Capitol Hill
September 2nd 2025, was one of the most powerful and meaningful days of my life.
For the first time, I stood on Capitol Hill and spoke my truth publicly.
Surrounded by members of Congress, my survivor sisters, and the attorneys who had spent years fighting alongside us, we gathered with one shared purpose: to ensure our words were heard and our hearts were felt. We were no longer afraid to come forward. We were standing in front of Congress, in front of the largest crowd ever recorded, demanding accountability, transparency, and answers.
One by one, survivors stepped forward to tell their stories. Stories that had been buried by fear, shame, power, and silence for far too long. Together, we stood in support of the Transparency Act, introduced by Representatives Ro Khanna and Thomas Massie, calling for the release of information and greater transparency surrounding the Epstein case.
As I looked around, I saw something I had never seen before. Survivors were no longer standing alone. We were standing together.
For so many years, my story felt like something that had happened to me. On that day, it became something I owned.
Walking to the podium, I felt the weight of the moment. I knew people around the world would be watching. I knew there would be criticism. I knew there would be people who wanted us to stay silent. But I also knew that every survivor who had ever been afraid to speak deserved to see someone stand up and say, "I am not ashamed of what happened to me."
When I spoke, I felt empowered. I felt supported. I felt heard.
For the first time, I was not speaking from a place of pain. I was speaking from a place of purpose.
Capitol Hill was not just a press conference. It was a declaration that survivors would no longer be ignored. That our experiences mattered. That our voices mattered. And that transparency and accountability are not political issues—they are human issues.
As I stood beside my survivor sisters, members of Congress, and our legal advocates, I felt something I had never felt before: hope.
Hope that truth could prevail.
Hope that survivors could help change systems.
Hope that our collective voices were finally strong enough to be impossible to ignore.
September 2 was more than the day I spoke publicly for the first time.
It was the day I stopped carrying someone else's shame and started using my voice to help create change.
xo Lisa
