Chloe N. L. Lee is a psychiatry resident.
As Tim Walz accepted the vice presidential nomination at the DNC, his teenage son, Gus, inadvertently became internet famous after clips of him crying and exclaiming, “That’s my dad!” circulated. While many across the political spectrum found the display of emotion endearing, inevitable ugliness ensued.
Ann Coulter commented in a since-deleted post on X: “Talk about weird.” Podcaster Mike Crispi mocked “Walz’s stupid crying son” as a “puffy …
I almost didn’t write this piece. Almost.
I feared it might be seen as provocative like I was asking for trouble. But that is exactly the attitude that has silenced victims of harassment and stalking for too long.
The short version of the story is that an unwanted presence continues to plague my life, bringing only turmoil and vitriolic spite with every intrusion. In his eyes, our “dynamic” was “volatile” …
Months after I left him, I could still feel the pain he inflicted. He not only weaponized my insecurities but also demeaned the things about myself that I loved, insidiously dismantling my sense of self until nothing remained.
I even doubted my ability as a psychiatrist, and I hated him for that.
“Talking to you is like trying to read a Step 2 question!” he had sneered. “I don’t know anyone who …
There are no words more devastating than, “Our hands are tied” to a survivor reporting abuse and seeking some semblance of accountability from a larger institution. “The institution admitted no fault” is a close second.
Picture this sequence: a trusted physician at a renowned academic medical center sees a patient at a vulnerable stage in her life for a regular appointment. As she is exposed for a standard physical exam, he …
I recall a particularly tense interaction on my surgery rotation in medical school. The sub-intern on our team, a dedicated classmate of mine, was instructed to carry the call pager one Friday afternoon, to the undue chagrin of the team’s nurse practitioner. With an irritable toss of her blonde hair, eyes rolling with exasperation, the NP snappily handed off the pager to our sub-intern. “Ugh, this is going to slow …
The luridness of it made me feel like the female lead in a bad Lifetime movie. The person whom I trusted most was a monster: an affair with a middle-aged prostitute who verbally abused me, an Ashley Madison account, and countless payments to sex workers – those were the tip of the repulsive iceberg that was my relationship.
And sadly, these were the least of my problems. My once-kind then-partner’s face …
Six seconds is the amount of time it would have taken for him to render me unconscious.
Shortly thereafter, I might have lost my life.
One month before I finally found the strength to leave an abusive ex-partner, he rushed at me with unexpected force during an argument and wrapped his hands around my throat. I kicked desperately at his chest, terrified, heart racing, during what I believed might be my final …
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