Notes From The Eye Of The Storm

Originally published on The Wrap on May 28, 2018

“It is easy to brave from a distance” — Aesop

As usual, I was late to the party. By the time I woke up in Australia and checked my news feed, Harvey Weinstein had surrendered to authorities in New York, been processed, appeared in court, posted bail, fitted with an ankle monitor and then released to the comfort of one of his homes.

I was somewhat surprised that he had not fled the country like his pal Roman.

I made a cup of tea and scrolled through the photos on Google news. I saw an old guy wearing baggy jeans and a dirty smirk, making light of the situation, not just by his demeanor, but by his choice to carry a biography of Elia Kazan, the once blacklisted Hollywood producer.

I turned to social media and read through a slew of celebratory tweets and posts. I was happy for other people’s happiness, but I shared none of the joy they were expressing.

Instead, I felt somber and suspicious. If the last few months have taught me anything it is that I cannot and should not trust the system — especially when rich, powerful guys are running it. If I were to allow myself the chance to celebrate Harvey’s arrest I am sure it would turn to dust — something awful would happen, and I would have to suffer through another disappointment.

I can only take so many.

As a protective measure I chose to remain very focused and aware. I took stock of the situation. I felt like a scientist examining a bug. There he was, the ugly bug, wriggling and writhing under the microscope, puffing himself up to give the appearance of… what, exactly? Calm? Hope? Power? It was a failed attempt, but it puzzled me. It was like watching a small dog take on a big one, completely unaware of its size. I realized that Harvey thinks he is a victim - and that shouldn’t surprise me. I have experience with narcissists and they are always the victim, no matter how terrible their crimes.

A bug in a v-neck, between two hard working heroes.

I looked at the bug and thought about the bugs children. I felt sad. The whole thing was so sad. None of this should be happening. It wouldn’t have happened if he had been a decent husband, father, man.

But it did happen. And so did so much more than we will ever know. Every single victim of Harvey’s who has come forward that I have met knows at least a handful of other victims who have chosen not to come forward. And they are not the same handful. People are afraid, still. They know their careers will take a hit, their reputations will suffer, and that they will be subjected to untold horrors in the press and on social media as they unpack their past and the bad things that happened to them that they’d rather forget.

I can’t say I blame them.

I’ll never forget the first time someone told me they thought I was brave for speaking out. I remember feeling awkward and confused, as if I was being given a compliment I didn’t deserve. I was dismissive and brushed the sentiment away. I probably even came across as rude. You see, I didn’t feel brave, not one iota, I felt compelled. There was zero bravery in any of my actions because there was zero forethought.

That was naive on my part.

I told my story on October 8th, two days after the New York Times article exposed Harvey Weinstein for the monster I had long known him to be. A lot has changed since then. My life is strange and dramatic in ways I don’t want it to be. When I blurted my story onto Medium I had no idea anyone would read it, or what the consequences of speaking out would be.

I didn’t know how to field hundreds of press requests or have the emotional bandwidth to manage a steady stream of emails from victims telling me stories much worse than mine.

I never imagined for one second that I would wake up every day and have to physically and emotionally steel myself against the inevitable horror stories in the press, or defend myself against trolls and bullies on social media.

I had no idea I was buying myself a VIP pass to the emotional rollercoaster theme park, with such fun rides as ‘vicarious trauma’, ‘compassion fatigue’ and ‘burnout’.

I could never have comprehended that I would be forced to defend myself — and others — from a steady barrage of ignorant comments like “Why didn’t you come forward sooner”, and “What sort of idiot goes back to a hotel room?”.

If anyone had warned me that women like Pamela Anderson, Germain Greer, Brigitte Bardot (to name a few), would sell us out and critique us for telling the truth and sharing our vulnerability and pain, I would never have believed it.

I never in a million years could have guessed that I would have to become paranoid about strangers — but in lieu of Ronan Farrow’s expose into Harvey’s use of Black Cube and ex-Mossad spies, that is exactly the position I am forced to take.

I didn’t know that my experiences dealing with other victims would force me to unpack the long list of sexual violence I have suffered in my lifetime and see how I minimized every single instance, including my experience with Harvey and an earlier violent rape, and how I failed myself for failing to deal with any of it.

I didn’t know that trauma could cause excess cortisol to build up in my body and that my adrenals could shut down and my thyroid go into hyperdrive, causing my hair to fall out and my heart to race.

I didn’t know any of this.

But now I do.

This is what it looks like in the eye of this hurricane.

This is what it feels like for me. And I know this much is true for many of the other men and women who have spoken up about powerful men, too.

And still people question our motivations and accuse us of coming forward for fame and fortune. I sincerely hope they never have to walk an inch in these shoes.

These days, if anyone comments on how brave they think I am for speaking out — I own it. Yep. I’m brave. I’m really fucking brave. We all are. How do I know, you ask? Because we don’t want to be. We want it to stop. We want the world to be beautiful and kind and peaceful and loving. We want to relax and play with our children and laugh. We do not want to worry about their futures, or ours. We do not want to wake up every day and be scared to look on social media or pick up our phones. We do not want to have to see Harvey’s face on newspapers or tv. Or Toback’s face, or Spacey’s, or Hoffman’s, or Trump’s. We do not want to have to keep hearing about more powerful people abusing more women (and men) and getting away with it. We do not want to have to face these monsters in court and go through years of having our characters assassinated and our lives dragged through the mud. We don’t want to hear accused predators complaining that they’ve lost their careers, when their selfish pursuit of satisfying their perversions is what cost us our dreams. We don’t want to see articles about Charlie Rose lamenting his loneliness on his tennis court, or Garrison Keilor planning a comeback. And we don’t want to keep the secrets of literally dozens and dozens of victims of multiple offenders who are too scared to come forward, and the many others who just don’t want the hassle.

We don’t want to, but we will.

Personally, I do it because I will not let my beautiful daughter go through the things I went through. If there is a chance that my voice and my actions can create some change in this world then I will force myself every day to be braver than I feel and get the job done.

If I had known what this road would be like before I wrote my story, would I still have written it? Yes. But I would have paused a beat and taken a breath, said a little prayer, and gathered my strength before I did it. I have no regrets, and I still believe firmly that the only way to change systemic abuses of power and sexual violence is to put the shame and attention back on the abusers where it belongs. And the only way to do that is to name them.

—

In the seven or so months since this story broke I have had the incredible fortune to meet real soldiers in the fight for equality and truth, and make a few beautiful friendships within the larger community of Silence Breakers. Every day these humans put their big girl (and boy!) pants on and stand up to their bullies and keep this conversation alive, no matter how scared and tired and defeated they’re feeling. That’s bravery.

Many of us have been working tirelessly on different projects that will be our own extraordinary contributions to the #MeToo movement. We’ve learned that finding purpose is a huge part of healing, and are driven to create lasting change.

There now exists a community made up of “accidental activists”, as the great Lauren Sivan so succinctly put it, a bunch of sexual violence survivors who were thrown together without our permission, and forced to defend ourselves and each other. It is my hope that we can present a united front to the world, lift each other up and strive to be not just the voices and faces that launched a movement called #MeToo, but the voices and faces who inspire the world to greater compassion and kindness for victims of sexual assault, and a better understanding of how trauma effects people at a deep psychological and physical level.

That is my hope.

Then, and only then, will I celebrate.