This morning, an unknown man on the street stared at me and shouted, “You! What big boobs you have!”

It was 9 a.m. and I was about to enter into the office where I work. I did not react as it took me a couple of seconds to realise what this man had just said. Then I was shocked, not even able to send this man to hell as he was already far down the street and I did not want to shout the way he did. I felt bad. I was insulted!

Optional: What’s one way you think we can make public places safer for everyone?

Educating men and women equally starting in childhood. I still find young men doing this aggression on the street. Unbelievable!

– Marta

Location: Calle Valencia / downtown Madrid / Spain

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea.

Growing up, I lived in a not so great part of town. It didn’t bother me much. My family knew there were some not so great things happening around us, but we had very few if any horror stories. We lived in a nice quaint house, near a park, and my parents were honest, hard working people. It was practically normal.

Once I hit adolescence, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. It was really hard on me, so how did I cope? I went out walking. First it was to the park nearby, then I branched out further into the neighborhood. The first time I got honked at, I wondered if I violated some traffic rule. I couldn’t think of anything, but I was all of 11. Who knows.

But then it kept up. And it wasn’t just honking (which still in my mind could be anything). It was yelling. Middle fingers. Lewd remarks. 11…12…13…14… My childlike body (I grew while everyone else developed, then they grew and I filled out) was being objectified and sexualized. I was proud of myself for not throwing myself at the first guy I met, like so many of my peers did, and that was being challenged and defiled every time some numb skull had to yell some obscenity at me. I couldn’t take my time to myself, collect my thoughts, and grieve the loss of my mother, without having a back up contingency of what to scream back when (not if) someone yelled at me on the streets.

It got better in high school, I was largely left alone. I moved neighborhoods, and wasn’t out as much as I had been due to the environment change. But when I was outside, it wasn’t so bad. College, it got weird again. I would go to work, and get hit on relentlessly. Men would stare me down, not let me leave situations, try to get my information, you name it. It was disgusting, and violating. I was at work, doing a job, not looking for my next hook up or boyfriend.

It got to the point where I dreaded going to work, because I got tired of fending off horny perverts in the middle of my shift. I did a year abroad in France for school, and it was terrible. I almost took one case with obscene texts to the local police. Even an American male friend of mine said he gave up trying to honestly meet a girl, because French girls had to put up so many barriers and he got tired of being treated like another jerk. I will defend this friend and say his motives were most likely in the right place, and he would have been a gentleman.

Getting married hasn’t even entirely warded it off. A wedding ring is seen as a challenge, where a “no” means try harder, and comments like “what my husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” I get tired of people checking my left hand to make sure it’s “safe.” There are certain communities my husband and I are part of, and I can’t even have the common courtesy of being respected there. Granted, sex and sexual practices are a big part of it, but people seem to think because of that, they’re entitled to your time, attention, and favors. There is no respect for boundaries, or what a person’s goals are for their activity in the community.

I’ve never considered myself particularly attractive, though I know my husband and several others would disagree, but I think now as an adult, part of it comes from those first experiences as a kid, walking in my neighborhood. Being yelled at on the street didn’t make me feel attractive, sexy, or desirable. It made me feel violated, and unsafe. It made me want to retract, and hide any part of my physical appearance I could. The less attractive I made myself, the less it would happen. Being “cat called” never made me feel pretty. It made me feel like trash. And there is a resounding impact on my self image today, because of the lessons street harassment taught me.

Optional: What’s one way you think we can make public places safer for everyone?

We have to start teaching our children better. We need to teach our sons that it’s never acceptable to treat a woman that way, and that women have a right to their own personal space and autonomy, just as boys do. We need to teach our daughters to stand up for themselves, and not take crap. You can’t always fire back at the person who has violated you. If they’re in a car moving at 40 mph and you’re walking, it just isn’t gonna happen.

We need to teach our girls they don’t have to apologize to anyone for having a backbone and standing up to whoever is belittling them. We’re taught that we should endure anything and everything, so long as it makes the world around us pleasant for others. This needs to stop. Rock the boat. Raise a fuss. Things won’t change otherwise.

– Erika S

Location: My neighborhood, workplace

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea.

Street harassment happens a lot where I live (Newcastle, UK). This story isn’t about a time I was harassed, it’s about when I realised how bad the problem actually is.

Over the 4 or 5 years that I’ve lived here, I’ve been told to smile more times than I can remember.

A man once drove onto the pavement and tried to get me into his car.

Men in vehicles have slowed right down to have a better look at me (including a uniformed UPS driver and a Gateshead Council van).

A pedestrian stuck his head in my car.

Other drivers have slowed down, making sexual gestures at me.

Men have told me they’d like to “slip their cocktail in my vagina” that I’ve got “a weird arse” and “a nice body but it’s a shame about the face.”

Men have randomly shouted “pussy” at me.

Men have blocked my path.

Men have followed me down the street.

I am beeped at by men in passing cars pretty much every time I leave the house.

The other day a man catcalled as I was unlocking my front door. The last one scared me a lot as this creep now knows where I live, what I drive, and what time I come home.

I try to let it go, but I feel so powerless. I want to hit them, to throw rocks at their cars, but I know I’d be the one who ends up in trouble with the police if I did. The frustration just builds up inside.

A week or so ago I’d had a busy few days and was feeling hungry and tired. I didn’t have much to eat, so I thought I’d take a walk to the shops. Then I didn’t, because I just didn’t have the strength to let another attack go, and I knew there was a really high chance of something happening if I went out.

That hit HARD. I called for takeout instead. And cried.

Optional: What’s one way you think we can make public places safer for everyone?

Specifically criminalise non-physical harassment like shouting, beeping and name calling.

– SA

Location: Newcastle, UK

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea.