Content Warning: This blog post contains discussion of sexual assault and rape.
Today, at school while walking down an empty hallway (it was just myself and a group of male students) I heard a typical cartoon whistle. Immediately, I felt violated. As someone who has maybe never been assaulted or raped, you may think that my describing my reaction as feeling “violated” is a stretch, but bear with me.
When I was 16 years old, I was assaulted on multiple occasions, and almost raped by an ex-boyfriend. It took me quite some time to accept what happened as an assault, because it didn’t happen in a dark alley, and this wasn’t a stranger. This was someone I had known, and built up a level of trust with. It took my mental health taking a downward spiral, and finally getting diagnosed with PTSD, for me to finally realize the severity of what I experienced.
I had always been a confident, strong-willed girl. I wore what I wanted, had a strong personality, and would never accept being told I couldn’t do things simply because of my gender. This first encounter with abuse, however, fundamentally changed me. It didn’t necessarily change me for worse or for better, but it changed me. I became more aware of my surroundings, more aware of potential consequences of the way I would dress, and my confidence certainly took a hit. Don’t get me wrong, I would still wear what I wanted, but I was more cautious if I was wearing something more form-fitting, or something that showed skin.
It took some time, and a year of intense therapy, for me to accept what had happened, acknowledge it, and do my best to move on with my life. Of course, I still have flashbacks and nightmares of what happened, but I now have healthy coping mechanisms.
Fast forward to about two years ago, I walk into an LCBO wearing an outfit that I felt super confident in – I felt like I could rule the world. Walking into the store, I heard “Hey baby,” but I continued walking. Usually if you ignore cat-callers, they get bored and give up, right? Wrong. This man followed me around the store for the entire duration of my visit. When I finally thought that he had given up, I grabbed my bottle of wine and headed to the cash. Suddenly, I feel someone’s breath down my neck, and it was this man. He was in my personal space, asking me intensely personal questions. I was the only woman in the store, and although there were men around me, none of them intervened.
In that moment, I felt like I had lost ownership of my body once again. Although this man didn’t touch me, he made me feel unsafe in my skin. The other men in the store who didn’t intervene made me lose all feelings of hope. I surround myself with good men, who I would expect to step into situations like that. These men gave me a massive reality check.
I am tired of being made to feel like my body is not my own. I’m tired of being scared to go to the bar with my friends, and of dealing with my PTSD. PTSD is an incredibly ugly illness that likes to sneak up on me at every opportunity it gets. This sends me into an anxious frenzy that may last anywhere from one day to one month, which makes it difficult for me to perform my everyday tasks.
I don’t want anyone to feel sympathy for me. That’s not the point of this post. The point of this post is this: be better. Men: don’t whistle at women. Don’t catcall. Don’t invade anybody’s personal space (with your hands, OR your words). If you see a woman who is visibly uncomfortable, or if you see another man acting out of line, step up. Realize that the only motive in these situations is to assert power-over. This is not complimentary. Nobody deserves to feel violated in any way, and nobody should feel as though they can’t wear what they feel most confident in out of fear of violation.
Be better.
Written by: Anonymous
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