Watching the news after Nia Wilson’s untimely death triggered my emotions. Every time I leave the house, I carry fear and anxiety with me.
Just a few weeks ago, my girlfriends and I were approached by an aggressively drunk white male who believed he had authority over our bodies. It wasn’t the first time we had to deal with something like this, and unfortunately, it won’t be our last. I couldn’t help but wonder, would anybody help me if I were attacked? If I died, would I be mourned in the same way Nia Wilson was?
During the summer, dappled sunlight transports me back in time. Here’s how.
Suddenly I’m 13 again, waiting for my mom to pick me up from swim practice
I say ‘I’m sorry’ way too much. I’m refusing to do so anymore — and I challenge other women to do the same.
Refusing to over-apologize doesn’t make women rude
