#emilydoe

Hello fellow readers!

Just this past weekend I finished Chanel Miller’s Know my Name, a memoir from the perspective of Emily Doe and her experience of the highly publicized 2015 assault that occurred to her on California’s Stanford University Campus. 

I personally remember reading about the case when at work at a CUNY campus and feeling horrified by the details and lack thereof. I remember the lack of identity and empathy that Emily Doe received from a select audience and the strange headlines regarding the defendant. But I digress.

This book was another perspective that adds to the me too conversation. It was refreshing, beautifully eloquent, and many things left myself tearing up in public on my commute. It is a visceral experience that is best digested. I personally savored it in chunks because it was intense and a lot to process. 

One of the most endearing and relatable things about the book is Miller wanting to protect those closest to her from the fallout. She states that she “...wanted to preserve their peace” (45). She mentions the story of her parents doing their best to not ruin Christmas for her and her sister. Even though they knew what really happened to the cat. And just like her parents, she compartmentalized moments and breakdowns. She would: “do what I had always done: detach, keep going” (44). But much like those jars that she would hide away in her metaphorical basement, they would come back. They would materialize out of thin air and to her dismay she would start the journey again, deep down. 

Miller alludes to her being like one of those departed students from the tracks. She writes: “so on that January morning in 2015...was like being read a letter...it was not about a death on the tracks ...this time, it was my name” (44). I personally remember being that far away from myself. I felt both everything and nothing. And that trauma is hard to describe to others. Miller did so tremendously. It is poignant. And that keenness is sharp and quick to the cut. Miller’s words are as powerful as any weapon but delivered with the soft vulnerability.

Rape, trauma, and the experience of being a victim are just a shortlist of the things that Miller touches on. Moreover, she also highlights the way society and education connect to mental illness. The complex way that things get put on hold and how we as human beings are not supposed to drop the ball even when we’re suffering. This is mentioned as one of the ways that Miller developed her coping mechanism of dissociating from the painful realities of the world: “...we settled for perpetual numbness.” (43). The content states the way Miller and her classmates were urged and encouraged to move on with their lives regardless of the fact that many of their acquaintances and friends were killing themselves. One day they were there, the next gone. No explanation or further harping of the “ugly truth.” 

This “perpetual numbness” echoed the idea that even though lives were being lost and morale was low students shouldn’t and eventually couldn’t run the risk of pausing. To be pause meant to stop, to stop meant, to lose momentum. This loss of momentum was precious and because you were going against the grain of what was expected of you. It meant there must be something wrong with you. Miller continues: “to be unstable meant to fall behind” (42). This is something that happens to many people but sometimes these moments can wreak havoc on our lives. But we are humans and we are not perfect. Yet it is expected frequently. And the shame that accompanies our failure to meet such expectations are searing. 

Before I get even more ahead of myself, the book was overall, a passionate and poignant account of a woman who lost her voice and identity but found that she always had it. Regardless, of all the smoke and mirrors those determined to tear her down had set up. Approaching the end of her book I’m struck by the following words: “hold up your head when the tears come, when you are mocked, insulted, questioned, threatened, when they tell you you are nothing...” (328). These words will comfort those that have ever been dismissed or sneered at. This empathy can provide guidance and kindness to those who need it.

Rating: 4.25

He preys on damaged women, women who despise themselves, who misplaced their self-worth and believe they deserve to be wounded again and again. Problem with that logic is, these women share an unbreakable, invisible bond. They recognize in one another something they can no longer see in themselves - the unadulterated inner child. Don’t forget, these are women we’re talking about, mother bears who will walk through hell itself to protect the innocent, and they are survivors. Given this insight coupled with the news of his assault on her more vulnerable comrades, a menacing adversary is born.

Fuck this entire situation.