One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever been given in adulthood is just that: never read the comments.

With social media, everyone holding a smartphone or keyboard now has the ability to respond to anything. In many ways, this is good—it gives a voice to people who would have never been heard in a debate. But the shield of anonymity allows others to make outrageous comments with impunity. The kind of remarks few would ever say face-to-face get typed out casually online.

This flood of constant input has also fueled an odd nostalgia for “simpler times.” You see it especially with Baby Boomers and older Gen Xers, who look back fondly on an era when the ugliness of the world wasn’t plastered in real time across screens. But racism, sexual assault, abuse, homophobia—these weren’t “new” problems created by the internet. They’ve always existed. The only difference is that now we can’t hide them behind rumor and silence. They stream live into our feeds.

So when statistics climb and headlines multiply, it can feel like things are getting worse. But in reality, what’s changed is exposure. Take sexual assault. These cases have always been there; they just weren’t talked about.

Full disclosure: I am both a childhood sexual assault survivor and a military sexual trauma survivor.

As a Boy Scout, I was assaulted at a High Adventure base—one of many targeted by the same perpetrator. Later, during my Army service, I was assaulted by another soldier. Reporting wasn’t an option. Not in a climate where “don’t ask, don’t tell” could ruin careers, and where commanders avoided blemishes on their records by burying complaints rather than holding perpetrators accountable.

That hasn’t changed much. Sexual assault isn’t “increasing.” It’s simply become more visible and more accurately defined. Acts once dismissed as hazing or “boys being boys” often meet the legal definition of assault. This isn’t about being “woke.” It’s about acknowledging reality.

Why don’t we do anything about it? Well, consider this: twice, Americans have elected a president who openly bragged about grabbing women “by the pussy.” If voters shrug that off, why would they care about changing the system? Outrage only comes when it happens to someone close to home.

Even when victims report, they’re forced to relive their trauma repeatedly—often under suspicion and blame. That alone deters countless survivors. I know how hard it is to even say “I was assaulted,” without reliving details. I’ve only learned to do so because friends modeled empathy and openness.

And now, with our healthcare system being dismantled in the name of anti-science crusades, survivors face even fewer resources and protections. It was already broken. It’s only worse now.

The solution isn’t just policy—it’s culture. Families need to talk to their children, clearly and directly: don’t rape, and here’s why. Don’t leave it to schools, courts, or churches—especially when so many religious institutions are themselves drowning in sexual abuse scandals.

Here’s the truth: rape isn’t about sex. It’s about control. It’s about power. It’s about stripping someone of their voice and autonomy. That’s why it’s one of the most heinous crimes a human being can commit.

And until we stop excusing it, minimizing it, or treating it as “unfortunate but inevitable,” survivors will continue to pay the price while perpetrators walk free.

I don’t have a clever metaphor or a quip to wrap this one up. Just this:

Love your dog.
Love your mom.
And don’t rape.