Intimidation and Silence: Ignore It Is the Worst Advice

Takeaway: Don’t ignore it. Naming abuse is power. Refusing silence is power — and so is stepping back to gather support and strategy when you need to stay safe.

On November 12, I attended Words as Weapons: Women, Online Abuse, & the Fight for Digital Safety, hosted by PEN America and the Women's Media Group. Shoutout to Kathy Sandler—publishing technology leader, Folio honoree, and co-president emerita of Women's Media Group—for inviting me to be part of this circle of inspiring women, and to her and Christina Cerio for asking me to share my impressions in this piece.

The first question set the tone: How do we even talk about what we're about to talk about? The panelists—journalists, editors, activists—carried the tension of that question throughout the night. Because, despite being gaslit and consequently gaslighting ourselves, despite pretending it's "not that bad," the violence women face online and off is that bad. Worse for disabled women and women of color. Recent shifts in our digital and political landscape have only intensified an already unacceptable state of being.

Jamia Wilson remembered the exact moment in her childhood when she learned about silence and intimidation. She once asked her grandparents a question, and they replied, “Oh, they burned a cross here because Grandpa was registering voters.” She cited it as the moment she realized she "literally didn’t understand intimidation as a child." And now she sees people "hiding behind IP addresses like they’re the new white sheet.”

"Things right now are not good," Viktorya Vilk said. Because violence against women is so widespread, many of us have been conditioned to accept a baseline amount and endure quietly—sometimes with such strength and wisdom that others convince themselves we're fine. So when we name what's happening and speak up, we're told to be flattered, develop thicker skin, set better boundaries, stop complaining—and the worst of all: "just ignore it."

This is terrible advice for writers: Vilk and I agree. Writers need to be seen and heard. We don't thrive by disappearing. And not writing isn't just bad for our careers—it's a slow death. I've tried it. I've languished under the unsung weight of my own potential. I don't want that for you. And besides, you can tell yourself to ignore it, but as we’ve learned from Bessel van der Kolk, our bodies keep the score. Writers gotta write, as I've said before.

So Much Misunderstanding, So Little Time

"There is so much misunderstanding of how abuse shapes a life," Alia Dastagir said.

When she was a reporter at USA Today, Alia wrote a story investigating child sex abuse at a summer camp in the 1950s. She wrote about the science of pedophilia and became the target of online mob violence. Her work to learn more about and protect children from the horrors of abuse was twisted into a sick narrative where she was accused of normalizing what she was trying to prevent with good journalism. She and her family became the target of online violence. Those of us who’ve experienced similar trauma understand what she means when she says, “You really truly feel like you might die from being afraid."

Most women in the world understand that constant anticipation and anxiety—the bargains and negotiations you make in your mind, the hypervigilance—are their own form of violence. "You have a physical reaction," she said. "Enough of that over time, and you have a chronic health condition."

Most of us know that becoming authentic is hard. I often say that, like writing a book, if becoming authentic were easy, everyone would do it. “Nobody who is trying to show up as their authentic self is without some level of abuse,” Dastagir said. The calculation becomes: Is it worth what it's going to cost? Your body, your reputation, your bank account? The economic effects. The reputational risks. The PTSD. “We need to stop pretending these aren't real,” she said.

The panel didn't sugarcoat any of the alarming realities or statistics. One in four American women has faced online harassment. The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) reports that nearly 60% of women globally have experienced some form of digital violence. And the digital abuse isn't staying digital—it's spilling into everyday life. That said, the panel did offer sound strategies and support, and they refused to let despair win.

So What Can We Do?

Recognize We're at an Inflection Point

"Our politicians are going after people in violent ways—it gives everyone permission to do the same," Francesca Donner said. Because it's happening to so many more people, the less anyone can dismiss it.

Don't Ignore It

Document everything. Report it. Otherwise, as Gloria Steinem tells Alia Dastagir in To Those Who Have Confused You to Be a Person, “They get away with it.”

