When DJ Akademiks messaged me, I felt flattered. He was the first famous man I ever seriously considered hanging out with. But then I read the lawsuit. What started as harmless DMs turned into a chilling realization: I had been one “yes” away from ending up in a headline. This isn’t just about him—it’s about how fame disguises danger, and how gut instinct is sometimes the only thing that keeps us safe.

I didn’t grow up hearing about domestic violence—I grew up watching it. I saw it in black eyes and slammed doors. I felt it in the silence that followed every explosion. This isn’t just my story—it’s my origin. The reason I became an activist. The reason I write, speak, and refuse to stay quiet. Because I know what it’s like to be the kid in the room, and I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting so others don’t have to grow up in fear like I did.

He told me I was weak for crying. For feeling too much. For being sensitive. But what I’ve learned is this — my emotions weren’t the problem. His inability to face them was. My sensitivity didn’t make me fragile. It made me human.