I don't want this to be a thing that happened to me...

A story I didn’t want to tell, about something I wish wasn’t real—and the rage that won’t leave me alone.

Last night I was sexually assaulted and stalked.

At first, that felt dramatic to say that, but when I looked up the actual definitions of these terms…. it is exactly what happened.

And today, I noticed- I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to share the story with anyone.

Why? Because I don’t want this to be a thing that happened to me. I don’t want this to be part of my story.

Sharing it, makes it real. It makes it a thing.

But, then I realized. There are so many other women out there who have had things like this happen. Things much worse than this.

Things they wish weren’t apart of their story.

So, that’s why I decided to share it. Because we live in a world where this kind of thing DOES happen. And the only thing that makes it worse- is letting in fester in silence.

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First, he grabbed my butt.

Saturday night I went for a walk around my favorite trail in Mexico City.

Before going out I hestitated briefly, wondering If I should go out walking at 10pm. But I walk this path all the time, and figured it would be fine.

Look at me, already justifying my actions. Trying to defend myself ahead of time so that I’m not victim blamed.

I was listening to a podcast happily strolling along, when Isensed someone behind me. I assumed it was a runner trying to pass me, but then I felt a hand on me.

Initially, I thought it must be someone I know. Tapping me to get my attention. It’s not unusual to bump into friends on this trail.

But then I felt the hand move down and squeeze my butt. In my periphery, I saw a strange man in a red jacket.

He was Mexican. Maybe late 20s.

Before I could process what happened, he ran off to my left. Laughing, like he got away with something.

Once it clicked, I immediately felt enraged.

What a jerk. How dare he touch me. Why does he feel entitled to my body. Why are men like this??

Then he followed me

I had paused my podcast at this point. Took my airpods out so I could pay attention to my surroundings.

I kept walking. Spiraling in rage.

But then I realized… he’s still still there. Walking in the same direction as me.

I decide to turn off the loop and start heading home.

I cut to the left, and walk towards the next crosswalk. I realize he has also turned and is behind me. We are both waiting for the light to change red.

Maybe he’s not following me, but I don’t want to risk it.

Once the light turns red, instead of crossing the street- I turn around.

Doubling back towards the loop. Deciding I’ll take a different way home.

But once I get to the corner, I realize he has also turned around and is behind me once again.

It’s official. He’s following me.

This is when I start to panic. What does he want from me? What is his end game here?And how do I lose him?

He passes me while I stand at the corner. I stare him down. Give him the biggest death glare. Hoping that my eyes convey the “Don’t you dare fuck with me” rage I am feeling.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but mumbles something that sounds like “bonita”. Fuck him.

Then I ran for my life

I stand frozen at the corner for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I realize, walking is not going to cut it. If I want to lose him, I’m going to have to run.

I walk back towards the cross walk. Picking up the pace. I see he is following me again.

As soon as I get to the corner, instead of waiting for the light. I turn left and start sprinting down the sidewalk.

Before he can turn the corner and see me, I duck behind a doorway. Catching my breath. Hoping that, from his perspective- I have vanished into thin air.

A minute or so later I peek out and don’t see him. But I’m not convinced I’ve really lost him.

So I keep sprinting. Taking random turns so I’m not on any one street for too long. But worried that every corner I turn he will be there.

Is it safe to go home yet? I don’t know.

The last thing I want to do is show him where I live.

But finally I return home. Gasping for breath. Crying with relief and rage.

Then the anger comes

I call a friend to stay at her place, because at this point I’m too rattled to stay alone.

I’m crying with gratitude that I have friends who open their homes without hestiation. Making up a bed for me on the fold out couch. Brewing me a cup of chammomile tea. Holding space for me while I start to decompress.

She keeps asking me how I feel.

I keep saying “I’m SO angry”.

But I’m not just angry about what he did tonight.

I’m angry that we still live in a world where it’s so unsafe for women. Where men make it unsafe for women.

I’m angry because this isn’t an isolated moment. It’s the culture we live in.Where catcalls, predatory gazes, unwanted touches and sexual violence are normalized.

I’m angry because men (even the “good ones”), will never comprehend the toll it takes on your nervous system to just walk down the street as a woman.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way

Two years ago, I experienced anger like this when I was living in Albania. I didn’t know what to do with the anger, so eventually I alchemized it into a poem.

The Fucking Male Gaze

How is it possible for a gaze to be so invasive?
Why can’t I walk down the street in peace
without feeling like I’m up for auction at a meat market?

And it’s maddening
Because no man
Can ever truly know what it’s like.

To feel on edge just walking down the street
Because it’s full of predators
peeling your clothes off with their eyes.

“I loved that country!” my guy friends will casually say.

“Everyone was so friendly.”
I feel a pang of grief.

Because the injustice strikes me.
That wasn’t my experience.
That will never be my experience.

Where he felt friendliness, I felt aggression.
Where he felt camaraderie, I felt objectified.

But it’s just a gaze. What’s the big deal?

How do you explain the anger stirred up

when you are repeatedly looked at like
a rotisserie chicken spinning under a heat lamp?

How can you convey the emotional impact

of being looked up and down
by hundreds of hungry eyeballs?

Maybe it’s enraging
Because it’s not just my pain.
In every lustful stare
I feel the generations of women
who have been subtly oppressed

by the entitled eyes of the patriarchy.
Who have been reduced to objects to be used

instead of people to be respected.

I want to shrink and become invisible.
I want to yell in their faces “Stop looking at me.”
I put on sunglasses and a hoodie.
Trying to hide.
I can’t be too shiny.
Because I’ve learned that
Every smile invites unwanted attention.
I close myself off.
Harden.
Narrow my eyes
And tighten my lips.
So they know not to mess with me.

But that’s not how I want to walk through the world.
I don’t want to be hardened.
I don’t like closing off my heart.
So, once again,
The patriarchy has successfully stifled feminine expression.

And it’s fucked.
And I’m angry.

Because on top of
Gender pay gaps,
And monthly periods,
And shrinking reproductive rights—
We carry this too.

The daily defense.
The vigilance.
The invisible labor of being looked at like prey.

And honestly?
I don’t know what to do with this rage.
It sits there in my chest
Feeling helpless and futile
With no place to go.
Because how do you fight something so woven into the world?

---

I hate that this is part of my story.

I don’t want this to be a thing that happened to me.
But I’m sharing it anyway, because I know I’m not the only one who has a story like this.

And as much as I don’t want this to be a thing that happened. I’m even more tired of pretending these kinds of things don’t happen.