Dear friend who supports Trump,

Right now, I would like you to please listen, and really listen. I don’t want an argument; I don’t want to convince you of anything. I respect your opinions, and that includes politics. I respect your opinions because I respect you, and I think you’re intelligent, interesting, an equal. But I also want to share with you how I am feeling, and I want you to try to understand, even if you don’t understand, and even if you think that this kind of experience can’t translate into politics. Because right now, I do not feel respected, I do not feel like an equal. And I am getting this message not from you, not from the Republican Party — I am getting this message from my country. Overnight, this country has turned into a place that does not value women.

I was raised to believe that girls are valued and have just as much potential as boys, despite everything in history that said the opposite. My parents gave me every opportunity they could, and supported my dreams in ways that made me feel like anything was possible. I had a mother who led by example. Along with my older sisters, she created a shining image of what a powerful woman could be, of what I could be. I believed that wholeheartedly. I believed that the heroes of the stories I read growing up were Hermione, Aowin and Scout. I believed that I would never be held back because of my gender. This is what my family made for me.

As I grew up, this beautiful image was tainted. By 15, I’d been sexually assaulted by a friend and suffered long-term abuse at the hands of a man who was three times my age, and my teacher. I realized that there was a whole world beyond the walls of my house, beyond the pages that my parents read to me. The world outside saw me as a victim, and I suffered. It took a long time for me to recover, and part of that recovery entailed re-gaining confidence in my existence as an equal, or in my existence at all. I was taken advantage of because I was vulnerable, and even though that vulnerability is still here, and will probably never go away, over the past few years I have slowly succeeded in seeing myself as more than what those men saw. I have believed that I am more than something to be assaulted, and I came to Stanford finally ready to succeed despite what had happened to me. On November 7th, I was stable. I was looking to my future and seeing the footsteps of my mother and sisters, which would soon be joined by Mrs. Clinton’s, the epitome of the lessons of empowerment I had learned as a child. I was so ready to finally have my equal existence legitimized.

But that didn’t happen. I do not protest the election; I accept that Mr. Trump is now our president, and I respect the reasons that the many in this country voted for him. I do not discount those votes or those voters. But I want you to understand why, despite this acceptance, I feel terrified. During the campaign, Trump made it clear that sexual assault was not only to be ignored, but promoted. He treated women (including his own daughter) like objects and sex toys. He is a man who has assaulted, and at age 70, feels no regrets about it. On the brink of 19, I feel like I am back in freshman year of high school, back to feeling dominated and controlled.  For me, Donald Trump represents the man who abused me and made me feel like I was nothing. I am scared that violence against me, against my sisters and my friends, will increase. I am scared that stories like mine — which I already am hesitant to tell — will become null in a country led by Donald Trump. I am scared that the progress that the women in my family have worked for has just been ripped apart. I am scared that the majority of this country agrees with the violent words of Mr. Trump. I am scared for myself, for my sisters and for every woman and girl whose path to recovery from abuse will be ever more difficult.

I am not asking for you to agree with me. I am not asking you to change your opinion. I don’t want that. I want you to understand why I am in a state of shock and fear and sadness, which will probably last a long time. This is not meant to make you feel guilty, but rather to share my story, and to invite you to share yours. The only way we can move forward is to talk, not argue. I’m sick of debates and I’m sick of avoidance. So I’m not telling you this because I want your pity, or your political agreement. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand my story — because there are thousands just like it.

-Student, Class of 2020

Editor’s note: Due to the discussion of a sexual assault, the op-ed’s writer requested to remain anonymous.