I grew up surrounded by strong, resilient women. But as I got older, I learned that every woman in my family carried unimaginable scars. My own mother had been raped on three separate times, once by two men. My older sisters had been raped and the tipping point was my baby sister. These were stories that had been buried deep, locked away, yet they shaped every part of who they were.

One day during college, I got the call that shattered me. My younger sister had been drugged, raped, and tossed from a car. She woke up in the hospital with barely any memory of what happened. I was three hours away, with no resources to help, no way to protect her, and I felt utterly defeated. In a blind rage, I drove to the city, desperate to find the man who hurt her. I searched for a gun for days, looking for a way to get even, and even throw my life away if I had to, but nothing turned up. I finally drove back to school crushed, feeling like I’d failed her, like I’d failed my family. I was supposed to be the one who protected them, the man who made sure they were safe, and I felt like I hadn’t lived up to that. On the ride home I said to myself over and over again, all rapists gotta die, all rapists gotta die. A movement, a brand, that would empower survivors, that would fight back unapologetically against the pain inflicted on so many. That’s where ARGD was born. A mission, a purpose, to stand up for survivors, to create a space where we don’t forgive, we don’t forget, and we fight for those who need it most.