1장
Finding Courage in the Echo of "Me Too"
When a simple hashtag exploded across social media in October 2017, Tarana Burke awoke to find her life's work suddenly thrust into the global spotlight. For over a decade, she had been quietly building a movement around two powerful words: "me too." As she watched thousands of tweets flood her screen that Sunday morning, panic set in. "If these white women start using this hashtag, they'll never believe a Black woman from the Bronx has been building a movement using those exact words for years," she sobbed to a friend. Yet amid her anxiety about recognition, Burke encountered a stranger's blog post describing how the hashtag had helped her feel less alone with her trauma-exactly what Burke's movement had always intended. In that moment, she faced a pivotal choice: fight for credit or embrace the work happening before her eyes. The phrase that began with a young Black girl from the Bronx had become an ocean of a movement, and Burke's own journey to say "me too" would help countless others find their path to healing. Endorsed by Oprah Winfrey and recognized as Time's Person of the Year, Burke's memoir reveals the profound personal story behind a global movement that changed how we discuss sexual violence forever.
2장
The Weight of Being "Ugly"
Words can be serial killers-sometimes more excruciating than physical death, leaving wounds that fester long after they're spoken. For Tarana Burke, the word "ugly" became a weapon that shaped her early identity and self-perception, creating ripples that would affect her relationships and self-worth for decades to come. She recalls the peculiar way people interact with those they find unattractive-the too-long stare, guilty smile, darting eyes-experiences she endured countless times throughout her childhood. These subtle but unmistakable social cues became a language she learned to read fluently, each interaction reinforcing her perceived otherness. Her first devastating encounter came as a young girl when a father told his daughter Burke was "too ugly" to resemble someone named Amaya, a casual cruelty delivered without consideration for the lasting impact it would have.
This cruel assessment created a particular vulnerability that followed her into adolescence, coloring every interaction and reflection. She studied her photos obsessively, wondering what "ugly" meant as the word lodged in her mind like a splinter that wouldn't heal. She examined every feature-her nose, her lips, her skin tone-searching for the flaws others seemed to see so clearly. By high school, Burke transformed her pain into armor, embracing this identity with defensive anger, leaning into being smart, athletic, funny, and outspoken. She became mean as self-protection, developing a sharp tongue and quick wit, unleashing fury on anyone who tried to make her the butt of jokes. This persona became both shield and prison, protecting her while keeping genuine connections at bay.
One day on the subway, a guy noticed her body from behind, calling her "thick"-a moment of fleeting validation that would turn sour. When she turned to face him, his expression changed instantly, morphing from attraction to disgust in a way she'd seen countless times before. He returned to his friends, who erupted in cruel, knowing laughter. Despite traveling alone, she confronted them with the courage born of accumulated rage, but he sneered, "You got a lotta mouth for an ugly bitch." The moment froze her before she could respond, but inside she was breaking down, crying, screaming to be left alone-emotions she'd learned to contain but never truly process.
She stayed on the platform afterward, letting trains pass one after another, scolding herself for losing control, reimagining how differently things would have gone if he'd found her attractive. She played out alternative scenarios where she was beautiful, where she commanded respect rather than ridicule, where she didn't have to fight for basic dignity. This bitter unkindness and shame was slowly killing her-a death sentence she'd received at seven when she first realized she was alone with her pain, carrying a burden that seemed to grow heavier with each passing year. The weight of being "ugly" wasn't just about appearance; it was about being denied full humanity in the eyes of others, a struggle that would eventually fuel her mission to help others reclaim their worth.
3장
The Impact of Early Childhood Trauma
At age seven, Burke experienced a life-altering traumatic event involving an older youth from her neighborhood. The incident occurred in an isolated location, leaving her with deep emotional wounds and confusion about her own role in what transpired. Though she inherently understood something wrong had occurred, she internalized feelings of shame rather than recognizing the perpetrator's responsibility.
When her stepfather Mr. Wes - a protective community leader - sensed something was amiss and inquired, Burke chose silence. Her decision stemmed from concerns about potential consequences and a desire to protect her family. This choice led to emotional compartmentalization as she struggled to maintain an outward appearance of normalcy while processing her inner turmoil.
Further incidents occurred when she was nine, involving another older youth who engaged in exploitative behavior with Burke and another young girl, using photographic evidence as leverage for continued compliance. At age eleven, while recovering from surgery, Burke found her voice during another attempted assault. Despite physical limitations, she successfully defended herself and obtained evidence of the wrongdoing.
