Like many women in America, I find myself disturbed by the Kavanaugh hearings. I’ve been in a state of unrest this week, watching but not really watching, reading online reactions and commentary, listening to the voices of women telling stories of assault and suppression. Of course, I, too, have a story. In fact there are more than one. Every woman I know has more than one and usually, they vary in degree. The friend of your father’s who squeezed your waist too long, the creepy man who flashed you in college, the night you were angrily accosted when you wouldn’t dance with someone in a bar.