Does U.S. Representative Jared Huffman Protect Americans or Their Enemies? Put the Big Boy Pants On, Congressman.

On a recent visit to Rafael Central Square Apartments in San Rafael, I intended to do something simple: check whether there was any information about what had happened to my personal belongings before I was kidnapped. The building was a place connected to my life before everything fractured, and I hoped—without much expectation—that someone there might be able to help me understand what was lost or left behind.

While I was there, I noticed that the local office of U.S. Representative Jared Huffman was located in the building, in Room 290. Given my circumstances, I decided to speak with someone from his office. What followed was not a request for favors or special treatment, but an attempt to place an extraordinary personal experience into the public record through an elected representative’s staff.

I met with a staff assistant named Alexia, who invited me into the office for the conversation. I explained who I was and summarized what had happened to me: that prior to my kidnapping, I had been living and working as a technology executive; that I disappeared from my former life under violent and coercive circumstances; and that the aftermath has involved not only trauma, but the near-total erasure of my property, work, and professional standing. I was careful to describe this as my lived experience, not as an accusation made for dramatic effect.

During the conversation, I shared an op-ed I had written for The New York Times, which, at the time of this meeting, had not been published. I explained that the piece was an attempt to contextualize my story within broader systemic failures—particularly the lack of protection and recourse available to women when institutions fail them. I was explicit about why I was bringing it to an elected official’s office. I told her to tell Representative Huffman to put his big boy pants on: that someone needs to start addressing what is actually happening in America, and that equal protection under the law for women and men is not optional, it is foundational. I said this was his chance to engage with that reality—either he does, or he does not—but either way, this interaction was now being documented.

Alexia listened and accepted the material. There were no promises made about outcomes, investigations, or follow-up actions, nor did I ask for any. The interaction was brief, professional, and procedural. Its significance lies not in what was promised, but in the fact that the conversation occurred at all.

This article exists for a narrow and specific purpose: to document that I entered the San Rafael office of Representative Jared Huffman, spoke with a member of his staff, and provided written material describing my experience. For individuals who have been subjected to extreme disruption or violence, even small acts of documentation matter. They create a timestamp. They establish that a person showed up, spoke, and was heard—at least at a basic human level.

Too often, people who survive kidnapping, coercion, or prolonged abuse are later told that their stories are implausible simply because there is no clean paper trail. Lives do not always collapse neatly, and institutions are not designed to preserve the records of those who fall through their cracks. In that context, a short conversation in an office hallway, a name exchanged, and an essay handed over can carry disproportionate weight.

I am recording this encounter not to elevate it, but to prevent it from disappearing. It happened. It took place at Rafael Central Square, in Room 290. A staff assistant named Alexia received my account and my writing. That is the full claim of this piece.

Before leaving, I made one final statement to Alexia, directly and unambiguously. I told her that as a woman, if she chose to dismiss or ignore what I had presented, that decision would make her complicit in what I described as the enslavement and ongoing massacre of American women across the country. I said this not as a threat, but as a clarification of moral responsibility. I asked her to be clear on that point. Alexia acknowledged the statement and indicated that she understood.

Sometimes, the most honest form of reporting is simply stating that a door was opened, a conversation occurred, and a witness—however indirect—now exists.