Last Wednesday night, I walked into a bar to perform stand-up, and noticed Harvey Weinstein sitting in the room. I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to say something, so I made a joke that questioned why the event organizers had invited him to the show. Some people booed and one person told me to “shut up.” I let the room know that I have been raped, and cursed at the monster I wasn’t making eye contact with. The next day my world blew up when a video I had posted went viral.

People keep asking me what I want to say next, and I’ve had a fear of saying the wrong thing for a long time. I’m not surprised that anyone would boo me for calling out a man accused of rape, because that response is so terrifyingly familiar to me and most survivors. If my own peers haven’t stood by me when I’ve spoken out, why wouldn’t I hear boos from strangers in a New York bar?

I spent the entire night after that show thinking I had let down other survivors by not punching up harder. I kept feeling that I should’ve said more, that I should’ve been stronger. And I share these feelings with you not because I don’t know that I’m strong, but because I know that so many survivors feel this way all the time.

I’ve felt weak for not being able to name my attackers when others could. I’ve hoped that the rapist from high school, the rapist from college and the rapist from my Brooklyn apartment never become powerful, because I’m not at all prepared to endure the consequences of speaking out against them in hopes of protecting others.

The first time I ever felt a bit of strength or healing after being raped was when a stranger on a sexual assault awareness blog typed to me, “I believe you and it’s not your fault.” If you’re reading this, and no one has ever said that to you, for whatever it’s worth, I believe you. It’s not your fault.

I’m tired. I’m tired of missing work because of a trauma episode. I’m tired of spending an entire week thinking about rapists instead of thinking about jokes. I’m tired of losing friends and family because of rapists. I’m tired of losing sleep because of rapists.

I wonder how many relationships, good grades, good schools, happy days, fun parties, job opportunities and even joyful moments onstage I’ve missed because of rapists.

I think about that a lot: lost time.

When we talk about the consequences of rape, we often don’t account for the time we survivors spend healing. The time we spend finding our voice after feeling silenced. I truly believe that I could’ve been a comedian by age 19 if I had not been raped when I was 17, and then again when I was 20, and again when I was 23.