Tonight my heart feels heavy. My friend Jill* came over to tell me she was raped. Every day I passionately talk about the need to help rape victims, to believe them, offer them support, and not blame them, but when it happens to someone near and dear to you, no amount of reading will prepare you for the shock. We were sitting in my kitchen, she drinking a glass of wine, me munching on cookies while making dinner. When the words “I was raped” came out of her mouth I held on to a half eaten cookie for over an hour. I couldn’t decide if I should eat it, drop it, or offer it to her. That was my way of coping with such a horrendous confession. While she told me her story I cooked enough food to feed a small village. It was the only way I could keep my hands from shaking. But this isn’t a cooking blog. I am writing this because Jill’s story is all too common, and the lack of available support is depressing, so I need your help.