Like many of the women who have shared their stories, I am a runner. Last February, I was out for a run in the middle of the afternoon, bundled up against the cold. As I waited to cross a busy street, I noticed a man sitting in his car at the stop sign opposite me, staring. He didn’t turn when he had the opportunity to turn. Instead he waited. When I crossed the street, running towards him, I noticed his window was down despite the cold. As I ran past, he yelled something, but I couldn’t quite make it out and felt it was best to keep going.

Five minutes later, his car showed up behind me, window down. This time, I heard him. “Do you want to make some money fast?” Given his expression, this could only mean one thing: sex for money. I said no and kept running, stopping briefly to try to get his license plate.

I called campus security when I got home, which eventually led to a police investigation and a court trial (acquitted).

I was angry that this man had made me feel unsafe doing something I loved, and upset that I was unable to muster a more vindicating response. Perhaps most surprising of all was the reaction of my boyfriend at the time. Because he didn’t see the situation as presenting any real potential for danger (middle of the afternoon, residential area), he didn’t understand why it had upset me so much. This, coming from an educated, warm, generally understanding man. It made me fear that the disconnect between men’s actions and their effect on women may be greater than I had ever realized.

-Anonymous

Location: College town in western Virginia

I was out on my jog when I noticed a black car drive by really slow. I didn’t think much of it, not until the same black car started following me. Who ever it was revved up their engine as they would pass me. Then he would double back and do it again. He doubled back to follow me five times. It made me feel unsafe in my small town.

–   Anonymous

Location: Ashland, Nebraska

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I do not love working out at the gym. I’m a runner, and running outdoors is just about the only exercise I regularly enjoy. Yet, over the years I’ve tried (and failed) several times to acclimate myself to gym workouts in the hopes that it may grow on me.

Last fall was another of those failed attempts. I joined a nearby gym for a few months in the hopes I could get myself in the routine of enjoying resistance training and cardio machines. I’m not a morning person, so a few days a week I brought a bag of gym clothes to work and hit the gym afterwards. One of these evenings, I was headed home from the gym when I decided to make a quick stop to purchase some face wash.

I was dressed in my normal workout/running clothes: running shorts, a sports bra, a loose, sleeveless shirt and a ponytail. I live in Texas where it’s almost always hot, and this is the default clothing I wear almost every time I run or work out.

I popped into the store and quickly found my soap, made my way to the front of the store and took my place in the checkout line. The line was a bit longer than normal for that particular store – I guess because people were running errands during their way home in the evening rush hour.

As I waited my turn in line, I saw a man looking at me as he was entering the store. It was enough to catch my attention. But no big deal, I told myself, and I continued to wait in line. A moment later I heard someone take their place in line behind me. I continued to wait. I heard a strange sound, like the electric buzz of a shutter, from very close behind me. Confused, I ignored it. Then I heard it again: the same sound my iPhone makes when I take a digital picture, coming from very close behind me.

At that point I turned around to make sense of why this sound was so close to me. I discovered the man I’d seen entering the store was now the person behind me in line. I could see he was holding an iPhone in his hands, with them both casually clasped in front of him and his arms extended as if he was just holding the phone and not looking at it. His face displayed an overly casual expression as if to say, “I’m not doing anything.” Still confused, I turned back around.

Why did I hear an iPhone shutter sound so close behind me, twice? Why when I looked back was the man making such a production out of looking casual and innocent? If he’d been playing with his phone, why was he holding it down in front of him instead of up in his line of sight? Why did I suddenly feel so violated and humiliated?

As I took my turn to check out at the register, the incident slowly began to make sense in my mind. The position of the phone, the sound, the man’s odd expression and behavior, the way he made me feel when he’d first entered the store: he was standing in line behind me taking pictures of my legs and butt. In the middle of a Walgreens. In the middle of the day.

Is that really what happened? Who does he think he is? How could someone do something like that to me? What do I do now? The questions spun in my head as I paid for my item and began to leave the store. I felt angry, dirty, violated, and scared. Even though this man hadn’t physically done anything to me, my sense of security felt momentarily shattered. As if he had the right to violate me. As if there was nothing I could do about it.

As I began to drive home, a new emotion began to resonate in my mind: shame. I thought about my clothes. Were my shorts shorter than I’d realized? Tighter? Maybe I wasn’t as thin as I was when I’d bought them and they now looked too small or inappropriate? Was there something else in the way I looked that made this man think he could treat me that way? Why did I let him get away with it? Why did I let him walk out of the store with those pictures of me? Why didn’t I call him out in front of everyone, identifying him as a pervert and demanding an apology? What was I, a doormat!? I may as well have just posed for the pictures, if I was just going to walk away without saying anything.

As irrational as it may sound, I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed for not standing up for myself. Ashamed of showing my legs in a store so that a stranger would think he could take pictures of them. Ashamed for not saying the things to that man I should have said.

And finally, I felt ashamed that I even felt ashamed in the first place! I know that no one deserves to be demeaned, mistreated or harassed regardless of their appearance. I know that the person in the wrong was the man who violated me, not myself. I know that had I witnessed that being done to someone else, I would never blame the person being victimized. Why then, was I blaming myself?

As minor as this incident may sound, it really did have an effect on me. I realized how different things are in theory and in reality. I was so caught off guard by the event that I was stunned into inaction. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do. And I very much wished I had been able to respond differently.

I spent the next day or so replaying the incident in my head and going over all the things I wish I’d said and done. The only positive thing that came of it is that if and when I’m encountered with a similar incident, I believe I’ll be in a better position to react the way I’d like to.

And – just for the record – I do not blame myself for wearing running shorts to the store. Nothing about my behavior that day was inappropriate. The bad behavior was that of the man who chose to violate my privacy and dignity.

– SMS

Location: Walgreens, Evans Road at Hwy 281, San Antonio, Texas

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Sitting on a bus a few years ago in London, a man next to me was reading his newspaper. He started stroking my leg under the newspaper. When I moved he stopped so I thought maybe I imagined it, but then he started again. I kept thinking he couldn’t be doing it, so it took me a while, but then I got up and moved seats. I was too shy and scared to make more of a fuss. He looked at me as he got off the bus as if I had enjoyed what he did.

– Rebecca

Location: Westminster, London, UK

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Cross-posted with permission from The Truth Shall Set Your Teeth Free

They said dark-skinned African prostitutes
Were all the rage in raging Egypt
A place I accused of being non-racist
But that was no excuse
For the man to put his hands on me
Or whistle from his car
“How about tonight, dark honey?”

At least that’s what I explained
To the policemen who saved them
From a possible neighborhood lynching

When they asked me why I bludgeoned his head
And black-eyed his friend
With my groceries.

– Sarah Abubakr, ‏ @Sarahkasm