Ms.

Dear Melania,

The world is watching you. They analyze you. Did you hold his hand? Did you swat it away? Were you happy in the first dance as the First Lady? Why did you stay in New York instead of moving to the White House? How did you feel when he forgot you were standing beside him during that press conference after the flood. I’m not even an American. I’m Canadian. I watch all of this with a heavy heart. Yesterday was International Woman’s Day. I’ve been thinking about the role that you have and how difficult it must be. To balance what people think of you, of your marriage to how you must feel. This is your life. You married him. You must have loved him at some point. Been charmed by him the way millions of Americans were. How are you now? How do you feel, scandal after scandal? To hear his voice, saying “grab em by the pussy.” Your husband. The man you married. The man you swore to be faithful to and expected that in return. I’m naive. I shouldn’t be. I’m 46. I’m divorced. My husband cheated on me. He pushed me around. He called me nasty names. He called me a c••t. He’s not famous. But he’s charming. Sophisticated. Looks pretty good on paper. Less good in the morning after a night of alcohol and other women. What other people think of him is so much more important to him than anything else. He lived a very external life. I left him. Because my life was hollow. And my pussy wanted to be loved. And I wanted hands on me that felt my triumphs and celebrated my journey. I didn’t want to wake up to a porn star, or in my case, a waitress, asking for redemption. I left him because I loved myself more than I loved him, and the life we lived. I left him because I wanted my nieces to know that women do not have to put up with constant minimization of their divine femininity. I left because to stay would have been giving him my pussy. To suppress. To destroy. To beat into submission. And I won’t do that. The world is watching you. Young girls are watching you. You can do more for women by leaving than staying. I know this isn’t easy. I’ve done it. I hve laid on a floor sobbing because I loved a man who loved power more than he loved me. You have two futures in your hand. You can be a teacher and remembered for your courage. Or you can be forgotten. It’s your choice. I hope you choose you.

Sincerely,

A Woman who recognizes abuse.

A Woman who sees your sorrow.

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