About two months ago, a man attacked me on my street. I was walking home from dinner on a Tuesday night. The street lights were bright, as was my mood. I remember feeling particularly good about life. And then he approached me from behind, grabbed me (not my purse), and turned my world upside down.
Three days after The Incident, bolstered by incredible support from friends, family and coworkers, I was in therapy. Not the scary kind, but the comforting you-should-get-this-out-before-it-scars-you kind. I couldn't stand the idea that this one person had instantly changed my character--that he had made me reconsider my notions of humanity and respect.
Before The Incident, I was a person that loved someone before I met them; the girl who smiles and says hello to strangers on the street.
All of the sudden, I couldn't bear sunlight on my own. Walking from my front door to my car--a mere 100 yards away--was a journey of epic proportions, each step measured in fear. I sensed people behind me when there were none. I felt paralyzed by the new, forceful reality that anyone could violate me the way he did.
The world was no longer my oyster. I was no longer a woman of independence and adventure. The ground beneath me had shifted.
Seven weeks later, I feel my world shifting back to its natural state of openness. I am lucky it hasn't taken me very long. Of course, I am significantly more guarded now. I do not--repeat, DO NOT--walk alone at night. I have taken to riding my bike versus walking--even if I'm only going one block. Aggressive hands of assault are less likely to find me on my bike. And I have come to terms with my slightly-altered, more-skeptical notion of humanity.
But still, I wonder why some men think it's okay to impose themselves on women without invitation. Besides the ethical and moral considerations, how can such behavior be even remotely gratifying?
Tonight, I walked out of Old Ebbitt Grill, a classic DC establishment next to the White House. I flagged a cab from the door and walked roughly seven feet to the curb. As I stepped into the taxi, I realized a man had followed me and now had his hand forcing the cab door open. "Where are you going?" he asked me. I had never seen this man before. We had not even made eye contact as I crossed the sidewalk to the cab. My heartbeat picked up liked a badly played flamenco song. At least the cabbie was in the front seat, and there were people around.
Please go away, I whispered politely. He seemed surprised. "What, you don't even want to say hi?" NO, I DON'T WANT TO SAY HI, PLEASE GET AWAY FROM THE CAB. I pulled on the door. He resisted. I looked at the cabbie; he looked back at me with sympathy but not quite sure what was going on. "Go away," I said to the man, approaching panic. (In case you're looking for a mental picture: rotund, white, thirty-ish dude in a business suit.) From somewhere behind Mr. Rotund, I heard a more sensible man say, "Dude, leave her alone." Mr. Rotund relented, slamming the door as I felt my heart and stomach collapse onto the seat. The cabbie drove off with a grunt of distaste for the guy and sigh of compassion for me. I felt the ground shift beneath me again.
Seriously?
It is at once comforting and deeply disturbing that I am not alone in feeling victimized by such assault in Washington. Many of my friends have faced similar situations, each of them walking away with varying degrees of trauma. One such friend and I are brainstorming ways we can support a local NGO, HollaBack DC, which fights street harassment and sexual assault in the District. Ideas welcome!
See next post on "Some sort of justice."
Three days after The Incident, bolstered by incredible support from friends, family and coworkers, I was in therapy. Not the scary kind, but the comforting you-should-get-this-out-before-it-scars-you kind. I couldn't stand the idea that this one person had instantly changed my character--that he had made me reconsider my notions of humanity and respect.
Before The Incident, I was a person that loved someone before I met them; the girl who smiles and says hello to strangers on the street.
All of the sudden, I couldn't bear sunlight on my own. Walking from my front door to my car--a mere 100 yards away--was a journey of epic proportions, each step measured in fear. I sensed people behind me when there were none. I felt paralyzed by the new, forceful reality that anyone could violate me the way he did.
The world was no longer my oyster. I was no longer a woman of independence and adventure. The ground beneath me had shifted.
Seven weeks later, I feel my world shifting back to its natural state of openness. I am lucky it hasn't taken me very long. Of course, I am significantly more guarded now. I do not--repeat, DO NOT--walk alone at night. I have taken to riding my bike versus walking--even if I'm only going one block. Aggressive hands of assault are less likely to find me on my bike. And I have come to terms with my slightly-altered, more-skeptical notion of humanity.
But still, I wonder why some men think it's okay to impose themselves on women without invitation. Besides the ethical and moral considerations, how can such behavior be even remotely gratifying?
Tonight, I walked out of Old Ebbitt Grill, a classic DC establishment next to the White House. I flagged a cab from the door and walked roughly seven feet to the curb. As I stepped into the taxi, I realized a man had followed me and now had his hand forcing the cab door open. "Where are you going?" he asked me. I had never seen this man before. We had not even made eye contact as I crossed the sidewalk to the cab. My heartbeat picked up liked a badly played flamenco song. At least the cabbie was in the front seat, and there were people around.
Please go away, I whispered politely. He seemed surprised. "What, you don't even want to say hi?" NO, I DON'T WANT TO SAY HI, PLEASE GET AWAY FROM THE CAB. I pulled on the door. He resisted. I looked at the cabbie; he looked back at me with sympathy but not quite sure what was going on. "Go away," I said to the man, approaching panic. (In case you're looking for a mental picture: rotund, white, thirty-ish dude in a business suit.) From somewhere behind Mr. Rotund, I heard a more sensible man say, "Dude, leave her alone." Mr. Rotund relented, slamming the door as I felt my heart and stomach collapse onto the seat. The cabbie drove off with a grunt of distaste for the guy and sigh of compassion for me. I felt the ground shift beneath me again.
Seriously?
It is at once comforting and deeply disturbing that I am not alone in feeling victimized by such assault in Washington. Many of my friends have faced similar situations, each of them walking away with varying degrees of trauma. One such friend and I are brainstorming ways we can support a local NGO, HollaBack DC, which fights street harassment and sexual assault in the District. Ideas welcome!
See next post on "Some sort of justice."
SO great you are using this to benefit others, but upsetting that even though we've come so far there are jerks who still see woman as objects to be toyed with against their will.
ReplyDeleteCaroline, You continue to amaze me. I remember you sharing The Incident while in Bhutan. I can't imagine what shifts must go on within you, nor have I any idea what is fair or just in the way of punishment for such an event. But I believe a key lies in your question "I wonder why some men think it's okay to impose themselves on women without invitation. Besides the ethical and moral considerations, how can such behavior be even remotely gratifying?" There are so many walking-wounded Souls in this world...we may never know or understand the "why"...but we can have Hope and Compassion for their healing. I in no way condone this behavior; but I can't help but ask myself "what makes one hurt so much, that they must hurt another?" With constant Love and Admiration, Mirabai
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