Seek Cultural, Institutional, and Social Support

Call out minimizing and gaslighting in favor of real support. Get confirmation from your employer that they have your back. Mobilize colleagues and institutions. In 2024, a false online rumor claimed Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, were “eating pets.” The Haitian Times debunked the hoax, and in retaliation, its journalists faced targeted harassment, including doxxing and a swatting incident. The newspaper rallied behind its staff, implementing security measures and publicly affirming the importance of reporting the truth without fear. The Haitian Times didn't go silent when they were attacked. Their entire newsroom became a united front. This is what institutional support looks like. Surround yourself with people who reassure you that you will be okay and do what they have to do to make it so. 

Know Your Rights

Understanding what legal protections you have is the first step. The Constitution still guarantees free expression—and perhaps now more than ever, we need to claim that right.

Engage in Counter Speech

This was huge: Don't engage directly with the abuser. Instead, continue to share your work forcefully. Denounce hate and harassment. Fact-check disinformation.

It's Okay to Leave These Spaces

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is refuse to participate in platforms that won't protect you. You don't owe anyone your presence on a platform that enables your abuse. It’s okay to prioritize your health and safety.

We Have More Power Than We Think

This became the refrain of the night. When we organize, when we support each other, when we refuse to be silent—we have more power than we realize.

You Need Inspiration & Courage

Look no further than the extraordinary lineup on this panel:

Francesca Donner
Founder and editor-in-chief of The Persistent, launched in 2024. Before starting her own media company, Francesca spent years at The New York Times as Gender Initiative Director. She was appalled by what she witnessed: women's stories were never on the front page. "What about women and women of color and disabled women?" she asked. When the answers weren't good enough, she decided to build something new—a media platform that centers on women's voices and stories, rather than sidelining them.

Viktorya Vilk
Director for Digital Safety and Free Expression at PEN America. Around 2016, PEN America started hearing from members who were being attacked online, asking if they had resources. What they found was disturbing: most cyber advice told people to "make yourself invisible.”  Viktorya created PEN America's Online Abuse Defense Program, which equips writers and journalists with the necessary tools and strategies to defend against online abuse. She leads the way in helping newsroom leaders and publishing houses protect their people. Her work has been featured in PBS Newshour, The New York Times, Slate, and Harvard Business Review.

Alia Dastagir
Award-winning journalist and author of To Those Who Have Confused You to Be a Person (Crown). Alia left the newsroom at USA Today in 2016 to write her book, having spent years covering gender issues. She admits she had a "myopic attitude" at first: "I wasn't paying attention to this issue. It didn't enter my consciousness until it was affecting the texture of my own life." Former Rosalynn Carter Fellowship recipient and National Headliner Award winner.

Jamia Wilson
Vice President and Executive Editor at Random House. Former Director of the Feminist Press and former VP of Programs at the Women's Media Center. Author of Make Good Trouble: Discover Movements That Sparked Change (released February 2025)—inspired by John Lewis—which tells 70 stories of global activism to encourage young people to take action. Also author of This Book Is Feminist, Young, Gifted, and Black, and co-author of Roadmap for Revolutionaries.

The Bottom Line

Intimidation breeds fear, shrinking, and survival. In naming it, in showing up for the work we are meant to do, we reclaim our power. We refuse to vanish. We persist. We rise. We thrive. Change is possible. It’s happening. Don’t ignore it. Our power is greater than we’ve yet to imagine. 

The work these women are doing, and their refusal to be intimidated and silenced, at PEN America, The Persistent, Random House, in newsrooms, publishing houses, and the Women’s Media Group, is courageous and inspiring. Their insistence that we don't have to accept this violence as the baseline has lit a fire under me. At the very least, I hope reading this is keeping you warm. Want to talk or write about it? You can reach me by clicking the button bellow:

I’ve already started reading Alia Dastagir’s book, To Those Who Have Confused You to Be a Person. In it, she talks about leaving Gloria Steinem’s house after an interview and consequent conversation where Steinem insisted she report the abuse. She says she left with "Evidence that when women commune, we birth novel ideas, new movements, different refusals, and fresh hopes." It’s true—I left Words as Weapons last Wednesday night feeling the same way.

111: Awaken Your Best Year Yet — Vision Board with The Clementina Collective

Close friends, and even some onlookers who know me from afar, suspected I’d land on my feet like a cat when I went through my most recent, several-year-long, dark night of the soul; the one that ended in divorce, relocation, and ultimately, rebirth.

