#MeToo {Better Late Than Never}

Being a blogger who writes about my personal life (and my personal struggles, in particular) can be exhausting.

Every once in a while, after publishing one of my more honest posts, I get a vulnerability hangover and worry that I said or revealed too much about the not-so-pretty parts of my life. And despite wanting to be as open and honest as possible, there are also certain places that I have purposefully not gone in order to protect both myself and my loved ones.

When it comes to the #MeToo movement, I had refrained from joining the conversation for the aforementioned self-preservation reasons, but also because: 

1. I didn't want to come across as an oversharer who was just jumping on another honesty/emotional life story bandwagon.
   
   
2. I have never been violently raped or sexually assaulted in the straightforward way that so many women have, and I didn't want to take away from those kinds of stories.
   
   
3. I was scared to talk about my own experiences because despite my wholehearted belief in this movement, when it comes to sexual assault and sexual harassment, I, like many others, am often fuzzy about where the line is and when it has been crossed. I was afraid that I would be blamed for the things that have happened to me, so I just kept my mouth [er, keyboard] shut.

However, at this point, I've realized that it is important to share at least a little bit about my experience as a 'Woman in the World' in order to add my voice to this important cultural conversation. 

I believe that the more of us who share these stories (in our own time + on our own terms), the better, so that we can continue to remind the world and one another just how prevalent sexual assault and sexual harassment really are.

So, here goes.

............

My most straightforward, this-is-obviously-not-okay experience with sexual harassment: 

I was getting gas at my neighborhood gas station in Washington, DC. When the little gas lever clicked to let me know that my tank was full, I replaced the nozzle, got back in my car, and turned away from the pump to buckle my seatbelt.

When I turned to face forward again, I saw someone very close to my driver side window. I turned my head and was met with a man's genitalia, pulled out of his pants and so close to my window that it was almost pressed up against my car. I screamed and looked away, he ran and got back into his cab (yes, he was a cab driver).

I frantically looked around for something to write down his license plate number with, but I was shaking and fumbling and he drove away quickly; before I knew it, it was all over.

I was left feeling disgusted, creeped out, and violated.  

My most recent, somewhat more hazy, I-was-taken-advantage-of experience with sexual assault: 

I was pregnant and my family was on a ski trip in Whistler, BC. Since everyone else was skiing and I couldn't, my dad offered to treat me to a Prenatal Massage. I found a reputable place online, researched the therapists, read the reviews, and called and made an appointment.

When I arrived for my appointment, I was impressed by the spa. The place was beautiful and the woman working the desk, who I later found out was the owner, was also beautiful and pregnant, too. She raved about the massage therapist I was going to see and said that he gave her massages all throughout her first pregnancy. "He has a gift!" she said.

I felt totally at ease.

When I met the massage therapist he was pretty woo-woo but very nice and warm. Lots of hugs, lots of gentle touching as we talked, lots of love for pregnancy and the miracle of life. I'm a yoga teacher so I'm used to this kind of energy. I didn't get any weird vibes from him at all. I even thought he might be gay.

Fast forward to when he began to massage me: he started by doing a lot of chest massage. And while I felt pretty uncomfortable with where he had his hands on my breasts, he explained all of the many reasons that it was important to massage the breasts of a pregnant woman as he did so, so I swallowed my discomfort and didn't say anything/ I didn't want to make him feel like I was uncomfortable--I had a 60-minute massage to get through with this guy, so why risk making it awkward at the beginning? Plus, he was a professional! I must just be a prude. I would get through it and he would move on to the rest of my body shortly.

However, as the massage continued, he kept coming back to my breasts. He massaged them a lot. A LOT. Waaaaayyy too much. In fact, when I left, I remember making a weird joke to Ben about how I had just had a 90-minute "boob massage."

I tried to laugh it off, but I felt violated. I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed throughout the massage, as he repeatedly (and repeatedly, and repeatedly!) touched every part of my breast but my nipples, and I felt violated when I left. And the embarrassment and feelings of horror at that experience have not lessened with time, they have only grown.

