Less than a month after Junot Díaz’s harrowing essay in The New Yorker, in which the author revealed the deep lifelong impact of being raped as a child, women are accusing the Pulitzer prize-winner of misconduct. Writer Zinzi Clemmons, who confronted Díaz at an event in Sydney and later went public on Twitter, alleges he forcibly kissed her when she was a 26-year-old student. Others have given accounts of verbal misogynistic abuse. Once again the hurt, disappointment and wearying dearth of surprise is palpable.

This is where #MeToo gets really messy: when a venerated man who has publicly revealed he was abused is, in turn, accused of being an abuser. Where should our sympathies lie? It need not be a question of belief. It’s possible to believe simultaneously that Díaz was sexually abused as a child, that he thinks about “the hurt I caused”, as he writes, and that the women who accuse him are telling the truth. All of this is part of the #MeToo conversation. None of it should be discounted. And it is possible for a man to be both a victim and abuser. In fact, empathising with Díaz for the trauma he courageously describes while holding him to account for any destructive and misogynistic behaviour might be the best way to understand and, hopefully, break the cycle of abuse.

Some have claimed Díaz’s piece served a darker purpose. Clemmons described it as “self-serving”. For Roxane Gay it was a “pre-emptive move” aimed at garnering sympathy when accusations came to light. Yet the piece is both confession and mea culpa. As the title signals, it is about “the legacy of childhood trauma”. Díaz’s words don’t shy away from any pain he has caused, though they do contextualise it. Whether that’s enough is another matter. How he goes forward counts, too. So far, Díaz has withdrawn from a festival and released a statement claiming he takes responsibility for his past. The paradox of #MeToo playing out so relentlessly in the public arena is that its inherently private reality is what really counts: how we behave in all those daily, intimate and incremental ways.

What this is really about is the pernicious power of silence, and how disastrous the burial of trauma is for everyone, especially women. As Audre Lorde wrote: “Your silence will not protect you.” Which is why we must keep talking. And listening.