Sarah Colome, Chicago, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent
The young college fraternity boys yelled from their second story balcony in gloomy Ann Arbor, MI as they began pre-gaming for the first football game of the season. A comfortable morning with fresh grass underfoot, I jumped – a stronger reaction than expected by both myself, and my companions. I quickly realized that the boys were screaming at friends walking along the sidewalk, most likely headed to a competing party to partake in pre-game festivities. They weren’t even talking to me. Why then, was I still so internally shaken?
We often attribute experiences of PTSD to survivors of sexual assault, but rarely do we hear that attribution accepted in relation to those who have been bombarded by street harassment. In my 28 years of life, it has only been in recent years that I began reframing my experiences of walking down the street to suggestive commentary, solicitations, and cars creeping along the street to match my stride, as street harassment. You see, we become so conditioned to the threat of violence, that even a matching tone and approach can trigger an automated response.
My external self remained calm, composed, and keenly aware of my surroundings, a skill I adopted early in life. Meanwhile, I tried to calm my heart rate. I do not view all men as predators, as I think this perspective breeds a fear that diminishes the potential for discourse, healing, and allyship. Yet, the socialization we’ve been raised in, justifying the perception that women’s bodies are something to be bought, sold, or won, has created a dynamic where these street actions are viewed as acceptable. Often termed “rape culture,” this normalization discourages discussion and advocacy that challenges the problematic norm that ultimately results in 1 in 5 women (likely, more) experiencing sexual violence in their lifetime.
I was surprised at the time, by my reaction. I volunteer in hospitals as a medical advocate for sexual assault victims, have worked in high crime areas, and have a lifetime of experience with street harassment and assault. Of all people, I should be able to process and discard these threats, or in this case, perceived and inaccurate threats. That’s what we’re supposed to think. Because if we start openly identifying the experiences of sexual violence survivors with a term that we attribute to war combatants, then we might need to start taking their pain seriously. But then, I suppose a cultural shift of healing starts with me owning my own trauma, as invisible to myself as it may be.
For more information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and it’s manifestation in survivors of sexual assault and harassment, visit RAINN’s website which lists multiple resources for help.
Sarah is a progress-focused educator and advocate dedicated to building strategic coalitions centered on creating social change who serves as an adjunct professor in DePaul University’s Peace, Justice and Conflict Studies department. You can follow her updates on Linkedin or hear her perspectives on Twitter.
