It dawns on me that I know a disturbing amount of women who’ve been attacked by men.
Like, more than ten.
Recently I found myself in a conversation about women being a bit more careful. About keeping a head about men they didn’t know quite well enough to inherently trust. I was advocating paying attention…to having a mind to take a step back every once in a while and take a look at the who, where, when and otherwise of the situations they find themselves in.
As I spoke I was tense and precautionary and protective.
If you know me you know that’s not a typical place for me to come from.
Two things were happening.
First, I was acting as if telling someone to “be safe” is actually helpful. Upon reflection, I’m entirely unsure that it is actually helpful.
Nobody who finds themselves in the wrong spot expected to be there.
And I’d like to live in a world in which women can expect men to treat them with a baseline modicum of respect.
I suppose I’ve accepted that this isn’t the world we live in. I hate saying that so much.
Second, I was presuming the worst in men.
That really gets me, because I don’t want to do that.
The rage I feel towards the men who’ve done these things to beautiful, strong, confident women who trusted them really doesn’t have words to describe it. The sadness I feel for the tragedy that their soul has become, for whatever reason, exists but doesn’t trump that rage.
My sense is that a few of the guys involved in situations I’m aware of didn’t think they were in the wrong.
That is absolutely terrifying.
It happens too much. It’s happening too much.
I’m honestly not sure what else to say.
It happens a lot and everyone should know that.
No one should feel alone having gone through it, and no one should feel as if it’s okay on any level.