Now, 2 years later, I know I was taken advantage of. I spent the whole massage questioning what was happening but not saying anything because I didn't want to make him feel weird in the off-chance that this wasn't assault and really was his technique; I didn't want to sound like a sicko for thinking that's what he was doing and I didn't want to ruffle any feathers. 

And worst of all? I tipped him when I left. I said thank you. I let him hug me when he said goodbye and wished me luck with the rest of my pregnancy. He kept me 30 minutes over my massage without giving me a heads-up that he was doing so (I mean, why would he let his willing victim go when he could continue to take advantage of her for an additional 30 minutes?) and in the entire 90 minutes of discomfort and embarrassment, I never once spoke up for myself. 

My most blurred-lines, haziest experiences with sexual assault: 

I drank too much in college. I made bad decisions a lot. I put myself in many positions that could have ended really badly, but didn't. I consider myself extremely lucky in this regard.

However, there were two experiences that stick out to me as not okay. 

1. When I was a freshman, I let a senior (who I considered a friend) walk me home one night. Without giving away any details about who this guy is, I'll just say that he had done some really wonderful life favors for me (a lowly freshman with no car on campus), and I trusted him, appreciated him, and knew him well.

On this particular night I was *quuuiiiitteee* drunk and he had offered to walk me home on his way home--with a promise to my friends that he would get me back safely. I don't remember a lot but here's what I do remember: when it got time for me to take the path in the direction of my dorm, he put his arm around me and instead, guided me towards his place. I remember him giving some excuse for why we were going there, and then later, being in his bedroom and being pressured to do something sexual that I didn't want to do.

I was not attracted to this guy and never had been. There was no part of me that wanted to "hook up" with him in any way. And yet, I let things happen the way he wanted them to. Again, I don't remember much but I remember thinking vaguely that I didn't want to be doing what I was doing, that I just wanted it to be over, but also, that I needed to do it because I 'owed him' for the favors that he had done for me.

The lines were blurry, the memory of the night is blurry, but I know that I didn't want to do what I did and somehow, he got me to do it anyway. 

2. Later during freshman year (it was my most challenging year, as it is for many people), I went to a Fraternity "Formal" with an older guy as his platonic date. Again, I was not attracted to him, but we were on the same page about this date being TOTALLY platonic and really just a way for me to join our friend group on a weekend away.

At one point during the weekend when [once again] I had drank too much and had therefore gone to bed to pass out, I woke up to him in my bed with me, attempting to do things to me that I didn't want to do and didn't remember consenting to.

It was scary, it was hard to say no, and there was a part of me that felt like I had to go along with it since he had paid money for me to attend this function with him; again, on some screwed up level I felt like I owed him something, despite making my boundaries clear before leaving town with him.

.........

In almost all of these situations but the first (the cab driver), I place a lot of the blame for what happened on myself for not speaking up. I am embarrassed that I let these things happen to me and I know that many people reading these accounts will just blame me for being weak, or assume I was promiscuous (which I was not, but even if I was, it wouldn't matter). 

But I also know that I am a product of a world that teaches women to be obliging, to feel guilty about everything, to be people-pleasers, and that says to us, "It's your fault because you drank too much, wore revealing clothing, put yourself in that position, let him walk you home, went to that event with this guy in the first place." 

Because in addition to the stories above, there are the many other small experiences that wore me down over the years and set the stage for my being used to being sexualized--the guys in high school who would grab my butt or boobs out of nowhere in the hallways (just to be funny, ha ha),the guys on the subway who would rub up against me or say creepy things when we were smushed together due to a packed car during rush hour, the male clients in NYC who would belittle me or make creepy sexual comments while at work meetings--the many small, daily indignities that eat away at us women and leave us feeling that harassment is just the norm, that it's unavoidable. 

I could probably go on and on, but those are the stories that stick out to me. And while I still feel weird about sharing them here and know that some of you will judge me, I do feel better now that I've joined this movement. 

So yeah, #metoo.