I wasn’t always so sure. There were nights I woke up not even knowing where I was, who I had become, or whether I’d soon be living in a shoebox; that was the fear. Many mornings, I had to reverse-engineer how I got here: how, after twenty-two years of marriage and eighteen years living on a mile-and-a-half-long island I called home, I was no longer a wife, or a City Islander.

“Home is where you are,” one of my sons said. Even with that wisdom and a recollection of the facts, I wasn’t sure who I was becoming, let alone where I was headed. Add to that my foggy, grief-stricken state, and well, it was a lot.

When people ask me now how I made it through, my answers range from the practical to the mystical: therapy, meditation, community, angels, my fantastic friends, long walks, messy journaling, work, writing, vitamin infusions, and above all, the quiet “magic” of vision boarding.

Every January, my dear friend Rachel and I gather magazines, scissors, high-vibe words, gorgeous photos, and tea. We have made a ritual of creating vision boards. We never referred to each other as “accountability partners,” though we do encourage and support each other. Like the time she handed me the words, and the permission, to take a real vacation, alone. Thanks, Rachel!

Together, we’ll occasionally laugh at a wildly ambitious collage idea (one we know will likely take more than a year to bring to fruition), feeling both grounded and giddy at the possibilities inside us. Like writing, vision boarding is a practice that quietly and consistently shapes the way I live now. My vision board teaches and reteaches me that I’m my own North Star every time I gaze upon it.

I’ll give you an example: the home I live in now looks almost exactly like the collage I made in my “home” section a few years back. Cozy light. Books. Open shelves. Plants. Spaces for connection. A big, low cloud of a bed for me. A loft for one of my boys. A sense of peace. I still remember standing here with my landlord when the place was empty, my heart doing happy flips: the board had set the frequency; life just caught up. This is the place. I knew it in my bones.

Whenever I pause during the process and wonder–Is this really possible?–I touch the images that make my heart race, that fill me with energy and enthusiasm —and I know: “this” is already within my reach. When I choose it for the board, it’s already mine.

My experience confirms what neuroscience tells us: when we visualize our goals, we activate the same neural pathways as when we take action. Our brains begin to organize around what we want, and we start to notice opportunities, synchronicities, and the divine winks that match the frequency of our intentions. To be clear, manifestation isn’t magic; Your life is always the result of what you’ve done and refused to do. So, why not make it intentional?

Vision boarding provides a visual cue that fosters recognition, prompt action, and creative outcomes.

That’s why I’m hosting 111: Awaken Your Best Year Yet, a vision boarding experience unlike any you’ve had before. Many of you will recognize these angel numbers. Others will see them everywhere now. They’re a sign of new beginnings, opportunity, or an awakening nudge from your guardian angels.

In this intimate, three-hour circle, we’ll:

🌿 Ground, center, and dream with chanting & a sound bath with Jes!

🌿 Bask in the frequency of fulfillment and resonance

🌿 Create vision boards infused with joy, clarity, and soul-guided purpose

🌿 Leave with a living board you can return to and evolve throughout the year

You’ll be surrounded by a small group of kindred spirits. Together, we’ll practice living “as if” the world is our oyster. Because, darlings, it is!

Ready to become a vibrational match for your highest-vibe life?

🗓 Date: Sunday, January 11

📍 Location: Atelier Modern, Larchmont, NY

⏰ Time: 1:00–4:00 PM

💫 Investment: $111

🎟 Space is limited to 20 participants

✨ Reserve your spot now and begin 2026 aligned with your creativity, joy, and highest frequency.

All you need to bring is yourself and a yoga mat, a small blanket, and a pillow. I’ll provide the boards, creative materials, sparkling beverages, etc. By all means, you can bring your own images, words, etc, for your board, knowing I will have plenty to share.

When Silence is Strategy: For Writers, it’s an Impossible Bind

“Prove them wrong.” Can I get an Amen? A Hallelujah? 

I’m sure I’ve got a backup band, a chorus, a whole legion of people who can relate. When I first saw the graffiti in the featured post, it spoke to me.

And if writing has taught me anything, it’s this: I’m not alone. 

Before my last blog, which shared a book I helped co-create, years had passed since I’d written the previous post.

