Sometimes I forget that people struggle because I'm too caught with my own struggles.

I walk past millions of people a day, thinking of myself, forgetting each person I walk past has a story.

But sometimes we don't feel comfortable sharing our stories, out of fear of judgment, pitty, or disrespect. So we hide it, thinking that's better.

I've heard so many women say it's not easy being friends with other women because we tend to judge each other the most. Criticizing one another, and comparing our bodies.

Hating those we cannot be like, and looking down on those who remind us of ourselves.

And I hate that.

We see it every day, the casual up-down look as we pass by someone,

the whisper in our friend's ear, or the judgment look we forget to hide.

As I sat down to notice the millions of strangers walking by, I saw something I'd never forget. Watching millions of students walk by, as platforms were being set up for a talk.

I noticed tall, athletic, women.

Short, and curvy women, long hair, short hair, mini skirts, jeans, and dresses.

I saw the girls people look down on, as we assume they're wearing last nights clothes, shamefully walking back to their rooms, with their heads down.

We all assume we know their shameful story, mostly because of how they're dressed.

I saw the girls covered from head to toe, girls with their friends, and girls walking alone.

If only they could all see what I saw when I just sat there.

I saw the beautiful girls strutting by, glancing at those they wished to glance at, and blindly walking past the rest.

I saw the girls who appeared to be insecure look down as they walked and the girls who seemed to be enjoying the joys of their day.

But what they couldn't see was that the beautiful strutting girls had been sexually abused by a family friend.

The girls who appeared to be insecure had been inappropriately touched by a co-worker.

And the girls who appeared to be enjoying their days were simply trying to move forward from the horrors of the weekend prior.

And the girls wearing last nights clothes, who were taken advantage of as a child.

But no one noticed because we were too busy looking at everyone's hair, makeup, and shoes, or failed to notice anything at all.

We mock the girls who judge other girls, failing to realize their judgments stem from the deeply rooted insecurities that were planted the day they were mistreated.

We mock the girls who seem they're up to no good because we assume they're up to no good. Failing to realize their past is a record book of sexual assaults, a spiral. And they don't know how to get out of it alone.

I remember looking out into the crowd when a speaker asked the student body if they had ever been sexually assaulted.

Hands were instantly raised, and eyes filled with tears, some heads looked down instead of raising their hands.

I saw the judgmental girl, the shameful girl, and insecure girl, the sporty, friendly, reserved girls, and one by one each head raised to say, me too.

We're different, with our body shapes, our styles, and the colors of our hair, but we all struggle.

We all have our stories, and for some women, that story is a painful one too heavy to bear.

So let's support each other because time is up for sexual assault, and we need to speak up.