Without proper vocabulary or understanding to process these experiences, Burke struggled with misplaced self-blame rather than recognizing the accountability of those who harmed her. The limited guidance she received focused on personal protection without providing context or support for processing trauma. In her teenage years, when peers discussed intimate matters, she silently carried the weight of her early experiences, which profoundly impacted her self-image and emotional well-being.
4장
Roots in the Bronx and Loss of Protection
Burke's identity was profoundly shaped by her upbringing as a third-generation Bronxite born in the early '70s, in a neighborhood where family legacy and cultural pride ran deep. Her grandfather Joseph Burke, one of the first Black babies born at Lincoln Hospital, emerged as a pivotal figure in her early life. A self-taught Black history scholar, he immersed himself in the teachings of Marcus Garvey and Malcolm X, passing down their philosophies of Black empowerment and self-determination to his family. Their household celebrated Blackness with intentional joy and pride, incorporating cultural education into even the smallest moments - from Malcolm X birthday cakes to regular family discussions about Black history and resistance.
The Bronx of Burke's childhood defied the simplistic "burning Bronx" narrative popular in media during the '70s and '80s. While the borough faced significant challenges, Burke witnessed firsthand how her community demonstrated remarkable ingenuity and resilience. Neighbors shared resources, created informal childcare networks, and established community gardens in vacant lots. These early observations of collective problem-solving and mutual aid would later influence Burke's approach to community organizing and healing work, though these same tight-knit blocks also harbored darker realities she would have to navigate.
Mr. Wes, her stepfather, represented a stabilizing force in their family for nearly a decade. A respected figure in the community, he brought structure and security to their household, treating Burke as his own daughter. His presence created a sense of normalcy and protection that Burke desperately needed, though the weight of her hidden trauma prevented her from confiding in him about her abuse. The tragic night at the party that resulted in Anthony's death shattered this fragile security. During a chaotic shootout, Mr. Wes accidentally shot and killed his own son, leading to his arrest and subsequent trial - a devastating turn of events that rippled through the entire family.
The moment Burke learned of his guilty verdict became a breaking point. Collapsing in an elevator vestibule, she experienced a convergence of all her suppressed emotions - grief, guilt, anger, and profound loss. Mr. Wes had represented more than just a stepfather; he was a symbol of safety in a world that had already betrayed her trust. The cruel irony that he was imprisoned not for avenging her abuse (which he never knew about) but for accidentally killing her stepbrother created a complex web of guilt and regret. His absence left a gaping void in their family's protective structure, leaving Burke feeling even more exposed and vulnerable in a world that had already demonstrated its capacity for harm. This loss became a pivotal moment in Burke's journey, highlighting how protection - even when present - could be fragile and imperfect in a system stacked against Black families.
5장
Finding Refuge in Faith and Education
Catholicism both saved and complicated Burke's life as a confused Black girl and survivor. Though her grandfather had abandoned the church after mistreatment in a Catholic boys' home, her mother joined the Catholic Church at twelve, drawn by the joyful community at Saint Athanasius Church. When Burke was six, her mother enrolled her at Sacred Heart Primary School-less from religious devotion and more from wanting to give her every advantage as a working-class single mother.
Burke embraced Catholic teachings wholeheartedly. The structured environment with clear rules about being good provided exactly what she needed: a system where even though she had sinned, God would forgive her if she followed the proper steps. Confession became her favorite ritual besides communion. She would confess "cover sins" like lying or swearing instead of her real transgressions, then secretly double whatever penance the priest assigned to atone for her unspoken sins.
As her home life deteriorated with the arrival of her mother's new boyfriend Eddie, Burke leaned harder into the Catholic Church. However, before her confirmation, her grandfather intervened in her religious devotion by taking her to Liberation Bookstore in Harlem. He bought her historical texts about Black history, insisting she read them alongside the Bible to understand how religion had kept "our folks" mentally chained even after physical freedom. She devoured these books throughout eighth grade and began challenging Father O'Donald with difficult questions about Catholicism's role in slavery. She had found a new identity: radical.
In fall 1987, Burke started at Harry S. Truman High School, deliberately breaking from her Catholic school past. Hip-hop defined their culture-clothes, music, hairstyles, and attitudes. While her honors classes provided refuge where she could showcase her intelligence, she struggled to fit in socially. Her mother insisted she wear only long skirts to school, making her stand out among girls drawing style inspiration from Salt-N-Pepa and Sweet Tee. To compensate for her unstylish appearance, she developed a bad attitude.
