“Mom, the good news is I’d make an awful serial killer,” I said, tears wetting my cheeks.

The ultimate act of self care is to give the opinions of others far less weight.

“Mom, the good news is I’d make an awful serial killer,” I said, tears wetting my cheeks.

We sent her down to the front side walk, which was a little tricky to get to, I admit. We were hoping for pictures of all the birthday party attendees wrapped around and hanging off the railings. It took her a very long time to hit bottom. She kept stopping and yelling “Am I there yet?” 

"Me, too."

Following the explosive revelation of something everyone already knew about—the serial abuse upon countless women in Hollywood by Harvey Weinstein—the simple request online was for any woman who had experienced sexual harassment or assault to respond with “Me, too.”

The numbers of women who typed those two words was harrowing and maddening.

Most men online were either silent (that was my response) or typed in response “I believe you.”

Neither the declaration of contextless assault nor the insincere blanket belief is particularly helpful. It is the activism of the internet—looks good but generally doesn’t amount to much.

I was 13 years old in 1979. My mother had been married a couple of times by then and I had witnessed my first step-father, Dennis Coley, routinely beat my mother with his fists, with a belt, with a cast iron skillet. In terms of toxic masculine behavior, I had a front row seat to the freak show.

One would think that being audience to that would have an effect.