sexual violence. She has played a vital role in training survivors to be leaders within their own communities.

• Celine Dion: Strength is what comes to mind when I think of Celine. She has taught me that our value isn’t tied to our productivity or our ability to push through pain, especially after she stepped back from the stage to manage Stiff-Person Syndrome. I am reminded yet again that vulnerability is power.

• Chelsea Handler: She has normalized a version of womanhood that doesn’t ask permission. She has taught me that you don’t have to be ‘soft’ to be kind, nor do you have to be married or a mother to be whole. She reminds me it’s okay to be loud, to be alone, and to be exactly who you are.

• Princess Diana: Her legacy of compassion continues to impact the world today through the Diana Award. She used her platform to challenge the status quo and connect with people on a deeply personal level. She taught me there is power in intentionally engaging with everyone I meet.

• Shania Twain: She has never let fame erase the memory of where she came from. She continues to give back through her foundation, and she showed the world what it looks like to start over after her bout with Lyme disease. She taught me that we may face devastating disappointments, but it is possible to come out on the other side.

• Jane Goodall: The scientist who shattered the divide between humans and the rest of the living world. She taught me that the greatest threat to our world is the feeling of helplessness, and the cure is to simply start where you are.

• Lindsey Vonn: As a little girl, I saw Lindsey as a champion. Watching her in 2026, I saw a legend. She defied all odds to return to the Olympic downhill in Milan-Cortina. Although her crash was devastating, she proved that her power doesn’t come from a medal, but from the number of times she kept getting back up.

• Gloria Steinem & Dorothy Pitman Hughes: This duo became iconic for intersectional feminism. Their 50-year friendship proved that the fight for women’s liberation must actively engage and include the community to be truly transformative. They taught me that the most “badass” thing we can do is link arms with women from different walks of life.

Continued Reflections

As I look at this list, I realize these 18 women have given me something far more valuable than inspiration; they have given me permission. Permission to be the complex, loud, and quiet human I am, to heal, and to change my mind.

I know this list is far from exhaustive. There are thousands of brilliant, powerful, history-shaping women I didn’t highlight here—women whose names are etched into monuments and women whose names are known only to the families they held together. To truly honor every woman who has moved the needle of history would take years.

But these specific women are the ones who met me where I was. They remind me that being a “badass” isn’t about having a life free of struggle—it’s about what you build with the pieces that remain. As I continue my own work in advocacy and healing, I carry these blueprints with me. I hope that as you read this, you feel invited to reflect on the women who inspire you, to face your past head-on, and to remember that you, too, have a seat at the table that no one can take away.

I want to hear from you: Inspiration is a shared language. Who are the women—famous or completely unknown to the rest of the world—who have provided the blueprint for your life?

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The measure of justice in any society is revealed not by how it treats the powerful, but how it protects the vulnerable. The case of Jesse Mack Butler, an Oklahoma man who avoided prison, is not an isolated failure. It reflects how far we still have to go in valuing the truth over reputation and survivors’ safety over an offender’s second chance.

In March 2024, when Butler was 17, he was charged as an adult with ten felony counts related to sexual violence against two fellow students at Stillwater High School.

The charges included:

1. Two courts of attempted rape

2. Three counts of rape by instrumentation

3. One count of sexual battery

4. One count of forcible oral sodomy

5. Two counts of domestic assault and battery by stragulation

6. One count of domestic assault and battery

Initially, he pleaded not guilty, then later changed his plea to no contest after a plea deal reclassified him as a “youthful offender.”

Survivors Bear the Weight of Injustice

When someone who raped, strangled, and filmed his crimes walks away without prison time, it is the survivors who bear the lasting impacts. Their courage to come forward demands recognition.

One survivor said, “You didn’t just strangle me with your hands. You strangled my voice, my joy, my ability to feel safe in my own body.” Another nearly lost her life; as her doctor warned, an additional thirty seconds of strangulation would have been fatal.

These young women survived brutal violence, then a second betrayal when the justice system allowed their attacker to walk free. The outcome conveys that their pain is negotiable, their safety is secondary, and their worth is conditional.

Psychologists call this secondary victimization, the trauma survivors experience when institutions meant to deliver justice instead mirror the dynamics of the abuse. As trauma expert Judith Herman wrote, “The mental health of crime victims is directly shaped by the quality of the legal response.”

By granting leniency to an admitted violent offender, the court prioritized his rehabilitation over the survivors’ recovery, forcing them to witness a “second chance” take precedence over their right to justice.

Systemic Failure: The Silent Retraumatization of Survivors

The outrage surrounding Butler’s case is not only about one offender. It is about a system that continues to minimize sexual violence and protect those who commit these heinous acts.