When a girl stole her knockoff Gucci purse and later spat at her-one of the worst forms of disrespect in the Black community-something snapped in Burke. She beat the girl badly, earning an in-school suspension. For once, she felt powerful and strong. Her good-girl persona crumbled as a new, fearless identity emerged. That year included six more fights and seven more suspensions, but she'd found a way to channel her rage and temporarily escape her shame.
6장
Literary Awakening and Activism
Burke's love for literature came from her mother, whose home was filled with books by revered Black women writers. Around age twelve, she secretly read Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" against her mother's wishes. When she reached the part where young Maya was molested and raped by her mother's boyfriend Mr. Freeman when she was eight, rather than being horrified, Burke experienced a profound revelation: she wasn't alone. Until then, she'd believed she was the kind of girl bad things happened to, but reading about Maya made her realize innocent girls could experience what she had.
In high school, when her Honors English teacher Mr. Pete showed a video of Dr. Angelou reciting "Phenomenal Woman," Burke was mesmerized by her divine presence. But Mr. Pete reduced the poem to "jive talk" and "trash-talking," suggesting it was merely about a Black woman claiming to be "as good as any white woman." Burke objected passionately, explaining the poem was about a Black woman appreciating herself because nobody else would-with no reference to white women at all.
This confrontation made her question her understanding of Maya Angelou. How could someone who experienced such trauma radiate such confidence and joy? If what she saw was real, how could a body holding that kind of pain also hold joy? This question eventually became central to her healing journey.
After a year at Truman filled with fights and suspensions, Burke's mother secured a safety transfer for her to Herbert H. Lehman High School. There, she embraced her identity as the "Black Power girl," challenging teachers on issues of race and history. She joined the track team, finding friends and belonging, but also facing social pressure about clothing and style that her family couldn't afford.
To gain independence, Burke began working at her school's dropout prevention "jobs office." Making minimum wage felt like a fortune, but more than the money, she loved being useful. Her enthusiasm caught the attention of Mr. Ayala, who offered her a spot on a leadership development trip to Washington, DC-an opportunity that would change her life forever.
7장
Finding Purpose Through Community
The youth leadership trip to Washington, DC, introduced Burke to the 21st Century Youth Leadership Movement, founded in 1985 by veterans of various social movements. The organization's visionary founder, Rose Sanders (Faya Rose Mary Toure), was a powerful attorney who challenged the students to see themselves as leaders.
Sanders led them in reciting the 21st Century pledge, words that validated Burke's identity as an organizer and leader. While her grandfather and mother had grounded her in Black history and consciousness, 21C gave her the tools to use that consciousness for community change. They trained students to strategize, organize, and fight injustice, teaching them they could be leaders at any age.
By the end of the weekend, Burke was eager to start a 21C chapter at Lehman, enhancing her Black Power reputation. That same year, the Central Park Jogger case erupted, with one accused boy having connections to their school. They discussed how the media portrayed these boys as savages rather than children, connecting this to other incidents like Yusef Hawkins' murder in Bensonhurst. Burke identified with these young Black and Brown boys whose lives were deemed expendable in a system that only sought justice for white victims.
Though not yet facing her own abuse, she channeled her rage through activism. The 21C organization became her chosen family, with Alabama feeling like a second home. Her mother eased restrictions after meeting her mentor Mr. Harris, allowing her to attend more trips since 21C's values aligned with how she was raised.
After high school, Burke set her heart on attending Clark Atlanta University. When her financial aid fell short, Mrs. Sanders miraculously arranged her admission to Alabama State University with a single phone call. Within 24 hours, Burke received an acceptance letter and enrollment paperwork. Mrs. Sanders had opened doors she hadn't known existed, paying her housing deposit and handling the arrangements. Within a week, Burke was ready to leave for college, excited about this fresh start where no one knew her secrets and she could finally discover who she truly was.
8장
The Catalyst for "Me Too"
Years later, while working with youth in Selma, Alabama, Burke encountered a twelve-year-old girl named Heaven who desperately tried to confide in her about her stepfather's abuse. Burke panicked and cut her off, telling her to speak with another staff member instead. The disappointment in Heaven's voice when she asked if Burke was just going to walk away pierced her heart.
As Heaven turned and disappeared into the crowd, Burke watched her posture change-the armor they'd worked to chip away materializing again before her eyes. Burke knew she was wrong, but she was terrified. She had spent years compartmentalizing her emotions, taking positive steps to distance herself from the negative parts of her life.
Burke wondered how this twelve-year-old had found courage she still lacked after twice her years. Instead of meeting her at the apex of her bravery, Burke had failed her. She had been trained to meet people where they were, but she couldn't see her story as a gift-only as her shame.
