I’m not sure why I care. As a woman, I’ve grown accustomed to various forms of unwanted attention, scratch that, harassment. I tend to shrug it off, ignore it or make a joke out of it.
Tonight, he yelled something about my appearance and said I needed a dick in me. I hadn’t even made eye contact. I was minding my own business waiting to cross the street. It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last time. Since middle school I’ve heard sexually directed comments. It’s always f- this, f-that, I would or wouldn’t f-you. Ah, gee thanks. Does it matter what I do or don’t want?
I’ve endured stares. Been grabbed, groped. Had lewd comments and gestures directed at me. I’ve witnessed public masturbators. Men driving in cars have honked at me or pulled over asking how much? And before that question comes up, it happens no matter what you wear! I know prostitution exists but this isn’t some example of mistaken identity when you’re wearing a parka. I’ve reacted. I’ve not bothered to.
Today, I pretended I didn’t notice. I hate to admit I noticed. I can intellectualize why it happens. I can understand the concepts of aggression, power and a culture that devalues women. I can also believe I’m a human and deserving of better or, can I? After tonight, I’m feeling like a reflection of a human being. As if I should be grateful that at least I wasn’t grabbed. Worse could have happened. I’m not sure how I can care. I’m not sure why I care.
– Anonymous
Location: Canada
Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea.
