Every time a powerful man’s abuse fills the headlines, something else happens quietly.

Women across professions, families, and communities find themselves unable to sleep. They feel sudden waves of nausea while scrolling. Memories they worked hard to contain begin pressing at the edges. It does not look dramatic from the outside. It looks like distraction, irritability, exhaustion, tears in a grocery store parking lot.

This is not just interest in a news story. It is the nervous system recognizing something it has known before.

For much of the last century, child sexual abuse and incest were minimized, dismissed, or pushed into silence. Many women were told it was not that bad, that they were exaggerating, that speaking up would destroy their families. Now, when cases like Epstein’s dominate public conversation, they do more than expose corruption. They reopen private histories.

In this piece, I explore why media coverage of sexual exploitation can activate old trauma, why your reactions make sense, and how we can respond to one another with belief instead of suspicion. If you or someone you care about feels stirred up by the current headlines, this is for you.

You are not overreacting. You are responding. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Unsplash Image by Mehran Biabani

@mehranbiabani

I wanted this trip to be about new places, about adventure, about the lightness of movement and discovery. A travel journal, filled with café stops and charming streets, salty sea air and sunsets over unfamiliar horizons. But the truth is, we don’t always get to decide what takes up space in our hearts.

Because here I am, standing at an airport gate, unable to shake the image of a young woman leaning into the man beside her, fragile but determined, taking step after step toward something unknown. And here I am, once again, feeling the weight of a battle I fought nearly a decade ago, a battle I have spent years healing from, releasing, making peace with. Yet, no matter how much time passes, some moments pull me right back.

This journey has been a series of reminders—not of where I’m going, but of where I’ve been. And no matter how much I try to keep this journal lighthearted, the truth insists on being written. Because sometimes, travel isn’t just about places. Sometimes, it’s about what we carry with us, even when we think we’ve left it behind.

Writing has been my lifeline, a way to heal, explore, and connect, from a teenager navigating trauma to a mother chronicling fleeting family moments. It is my anchor in grief, my celebration of joy, and my bridge to future generations. Writing is not just what I do; it is who I am.