Even though I kept working on my book and other people’s (more author spotlights coming soon), and work was often my happy place, I’d gone quiet again, and I was judging myself harshly for it.

Ironic?

Given that the highest compliment I get from students is that I’m like the nonjudgmental mother they never had, maybe.

Intermittently, I told myself it was a strategy—to keep myself and my kids safe during divorce—and that’s partially true. Anything I said, and even a completely irrelevant hat I once wore, were used against me in a court of law.

That impossible bind—my need to write & my protective instinct was a harrowing line to walk; one I know so many of us have, sadly, walked before or are walking right now. Fear creates a freeze response, and it can take some time to thaw. So to all of you who are still here, still reading, still fans, thank you.

Last year, I heard myself say to a very dear person in my life, “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” A few months later, at a cherry blossom festival, amidst the beauty of a stunning variety of blossoms, I saw the graffiti on the bridge in the featured post. When it resonated with me, the way I suspect it resonates with you, I knew I still had healing to do.

Cherry blossoms represent the fleeting nature and beauty of life, new beginnings, vitality, the arrival of spring, and hope after winter. You may not be able to make them out here, the way my site has cropped the picture, but they’re there in the background, all around—78 jaw-droppingly gorgeous varieties of cherry blossoms. And though I so desperately wanted to be entirely in the new beginning season of my life, old echoes of doubt lingered in the cold wind and rain that day.

The words “prove them wrong” reminded me of the persistent threats leveled at me before I left my old life: “You’ll never make it on your own.” 

For a time, the words haunted every attempt at independence. As I found my footing, silence seemed like survival—but it also felt like it was killing me. Living with the ache of knowing that my absence left space for false narratives, and feeling complicit in my own erasure (or worse, my vilification) was heavy, among other heavy lifts. 

Turns out, becoming the villain in other people’s stories is one of the most freeing things that’s ever happened to me. We’ll go there in another post, but suffice it to say, I couldn’t have seen that without silence, another gift.

For someone who’s built a life around self-expression, silence is never neutral, and it exacts a cost. Keenly aware of the weight of holding back—protecting ourselves and those we love — we feel the sting of betraying the truths we care about most, the ones we know will move us forward.

After all, writers gotta write. 

Beneath the silence, and further still, beneath the gremlins’ voices, “You’ll never make it on your own,” a small voice whispered: Prove them wrong. At first, that provocation felt urgent—like motivation, like a goal, like the only path the Queens girl in me had ever known to getting her groove back. A little prove them wrong, a well-placed fuck you, and there’d be little else to do, right?

Nah, not again. Loves, I was so tired. And when I heard myself say, “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” I realized if I could say that to someone I love, I could give that same grace to myself. I don’t want to waste another moment of my precious life proving others wrong. I’d rather let my heart, my life, my writing speak for itself. I’d rather conserve my energy for more magic.

That’s when silence began to feel like a sanctuary. A place where I could live even deeper into my evolving knowing and rest while I did it: I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I don’t have to speak from a place that’s reactionary. I can continue with my word of 2025: alchemy.

There’s a time in many writers’ journeys where the most important “work” to do is to live in a place where breathing is enough, knowing you’ll speak out when the moment is right, when you feel safe and free, when you’ve built capacity.

When my words carry the energy of love and wisdom, I can live even more fully in my own light and shine it, one breath/word, then another, and so on. When my wishes and my words are aligned with who I’ve become, who I’m becoming still, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone; I get to be. Turns out, this love is always here for me. 

If you feel silenced by circumstances, by people, by fear, you know the tension: the ache between asserting your voice and protecting yourself, between the truth that burns in your throat and the wisdom that whispers, wait.

"Aspetta. Aspetta,” Italian for wait. I can hear my grandmother calling after child-me, running ahead impetuously. 

You don’t need to run ahead. You don’t need to run headlong into your fears. Live into your truth. You don’t need to prove anything. Presence, patience, courage, and unconditional love will loosen the cords that silence you: The patriarchy, your parents, your partner, your conditioned self.  If you’re proving them wrong, you’re still bound. And when the moment to break free comes, your voice will emerge fully, unmistakably, and on your terms.

Until then, it’s okay to wait.  

I’ll be here. With love, always,  

Clementina