Before Me Too, Finding A Space for Girls

Drip. Drip. Drip. The overflow of water from a too full bathtub pooled in the upstairs bathroom. Eventually, the collective drips from the tub’s edge had spilled over onto the tile floor forming a large puddle. The puddled water soaked into the floor through the grout cracks that hadn’t been maintained over the years and tricked its way into the downstairs plaster-board ceiling. A large brown stain made its home in that ceiling and hung over our kitchen for years to come. From the stain-drenched ceiling, one drip at a time had dropped unencumbered onto the kitchen floor below. No one…