Despite multiple rape and assault charges, Butler was reclassified as a “youthful offender”, a designation that allowed him to avoid prison, perform community service, and have his record expunged when he turns nineteen. He does not even have to register as a sex offender.

To many, this outcome looks like a loophole for the privileged. It raises the question: whose lives does the justice system truly protect, and whose does it overlook?

This case shows how often courts bend toward leniency for young men accused of sexual violence, especially those seen as having “promising futures.” Prioritizing an offender’s potential over survivors’ recovery enforces a culture that excuses violence. Lenient sentences in cases of extreme abuse also erode public trust, embolden offenders, and silence survivors.

Why Accountability Matters

Accountabilty is not revenge, it’s recognition — the acknowledgement that harm was done, lives were altered, and actions carry consequences.

When perpetrators face meaningful consequences, it affirms the worth of survivors. It tells them that what happened was real, that their pain matters, and that society stands with them in the pursuit of justice.

When accountability is denied, the opposite message takes root: that sexual assault is negotiable, that certain offenders are too young, too promising, or too connected to face consequences.

True justice requires more than sympathy. It requires systems that uphold the dignity of survivors above the comfort of those who harm them. Rehabilitation has its place, but it cannot replace accountability.

Cases like Jesse Mack Butler’s display a justice system that too often prioritizes offenders over the survivors they harm. Justice must not be conditional. It must be unwavering. Until every survivor’s pain is met with truth, consequence, and care, the system will continue to fail those who need it most.

To Every Survivor:

You matter. What happened to you matters. Your courage, your voice, and your healing are important. No plea deal, no system failure, and no one’s attempt to minimize your experience can take that away. You are not alone, and your story deserves to be heard and believed.

Resources I used:

Koco News 5

People Magazine Article

The Guardian

U.S. Department of Justice

Our 63 major national parks are just the beginning of the public lands within the United States. Public land also includes but is not limited to, 560 national wildlife refuges, conservation and wilderness areas, national monuments, historic sites and memorials, national battlefields and recreation areas, wild and scenic rivers, and national trails.

Indigenous peoples were the first stewards of most, if not all, of these lands within the NPS. If we mistreat these lands, it threatens the preservation of history and accessibility for future generations.

The past week saw the firing of 5% of the NPS workforce, over 2,000 national parks, and 3,400 forest service employees. How are we allowing these individuals to be fired under the guise of “budget cuts”?

A gentle reminder that Forest and National Park Service workers are essential to maintaining, preserving, and protecting the beauty and value of our parks. These individuals are the people who work every day to maintain our parks so YOU can enjoy them.

What’s worse is that President Trump nominated Kathleen Sgamma to lead the Bureau of Land Management. Sgamma’s leadership is an unmitigated disaster waiting to occur. She has been the president of the oil industry trade association Western Energy Alliance for two decades. Her efforts have aided in attacks against the BLM in an attempt “to maximize fossil fuel industry access to federal public land and prevent or undermine protections for land, clean air and water, and endangered species” (McKinnon).

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) website states its mission is “to sustain the health, diversity, and productivity of public lands for the use and enjoyment of present and future generations.”

The Trump Administration has signed a series of actions to dismantle climate and conservation policies. Secretarial order SO 3418 has all public lands discussed today that are currently under review for oil drilling, mining, and energy development.

Dated February 3rd, 2025, this signed order from the Secretary of the Interior revokes the following policies, including but not limited to:

• EO 13990, titled “Protecting Public Health and the Environment and Restoring Science to Tackle the Climate Crisis,”

• EO 14008, titled “Tackling the Climate Crisis at Home and Abroad,”

• EO 14027, titled “Establishment of the Climate Change Support Office,”

• EO 14072, titled “Strengthening the Nation’s Forests, Communities, and Local Economies,”

• EO 14096, titled “Revitalizing Our Nation’s Commitment to Environmental Justice for All.”

I believe caring for and protecting national parks, forests, and public lands alongside those tasked with caring for them will NEVER be wasteful spending. It should be a priority for current and future generations. Attacks on these lands and the laws that establish and protect them threaten our clean water and air attempts to curb climate change and conservation efforts.

I will never understand how you could look at all of the beauty within these spaces and not care to protect them. I stand with the workers and volunteers who protect our national parks and public lands.

To our beloved national parks, public lands, ecosystems, animals, and planet: I’m so sorry.

As the well known saying goes, “Only when the last tree has died, and the last river been poisoned, and the last fish been caught, will we realize we cannot EAT money.” We cannot DRINK money. We cannot BREATHE money. We have to protect our parks, forests, public lands, their workers, the animals, and the ecosystems found within. We have to protect the planet. There is NO planet B.