The Future Tense of Joy was first published on the eve of Trump’s 2016 election, before the rise of the #MeToo Movement. Before any legal or public reckoning for men like Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby and Larry Nassar and Trump himself. Some of these men went to jail. Some even stayed there. One became President, twice. And some of their innumerable victims were heard and seen and believed, which is the only real recompense. 

Ten years later, the world is still riven by violence against the vulnerable: At the time of writing, more than 40% of female homicide victims in the U.S. are killed by a former or current partner. One in three women will be assaulted during her lifetime. (For men, it’s one in eight.) Almost half of these assaults are never reported, for reasons that include language barriers, financial constraints, and continued proximity to the abuser. Many victims never tell anyone about the abuse. 

In the decade since I wrote, readers have reached out to me from places distant and close to home: A young man who was raped while on an aid mission in South Sedan. An older woman in a local coffee shop who recognized me from a television interview. When I first traveled the country to talk about my memoir, few people were speaking, at least openly, about abuse and its aftermath. At nearly every book signing, a woman lingered after everyone else had gone to say that my story of assault was her story too. Sometimes, in a hushed voice, she told me she was currently in a violent relationship and needed to get out. I always carried the phone numbers of the local domestic violence shelters in my pocket, so I could offer that information to anyone who needed help. 

It’s fair to say that writing the book helped me, too. But the memory of abuse is never entirely extinguished: The experience of violence is a depth charge that continues to detonate. Still, ten years on, I feel freer, less fragile, more optimistic and (somewhat) more relaxed. There is a central stability that recognizes or rhymes with the fundamental instability of everything around me, like the buildings in California constructed to sway dramatically with the force of earthquake tremors or hurricane winds. I have understood, finally, that I am stronger than anything that can happen to me. When I wake in the morning, I can feel the sun.  

And all around me, I see women who have survived, who have persevered, who were not daunted by shame or silence.  

My book is for them.

Jessica Teich 

Los Angeles, 2026 

 This piece was published on May 12, 2026. It was authored by Jessica Teich. Jessica Teich is a writer and mother, an abuse survivor, and an advocate for victims of sexual assault. Her writing has appeared in The Nation, The Atlantic, The Washington Post, and numerous other publications. She lives in Los Angeles. Her memoir, The Future Tense of Joy, will be published June 9, 2026, by DoppelHouse Press.

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