I don’t talk much about what I’m about to bring up. However, many Americans have never seen terrorism up close. I have.
I worked for Planned Parenthood for nearly five years. It wasn’t until after my last day that my boyfriend expressed a certain relief that he wouldn’t have to worry whether I’d be safe at work anymore.
Until that moment, seeing things through the eyes of a concerned loved one, I had failed to notice the cumulative weight of all the moments of fear, big and small. […]
I lost sight of the fact that it wasn’t normal to feel thankful that I commute to work by bike, leaving protesters no way to dig up my personal information using my license plate number. […]
It became normal to attempt to reassure patients shaken by the dozens of men in foreboding black cassocks murmuring chants and staring from the sidewalk near the clinic. I recall joking to myself that whoever threw a Molotov cocktail at our building “couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,” as if a terrorist with a bad arm were really a laughing matter.