It’s been several days since the Surviving R Kelly docuseries began on 3 January, reaching a channel record of 1.9 million viewers – and the hashtag is still trending. Conversations and debates about Lifetime’s intense six-part series are still evolving, as people digest the stories shared by Kelly’s survivors. And on Tuesday, news broke that investigators are looking into allegations in both Chicago and Atlanta as a result of the series.

One could assume that the reason for the series’ success is a combination of good promotion, curiosity, outrage and excitement. But for many women, particularly black and brown women who have experienced sexual violence, I believe the premiere was both a long-awaited public moment of vindication for those Kelly has allegedly hurt (and for those fighting to hold him accountable), and a sign of the ever-growing resistance against him and others who inflict this kind of harm of women and girls in our communities.

Reports citing Nielsen ratings show that out of the millions of viewers, large percentages identify as women. Out of the 18-49 age demographic, 1.1 million people watched and 767,000 were women. Among 25-54s, 1.2 million watched and 837,000 were women. This leads me to believe that the buzz and the shock about the series aren’t as connected to the curiosity of the uninformed or the rage of the disbelieving as one might think.

To me, these numbers reflect the reality that women and girls from marginalised communities, who have always had to fight for and advocate for themselves, have been waiting for this moment or one like it; for the world to see the kind of violence committed against the most vulnerable in our communities in a way that it can’t ignore. If the series – along with recent stories of Jazmine Barnes, Yasmine James and Cyntoia Brown – have reminded us of anything, it’s that black and brown women and girls are still viewed as undeserving of protection. Our humanity is not seen as valuable.

I’ve seen myself and my feelings reflected in so many people’s responses to the series. From folks so triggered by the stories that they couldn’t watch it because it reminded them of their assaults, to the advocates and celebrities praising the series and the courageous women who have spoken out, and to those who simply can’t understand how and why this happens, especially to our children.

I’m a black woman, someone who has experienced sexual and emotional violence, someone who works directly with movements such as #MeToo supporting the work of ending sexual violence and the criminalisation of marginalised people.

I know the producer of the series and people in it. I was privileged to see a small snippet before it aired. (At the New York screening that was evacuated after a anonymous bomb threat was made on the building.) I thought I was prepared to hold the weight of the series. But I was wrong. I still found myself weeping on my couch each night, feeling both hopeless and empowered at the same time. I believe many women of colour and survivors across communities know that feeling all too well.

But I knew that if I responded in that way, knowing what I know and doing what I do, then this series was going to change things for the better. And that’s happening already.

All the young women who shared their stories with the world last week spoke of some of the most unimaginable harms a person could endure. Yet they still participated. They – along with the producers, movement leaders, advocates, experts, industry folk, family members and others who featured in the series – knew that seeing all of them together and hearing their stories, both individually and as part of a collective story, would reach people in ways that haven’t happened before, because their humanity and the attempts to destroy it would touch people, including some who didn’t even think they cared about what was happening to black and brown girls in Chicago and Atlanta. And that made it a risk worth taking. But they shouldn’t be the only ones taking risks to stop all this.

The responses from women of colour range from being happy that people are finally seeing the severity of Kelly’s alleged crimes (he has denied all allegations levelled against him), to feeling that the series failed by not focusing on the survivors’ healing or movement forward. But what we must not ignore is that the door has been kicked open for us to continue having this and the broader conversations about protecting women and girls of colour, and ending violence against women.

All creative projects are imperfect and could be picked apart based on any viewer’s likes, expectations, past opinions or allegiances. However, we can’t let the drive for perfection get in the way of what is good. This series is about survivors. It’s about using storytelling and truth as tools for furthering the fight. It’s about showing those who suffer in silence that it’s not just them, and that it’s not their fault no matter what they’re being told by society, family or their abuser.

If Surviving R Kelly has accomplished nothing else it dragged an alleged predator, who is accused of attempting to ruin the lives of black and brown girls and women for decades, out of the darkness and into the light. We need to use this moment to continue telling stories, building movements and spaces that are for and led by survivors, and we need to trust women and girls when they say they’re being harmed. If we can do that, we can take down men who perpetrate such violence, and the systems that have allowed them to exist for so long.

• Chelsea Fuller is a writer and communications strategist