Unbound: My Story of Liberation and the Birth of the Me Too Movement

by Tarana Burke

The story of how empathy for others—without which the work of ‘me too’ doesn’t exist—starts with empathy for that dark place of shame where we keep our stories, and where I kept mine.

Unkindness is a serial killer.

Death in the flesh sometimes seems like a less excruciating way to succumb than the slow and steady venom unleashed by mean-spirited, cruel words and actions that poison you over time. I guess that’s why I can’t stand the old children’s rhyme: sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. Every time I hear it, I think to myself: that’s a lie. You can dodge a rock, but you can’t unhear a word. You can’t undo the intentional damage that some words have on your mind, body, and spirit.

Somehow the world convinces us that its unkindness is the cost of admission for sharing space with the attractive—and we believe it. We don’t just believe it, we welcome it, but in degrees. Not usually with a grin and wink—though sometimes we do—but mostly with a scowl, sometimes a foul word, sometimes an attitude, or even a few tears. But there is a small part of us that also feels alive and seen and grateful for that barely there acknowledgment. The flip side is being invisible, unseen, which is equally painful. And the thing is, either one will kill your spirit over time.

I had to hold my tongue not to say how can I not make violence a habit when I am surrounded by it?

“Don’t be scared. It’s not that bad. It will be a little uncomfortable, but that’s a part of being a woman now.” I doubt she knew just how prophetic and unnerving those words were.

Not the “she finished high school and went on to college” kind of success—but the “she left a dark place and found community and purpose” kind of success.

It is wildly irresponsible to make people feel comfortable enough to open up without being prepared with the resources to help them process their experiences and receive continued support. We were doing our best with the limited knowledge and resources we had at the time, but even then I wished we were doing more.

But I know in movement communities we have a habit of lionizing folks without calling them to account when they fall short.

I knew it was possible to both love and loathe a person, but I had no idea what it did to the person carrying those two emotions simultaneously. One has to dominate, or they will cancel each other out and leave a shell where their host used to be.

But what was courage? I wondered. How could I find it if I didn’t know what it looked like? Maybe Heaven had courage because she had me. Maybe community creates courage? What if courage creates community? Maybe empathy creates courage? How can you express empathy toward others if you can’t empathize with yourself? Is the core of healing empathy and courage?

If unkindness is indeed a serial killer, then my revelation is that I was my own murderer. I had taught myself to bend to my own unkindness first, so that I would be able to withstand the unkindness of others. I will not bend anymore.