Content Warning: lack of consent, disrespected “no,” Larry Nassar, Aziz Ansari

My senior year of high school, during a fake valedictorian speech, one of my best friends awarded me with the superlative “Most Likely to Turn String Cheese Into a Metaphor.”

Well, she’s not wrong. I think Mario Kart is a metaphor for privilege. I play with dogs, knowing they’ll send me into severe bouts of allergies, similarly with certain people. Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls)” song is the hardest during Monday’s Zumba class, in my opinion, which is a metaphor for how much work women put in to be so successful.

A few days ago, one of my college best friends dropped me off behind my dorm. We pulled up closely to the gate and waited a few seconds, only to find out the gate wasn’t going to open. Naturally, we said a few choice words to the gate and drove away.

“That’s how I aim to be with boys,” I half-jokingly said. “No matter how much they push, I want to be able to comfortably and firmly say no, and that be respected.”

We laughed over it, but shoot, if I didn’t mean it.

But shoot, if we hadn’t just talked about how it can be scary to say no, especially as a woman.

But shoot, if I haven’t had experiences where multiple kinds of people in multiple kinds of situations didn’t respect my “no.”

But shoot, if I haven’t struggled to say “no” as firmly because I’m so used to it meaning nothing anyways.

It’s the story with Aziz Ansari over and over again. It’s the story of Larry Nassar and all of the many others. It’s how even if you do say “no” firmly, it won’t always be respected.

But it’s also the power of the 150+ people who spoke up against Larry Nassar, and all the women and men -- known and unknown -- who felt able to speak up about their perpetrators. It’s the revolutionary moment when Judge Rosemarie Aquilina flung Nassar’s paper complaining of his “innocence” and “horrid experience” to the ground.

As Jasmin Kaur wrote in a poem, "Scream / so that one day / a hundred years from now / another sister will not have to / dry her tears wondering / where in history / she lost her voice."

I’m incredibly proud, inspired, and encouraged. The word “no” finally holds some hope and inspiration to me now. My mind and heart still try to grasp it.

The word “no” holds a lot of impact -- at least it should -- and now it sings a different tune to me. It sings of what it feels like to be not heard, but listened to. It sounds like the carefree laugh of a young girl navigating her world. It feels like blankets when you finally tuck yourself in. It tastes like acid washing away.

These words are somewhat flowery, and I use them intentionally, because freedom is a beautiful thing. But the understanding and respecting of the word “no” -- and all the times it’s been used so powerfully lately -- is more than that. It’s an indescribable strength, sense of unity, and sense of hope amidst trauma, grief, and deep pain. It’s what I hope will continue to be a new era of revolution and social justice, and safety, for goodness’ sake.

No matter how much people inch closer, or what they say, or how much they beg, the gate doesn’t give in. The gate doesn’t have to. From the strength within me, the strength of survivors, and the strength of those who came before me, I don’t give in. I step up. I say “no, this is not okay.” We stand strong, and we stand together. We’re there to hold each other up the whole way.

“The ghosts of all the women you used to be are all so proud of whom you have become, storm child of wind and flame.” -- Nikita Gill

“The devil whispered in my ear, ‘You’re not strong enough to withstand the storm.’ I whispered back in the devil’s ear, ‘I am the storm.’” --Unknown

If you or someone you know is struggling with gender-based violence, know you are not alone. Check out www.rainn.org and www.loveisrespect.org for resources, helplines, and information.