Audacity Sale

On February 17th, Erin Barker joined my Patreon. At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it a gesture of support? A belated acknowledgment of my work? Or something else entirely? The timing was too precise, too intentional. It came the day after I posted about my experiences with her at Story Collider. This wasn’t about support. It was about presence. But why? Why couldn’t she just leave me alone?

As Anne Lamott once said, “If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” And let me tell you, Erin Barker did not behave better.

Let me rewind. For those who don’t know, I was once the Education Director at Story Collider, a nonprofit dedicated to storytelling. My boss, Erin Barker, was younger than me, but she wielded her power in ways that felt both subtle and suffocating. There was the time she assigned me a book to read over the holiday break—How Learning Works—because she felt I didn’t know how to teach. Never mind that I’d just spent the year teaching 75 doctors and health ministers from around the world how to tell stories in two languages. Never mind that I was a grown woman who had raised a whole adult. To her, I was someone who needed to be taught, someone who needed to be fixed.

By week three of our post-break meetings, we were discussing a chapter about the assumptions teachers make about their students’ learning abilities. The book presented a case study about a teacher who failed because she assumed too much about how her students learned instead of meeting them where they were. Erin tried to use this example on me and our students, but I flipped it back on her. She was doing exactly what the case study warned against—assuming I didn’t know how to teach and that she needed to educate me. After that, we didn’t have another meeting. But the damage was done. She had taken my holiday break, my peace, and my sense of autonomy, all in one condescending power move.

Fast forward to February 17th of this year. I had just posted on Facebook about starting the stoops again, a project close to my heart. In the post, I mentioned my time at Story Collider and the harm I experienced under Erin’s leadership. The next day, she joined my Patreon. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But the more I sat with it, the more intentional it felt.

She used a private relay email, which meant she didn’t want me to know it was her. But she didn’t change her name. And that, I think, was the power play. She wanted me to know she was there. She wanted me to feel her presence, to remember that she was still watching.

So, why did she join? Let’s be real: she knows what she did. She knows how she behaved. And I think she was surprised—shocked, even—that I of all people would not write warmly about her. After all, isn’t that what women like her expect? For us to smile through the harm, to soften the edges of their cruelty, to make them feel better about the damage they’ve caused?

Well, not this time.

Maybe she joined to keep tabs on me—to monitor what I was saying about her and Story Collider. It’s a common tactic for those in power to maintain control by staying informed, even when they’re no longer directly involved in your life. By joining, she ensured she’d have access to my thoughts, my stories, my truth. It’s a way of saying, “I’m still here, and I’m still watching.”

Or perhaps it was about her need to be seen—to remind me that she’s still there, still relevant. For some, the worst punishment is being ignored. By joining, she ensured I couldn’t forget her, even if I wanted to. It was a way of saying, “I’m still here, and I still matter.”

Finally, it’s possible she joined as a performative gesture—a way to signal support without actually engaging with the harm she caused. It’s easy to click “join” on a Patreon page; it’s much harder to confront your own actions and apologize for the pain you’ve caused. If this was her attempt at support, it fell flat. Real support would have looked like silence—like leaving me alone to heal and grow without her interference.

Regardless of her motivations, her decision to join was harmful. It disrupted my sense of safety and privacy in a space meant for my community and supporters. It forced me to relive the pain of my experiences with her and Story Collider. And it highlighted the power imbalance that still exists, even after I’ve moved on.

Her presence in my Patreon wasn’t just an act of curiosity or support—it was an act of reinsertion. It forced me to think about her, to wonder about her intentions, to relive the harm she caused. And in doing so, it took away from the time and energy I could have spent building something meaningful for myself and my community.

Silence would have been enough. Ignoring me, as I have ignored her, would have been a sign of respect—an acknowledgment that my life, my work, and my space are no longer hers to intrude upon. But by joining, she made it clear that she still sees herself as part of my story, even when I’ve worked so hard to write her out of it.

This isn’t just about Erin Barker or Story Collider. It’s about the ways white women in power often feel entitled to insert themselves into the lives of marginalized people, even after causing harm. It’s about the need for accountability and reparations, rather than performative gestures. And it’s about the importance of creating boundaries and reclaiming space for ourselves.

In the end, her decision to join my Patreon says more about her than it does about me. It’s a reminder of the ways power and privilege can distort relationships, turning even the simplest acts into tools of control. But it’s also a reminder of my own strength—of the fact that I no longer need her approval, her presence, or her permission to tell my story.

To Erin and all the white women like her: If you wanted me to write warmly about you, you should have behaved better. But you didn’t. So here we are. I’m homeless—what are you going to do? Sue me? Get a life. Get some relevance. Or better yet, get therapy and leave me alone.

This is my space, please and respectfully, LEAVE.