Street Harrassment

I feel a need to address the current push for awareness of street harassment.

A lot of people feel like it isn't an issue.

But I'm here to tell you it is.

Growing up in small town NZ you wouldn't think it would be an issue.

But it is.

Most people imagine that it must only happen to girls who somehow ask for it.

But it doesn't.

And sadly, until I started seeing these calls for growing awareness, I actually believed that it is something girls just had to 'deal' with.

At 29 years old, I am suddenly being made aware that perhaps, we don't.

I didn't think I was a 'victim' of sexual harassment. I never thought I had been sexually abused. Sure - I don't feel safe walking alone after dark. I always put my keys between my fingers walking to my car in the dark. I keep my head down and consciously avoid eye contact with men, when I'm forced to walk in an alleyway or through a park. But that's just normal, sensible behaviour.

Right?

Now, I am reconsidering. This campaign is making me remember the countless times I've been cat called, wolf whistled, tailed, bothered and 'harassed'.

I never considered myself a pretty person. I have never thought I look beautiful. I certainly was never been a 'popular' kid, or even felt like I had any shot at being 'cool'.

I was a moody, awkward, acne blessed, fashion faux-pas of a teenager, who never knew what to do with her hair, and would rather wear comfy clothes and read a book than dress up and go drinking.

I know I didn't feel sexy when I was cat-called from a car at just 15 years old while walking to church.

I definitely didn't feel happily complimented when I was followed by a man in a car while biking home from my zucchini packing summer job at 17 years old.

I didn't feel pretty when I hid behind a bush in a driveway and watched that same car drive slowly past - the driver actively looking for where I had gone.

I sure didn't feel loved when at 18 years old I was tailed by a man in Italy whom I tried to ignore  - which quickly became impossible to do, because he got out of his car and proceeded to try and drag me into it.

I didn't feel beautiful when he then grabbed me round the throat and tried to kiss me and grab my ass.

I didn't smile with pride when I was yelled at, abused and sworn at, for not responding to a middle aged man calling me baby while walking to work in the middle of Christchurch at 19 years old.

I'm nobody special. I'm not especially beautiful. I do not dress especially well, and definitely not provocatively. Yet all of these things happened to me.

These are the times that stick in my memory, and make me keep my eyes down, make me put my keys between my fingers and make me afraid to walk alone in cities, side streets, empty streets, parks and alley-ways. There have been countless other times - but I guess they just get blotted out, become a blur because they are so frequent and normalised.

Besides, I should feel happy that these men consider me worthy of attention.

Right?