It just so happens that my time at Jezebel coincided with some extremely difficult moments—for the country, for the world, for women, certainly for me. As I look back, it feels unthinkable to have endured, let alone written about all of… that with anyone but the people I did it with. I’m thankful to my former EIC, Laura Bassett, for hiring and mentoring me. I’m thankful to my current EIC, Lauren Tousignant, for so many things through the years (nursing me back to health in Austin, Texas, is definitely high on the list), and just generally being as far and away the opposite of Miranda Priestly as a boss could possibly be.
So many other people colored my time here and made it what it was—which was, even on my worst days, still very, very much my dream job: I’m thankful to Audra Heinrichs for always, on top of being the most supportive colleague, being the reason it was exciting to go to the office back when we had to do that, because I was always like, “I wonder what extremely cool outfit Audra will be wearing today?!?” (Is it workplace harassment for me to say that if we’re not co-workers anymore???) I’m thankful to Kady Ruth Ashcraft, with whom I share far too many wonderful memories to detail here, but whom I will always fondly remember as the person I watched Babygirl with at 10 a.m. on a Friday. I’m thankful to Susan Rinkunas, whose trailblazing and fiercely brilliant reporting on reproductive rights inspired me for years before we actually met. I’m thankful to my former colleague Emily Leibert for being perhaps the closest thing to a big sister figure I have in my life, and I say that as someone with two big sisters. I’m so, so thankful to my former editors, Sarah Rense and Nora Biette-Timmons, for (I hope!) making me a better writer, and to Jenna Amatulli for all the many lessons and laughs. And, over at our sister site, the AV Club, thank you to Drew Gillis and Mary Kate Carr for being two of my best friends in the world.
Growing up, I dreamed of working somewhere like Jezebel—which, I know, is an awfully convenient thing to say as someone who still technically works here for at least a few more hours. But it’s true. I wanted to be a journalist but more than I wanted to be a journalist, I wanted to be a feminist writer; I wanted to work in a space where my credibility wasn’t rooted in performative “objectivity” or some show of detachment from the crushing realities of our patriarchal society, but rather, in my commitment to speaking honestly and personally about what’s really happening. And in my lived experiences—as a young (-ish…) woman, as a survivor of sexual violence, as someone who’s had abortions.
Throughout my time here, I was gifted with the trust and support of my editors and colleagues to pursue and write almost every story I could dream up, which, if you work in this industry, you’ll know is no small thing at all. I’ve reported (on numerous occasions) on how abortion bans are making it increasingly difficult for domestic violence victims to escape abusive situations; I’ve interviewed domestic violence experts about the Heard-Depp trial and the tireless, dangerous myth of “mutual abuse”; I’ve interviewed the Texas women who were sued by their friend’s ex for helping her have an abortion; I’ve interviewed rape victims about what abortion bans mean to them. I’m forever thankful for the trust of the humanitarian workers who first told me they’ve seen the miscarriage rate in Gaza surge 300% amid Israel’s genocide; relatedly, I’m very grateful to work somewhere that acknowledges and seeks to shine light on the ongoing genocide in Gaza, encouraging me to speak to a U.N. human rights attorney on the endemic sexual violence Israel has perpetrated across the region, and to interview the brilliant Mohammed El-Kurd on the Palestinian struggle against demands for their perfect victimhood. I’ve written about my own life, too—about how I, personally, know abortion has touched all our lives; about powerful accused men’s selective memories and my own questions about whether my assailant even remembers me.
And, on a slightly different note, I was also somehow allowed to write every horny and hateful thought I’ve ever had about the NBA and the minefield that is online NBA fandom. Speaking of online fandom, it was a joy to make the case for why YouTuber MrBeast should be tried for war crimes at The Hague. And you know what? Interviewing Rep. Ayanna Pressley (D-Mass.), former Rep. Cori Bush (D-MO), and abolitionist scholar-activist Ruth Wilson Gilmore—people I admire deeply—was pretty cool, too.
There’s too much left to say, so I’m just going to cut myself off here and personally thank you, the reader; maybe we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but your interest in my work—whether to hate-read or to genuinely support it—really has made a profound difference in my life and my ability to do the work I love.
I’ve always seen writing as a means for world-building, to not just condemn what’s wrong but imagine all that could be right. On that note, my hope for the future is one in which our work as journalists is valued and invested in; a world in which our bodily autonomy and safety within our bodies and communities, from the U.S. to Palestine, is a reality, not a dehumanizing political debate. And, selfishly, I hope that Jezebel continues to exist and thrive for a long, long, long time.