— Wangari Maathai

I can’t pretend that I don’t have fear in launching my blog on Tuesday. There’s a lot to be afraid of: putting myself out there, rejection, disagreement, telling people about my own story of abuse (something only a few people currently know). And of course my biggest fear is failure.

It turns out that failure is actually my biggest fear in life, something I learned through entering therapy this past fall, journeying through my own story of childhood molestation and how that abuse has created the passionate, driven woman I am today. Failure is my number one. But without some sort of form of failure, how will we as humans ever learn to move on and strive for something better?

Bravery: After this, I should be able to take on anything in life.

This is a time when we have to shed our fear and give hope to each other.

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

I’ve never been able to keep my mouth shut. If something upsets me, the passion inside of me comes bubbling out like a volcanic mountain spewing lava–I can’t help but to literally rage against the injustices of what I see.

And for the majority of my young life I was regarded as an erratic female with a mouth of her own that spouted off uncontrollably. Now, I’ll admit, there were moments of adolescent rage that I really could have controlled better:

Like when I was a lunch server in high school and threw a serving spoon full of peas at a fellow male lunch worker who just pushed my buttons one too many times.

Or when I picked arguments in a current events class, choosing to support the “liberal media,” that eventually led me to getting so riled up that I would have to leave the room. I fully admit my passion needed some fine-tuning.

It wasn’t until my college years that I learned that speaking when no one else would was a good thing though.

A wonderful woman two years ahead of me commended me for speaking out against an injustice that I saw within the feminist group on my college’s campus. At this point I honestly don’t remember the back-story. All I know is that I was mad and I called the group out. Many people weren’t exactly down with what my sophomore loud-mouth criticism was saying. But this young woman in particular sought me out, asked me to coffee, and told me that the fact that I could say something that other people weren’t willing to say, and to accept the adversity that came with that, was an excellent characteristic to hold.

I knew this passion of mine had to come from somewhere; there had to be a reason. And now I’ve found that reason.

I can no longer remain silent about the fact that sexualized violence, assault, and abuse happens. It happens all around us. It happens to 1 in 5 women in the U.S. (and that’s only counting those who report it). It has happened to many of my friends. It has happened to me.

And I guarantee that it happens within the walls of the institutional church. Yes, I’m going to say it: it even happens within the Mennonite Church, a church that focuses on peace, nonviolence, and pacifism.

Is it sad? Yes. It is disgusting? Yes. Is it unfortunate? Of course. But those aren’t reasons to hold back from talking about it.

I want to tell stories. I want to tell my story and I want to tell your story. I want to tell stories of the women I met in Indonesia and Peru who had been raped, and I want to tell an old friend’s story of sexual assault at a Mennonite college. I want to collect our stories in order to empower each other, to bring light to this situation, and to bring about change. Because until we start talking about this we’re not going to have the hope and ability to bring on change.

We need to start a movement. That time is now.