Two days later, camp ended with Heaven avoiding Burke. Haunted by guilt, Burke practiced facing her truth in the mirror, forcing herself to say the words she'd avoided for so long: "I was raped. They molested me." It was a truth she needed to unravel-if not for herself, then for girls like Heaven who could be saved.
This experience, combined with other encounters with young survivors in Selma, led Burke to create a program for Black and Brown girls focused on building self-worth. Though not specifically created to address sexual violence, the program built self-worth by giving girls tools to counter messages of worthlessness, helping them understand their history and plan meaningful futures. Most importantly, they created space where girls felt seen, heard, and valued.
The final catalyst came when Burke discovered that Reverend James Luther Bevel-a celebrated civil rights leader who had relocated to Selma-was a serial child molester who had abused his own daughters. Most devastating was learning that prominent Selma community members had known about this for months yet continued allowing him access to children.
In a moment of desperation after failing to find resources for the affected girls, Burke heard or felt an answer: "It's you." She needed to create something herself, drawing from her own painful experiences. She began writing a workshop, defining terms like grooming, rape, and shame, and collecting stories of survivors who inspired her.
To create something truly healing, Burke had to face what she'd been avoiding. She deliberately remembered her childhood trauma, sobbing uncontrollably until she finally told her story to the person who needed to hear it most: herself. She grabbed a steno pad and wrote two words at the top: "me too."
9장
Liberation Through Truth
Burke couldn't stay in Selma after her breakthrough. Something fundamental had shifted in her body, spirit, and mind that could no longer be contained in that environment. Though she loved many people there, there was nowhere left for her or her child to grow. She applied for jobs in several cities, eventually accepting an offer in Philadelphia after a phone interview.
The hardest part was telling Mrs. Sanders, who had been her mentor for years. When Burke finally did, Sanders screamed "No, Tawana!" and shoved her so hard she fell against a gate. Her anger quickly replaced her initial vulnerability when she learned Burke had been planning this for a year. "We are supposed to be family!" she said, words that felt like a cold slap after everything that had happened with Bevel.
In Philadelphia, Burke developed the vision for supporting Black and Brown survivors that had begun in Selma. The "me too" words she'd written in her notebook evolved into workshops, then a traveling program, and eventually a national campaign through a MySpace page that triggered an outpouring of support requests from survivors across the country.
Years later, Burke faced a pivotal moment with her own child, Kaia. Despite all her work preventing sexual abuse, she discovered Kaia had been molested at summer camp when they were five. As Kaia sobbed in her lap, Burke assured them they'd done nothing wrong and weren't in trouble. Then Burke finally shared her own experience: "When I was a little girl, a similar thing happened to me. That's why when I tell you that you are not to blame, I know what I'm talking about."
Kaia looked up in disbelief: "Mommy, someone did that to you?" When Burke confirmed it, they threw their arms around her and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't know! Are you okay?" Holding them close, she promised, "I am okay, my baby. And you will be too."
Moving to Philadelphia proved to be the boldest, scariest, and best decision Burke had ever made. There she found freedom to trust her voice and clarify her vision: to change how the world viewed sexual assault so we'd stand against it like other social ills, and to ensure no little Black girl would carry the tsunami of pain she did for years.
After the #metoo hashtag went viral in 2017, Burke noticed Black women weren't engaging in the same public celebration of freedom that white women were. The stakes were simply higher for them. Her participation in the "Surviving R. Kelly" documentary came from years of speaking out against his predatory behavior toward Black girls. Despite extensive evidence, only Black feminists seemed outraged while Kelly remained celebrated.
Years after leaving Selma, Burke returned to her old Highbridge neighborhood for an annual celebration. There, she saw him-the young man who had raped her at seven, now older. To her shock, he didn't even recognize her. The monster who haunted her nightmares had the luxury of not remembering her. When she explained to her mother that her abuser was there and hadn't recognized her, her mother responded, "No, he didn't recognize you because you turned out to be a smart, beautiful, accomplished woman despite him trying to take that from you." Burke cried silently, feeling truly seen by her mother for the first time in ages. He hadn't won-she had.
Despite facing hostile attacks from her own community after speaking out about sexual violence, Burke remains committed to creating safety and healing in the Black community. She shares her story for Heaven, Diamond, Kaia, little Tarana, and all colored girls who must live, learn, love and thrive in places where they were harmed. This movement is bigger than a hashtag or any individual. "I am that girl from the stairwell, that girl who fought for freedom, that woman who organized and found her voice. I am her. She is me. And we are free."
