A Letter to E.M

I grew up in a hockey town.

In a hockey family, for a big part of my life.

I grew up in a community where players were celebrated — as stars and heroes, on and off the ice.

Every hockey parent had a quiet dream: that maybe, just maybe, their kid would be the one to go all the way. 

The game consumed them. And with it, a culture steeped in toxicity.

Where aggression was normalized and gossip thrived. 

Off the ice, many players carried a sense of entitlement. That included access to young women.

They treated being with them like a gift. But we knew it was different.

They were crude. Aggressive. Demeaning — especially toward the girls who engaged with them.

They called their conquests kills — as if each young woman was something to take, use, and discard.

I can name countless women who had engaged with players in high school — stories that weren’t truly consensual. But we were young. We didn’t understand. 

We weren’t taught about power, coercion, or consent.

When I heard E.M.’s story, I believed her instantly. Not just because I’m an advocate — but because I knew too many stories just like hers.

Girls who went to a party.

Got attention from the boys everyone talked about.

Found themselves in situations they didn’t want to be in. 

Said they wanted to leave, but were persuaded to stay. 

Too drunk to run. Too young to understand what was happening.

I remember a girl from high school who “hooked up” with half the hockey team one night. 

The team told everyone. They labelled her. Everyone else did too.

Not one person asked if she was okay. Not one person said the boys were wrong.

She was treated differently from that day forward.

When I heard E.M.’s story, I thought of her. I cried for her.

I don’t know if their stories are the same — but it made me wonder.

It made me wish that my town had been different.

That instead of tolerating this behaviour, we had collectively shut it down.

Reported it.

Called out the toxic culture.

Called in parents to teach their sons about consent, respect, and being an active bystander.

Held coaches accountable — for having hard conversations about sexual violence, respectful conduct, and women’s rights.

I wish I could shower E.M. with support. 

Tell her how proud I am of her. How much I respect her strength.

As a survivor, and a mother, I wish I could dismantle this system — and rebuild it in a way that honours her courage and protects others from harm.

A system that teaches perpetrators about the harm they cause — so it never happens again.

E.M. never should have endured what she did.

No young woman should be humiliated, degraded, or retraumatized — especially not in court.

Our system is broken. It must change.

There is no doubt in my mind that E.M. was raped.

And I know I’m not alone — especially among those raised in hockey towns.

If you grew up in this culture, you know.

You saw it. Maybe you lived it. Maybe it happened to someone you love.

E.M., you are courageous beyond measure. What you’re facing may feel unbearable — but you are not alone.A nation of women and allies stands with you.

No matter what happens next, you have already changed history.

You’ve called out a culture that silenced girls for far too long.

And in doing so, you’ve called in a new generation — of parents, coaches, and communities — to break the cycle.

You are a survivor, E.M. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.

You are not alone.Change is coming — and it started with you.

“The more our voices become a chorus, the more the tune is forced to change.”