Becoming a Headline: The Reality of Speaking Out

The Press Conference

As I stepped up to the microphone on the 50th floor of First Canadian Place, I could barely hear my own thoughts. Instead, the pounding of my rapid heartbeat was the only sound filling my mind. The flashing lights of the cameras blinded me. Reporters raised their hands while others held a pen and pad. Everyone in this room had a purpose: the journalists, the lawyers, the survivors, and the advocates. The issues we were talking about were not just ordinary, everyday issues, but ones that cause generational trauma and pain and highlight the injustices embedded within our systems.

Moments later, I publicly shared my experience of sexual assault for the first time on national television. You could feel the tension in the air. As I began to read my speech, cameras clicked rapidly as the press captured one of my most vulnerable moments for nationwide display. I was beyond terrified. As I read, all I could focus on were the bright television lights streaming down onto me and into my eyes, practically blinding me. I continued reading, my voice cracking every time I reached a line that brought me shame. All I wished for was for that moment to be over. When it was, I realized that nothing in my life would ever be the same again.

After I stepped away from the microphone, I remember feeling a mixture of relief and fear. I had finally said the words I had been carrying with me, but I also knew that by saying them publicly, I had given other people the opportunity to have an opinion about my experience. I had not yet fully understood what it meant for my story to become public, or how quickly something so personal could become a headline.

Speaking Out

The decision to come forward publicly and speak about an experience in my life that brought me tremendous shame and guilt was not easy. I knew that speaking out would be a double-edged sword. Although I could help others in similar positions feel less alone, others would try to deny my reality and the truth of what happened. Over time, I have learned to accept that I cannot change the opinions of strangers online, but instead, I have learned to pay attention to the individuals who support me on my journey for justice.

There were also moments when I realized that my decision to speak publicly had encouraged other people to share their own experiences with me. Individuals, both men and women, began entrusting me with their personal stories, and some told me that seeing someone speak publicly made them feel less alone. Although this was empowering, it also made me realize that speaking out came with a responsibility I had not initially anticipated.

Reporting My Sexual Assault

Although there were times when I felt completely lost, my partner helped me through some of the most demanding and challenging experiences that came with speaking out. I still remember one of the very first moments when my partner, Alex Boyko, was there for me.

It was an early Tuesday morning in the fall. The air was crisp but not yet freezing, the kind of morning people call perfect sweater weather. We arrived at 14 Division Station in Toronto, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Toronto Police Service. There were two reasons we came to this particular station. First, crimes must be reported to the police division where they occurred. Second, this was where I would meet with detectives and investigators to give my formal statement about my sexual assault. The interview would be both audio- and video-recorded.

I sat in the lobby of the police station waiting to meet my detective for the first time. I waited for what felt like an eternity, but eventually it was time to walk into the interview room. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest, and I was nauseous, not because I was afraid, but because at that moment I was choosing myself. Alex was there beside me during one of the most difficult moments of the process, and although he could not give the statement for me or take away the emotions I was experiencing, having someone I trusted there made it easier to take that next step. I chose to be brave despite the thousands of emotions and thoughts telling me to walk away. I chose justice not only for myself but for the countless others who had experienced harm.

When I entered the interview room, I sat at a round table across from two male detectives and swore under oath. At that moment, I knew there was no turning back. I knew the course of my life was about to change in ways I could not have anticipated.

The Double-Edged Sword of Justice

I came to the decision to speak out because I reflected and came to the conclusion that I was in a better position than other women to do so. Around the world, women and girls continue to face legal and social barriers that restrict their rights and their ability to make decisions about their own lives. According to UN Women, no country in the world has reached full legal equality for women and girls, and a girl can still be forced to marry by national law in nearly three out of four countries.

I decided that, although what had happened to me was completely different, I owed it to the women who cannot speak or pursue justice to come forward. I thought about all the women and men who had similar experiences with the same individual or had been victims of the same form of assault. Speaking out was not just an act of fearlessness but an act of reclaiming power for the generations of women who have repeatedly been silenced.

Although speaking out was empowering in multiple aspects, such as having other individuals, both men and women, entrust their personal stories to me or look up to me, speaking out came with great responsibility. However, it also came with its downsides, which I could never have anticipated. What they do not tell you is that when you come forward and speak out or report your sexual assault, you will be met with both admiration and disdain.

The individual who was my perpetrator was a well-known and self-described dating coach and pickup artist known as Justin Marc Aguiar. Almost instantly, my story, name, and face became a trending topic on social media. People left comments, with the majority being supportive while others attempted to poke holes in my experience.

At the same time, I slowly felt as if my personal autonomy was being stripped from me. Not just by people online, but by the court system and police interactions. My privacy and safety began to crumble right before me. I had chosen to speak publicly about my experience, but I had not chosen everything that happened to my story once it entered the public sphere.

Despite knowing everything that I know now, I would still make the same decision to speak out. Only now do I have lived experience that I can offer to others, so if they do choose to come forward, they will be better prepared than I was. The biggest takeaway I would give to someone in my position or similar is two things. First, you do not have to reveal your identity or compromise your safety in the name of justice. There are ways to make ripple change without people ever knowing who you are.

Second, your story will be dissected from every angle at every point. Not everyone will have a clear understanding of who you are and what happened. The only person who knows what happened is you, and there is much power to be found in standing in your truth.

While I’ve had negative experiences, such as trying to navigate the court system and bringing concerns to the police or media, I have also, in contrast, experienced moments where I felt truly liberated. Through this process, I’ve learned how to become an advocate not just for others but for myself. I learned that speaking your truth and using your voice is the most powerful tool one can utilize. Despite the opinions of others, there is much power to be found in speaking truth to justice.

Looking back, one of the hardest parts of speaking out was realizing that I could no longer completely control how my story was seen by others. Once my experience became public, it was no longer only something I carried privately. It became something that could be reported on, discussed online, questioned by strangers and interpreted by people who had never met me.

I became a headline, but I was still a person behind that headline. I was still the person who had sat in a police station trying to find the courage to tell my story, the person who had stood on the 50th floor of First Canadian Place holding a speech in one hand and a blue rosary in the other.

If I could speak to someone in a similar position, I would tell them that you do not have to reveal your identity or compromise your safety to create change. Speaking out can be powerful, but so can choosing how, when and where you tell your story. You should never feel as though you have to sacrifice your safety in order to be heard.

I would also tell them that their story belongs to them, even when other people begin talking about it. People may question you, criticize you or misunderstand you, but they were not there. You were. There is much power in knowing what you experienced and standing in your truth, even when others refuse to understand it.

I still think about that day sometimes. I think about how fast my heart was beating every second, standing beneath the television lights, trying to get through words that were some of the hardest I had ever spoken aloud. At the time, I thought the hardest part would be stepping up to the microphone. I later realized that the harder part was learning how to live with everything that happened after I stepped away from it.

Despite everything, I would still make the same decision to speak out. Not because it was easy, and not because I knew what would happen afterward, but because I learned that my voice was something that no one else could take away from me. My advice to any individual in a similar situation is to hold your head up high, remember who you are, and remember that this is a purpose much bigger than just ourselves.

I cannot control what people say about me, how they interpret my story, or whether they believe me. But I can control whether I continue to use my voice.

And I choose to use it.