Recently, as I walked from my parking space to my office, a man in a utility van drove by, staring at me longer than felt comfortable before pulling into the lot. My heart raced, and instinctively, my car keys shifted into my grip—a familiar position I’ve long associated with potential self-defense. I was 27 at the time.
A few years earlier, I was at a red light in a busy college town when I noticed a young man sauntering beside the cars, peering inside. Recognizing his intent, I quickly locked my doors just as he yanked at my passenger side handle, demanding entry. I sped away the moment the light turned green. I was 22 then.
Almost a decade back, I had evening classes that required walking home in the dark. I kept my keys ready and my phone in hand, always aware of the emergency call boxes scattered around campus for women in distress. One evening, a male classmate offered to escort me back to my dorm, claiming he needed to borrow my notes. His demeanor shifted as soon as we entered; he had other intentions. After too many unwelcome advances, I threatened to call for help, and he reluctantly left. I was 20.
Earlier that year, while walking from my internship to class, I encountered a group of guys in the administrative building. One of them commented on my appearance, degradingly sizing me up. My immediate response was to retort, but as I passed through them, I was groped. I was just 20.
At a fraternity party, I was dressed modestly compared to others but was still subjected to inappropriate advances. When trying to leave, fraternity members were at the door, claiming they were checking for theft. Instead, they groped women as they exited. I was 19.
Back in high school, I found myself stranded at a basketball game when my boyfriend abandoned me for speaking to a friend. A male friend offered to drive me home, but his kindness quickly turned into an unwanted proposition. I was 17.
Even further back, at 12, I was subjected to harassment in class. Boys found amusement in embarrassing me, including making inappropriate comments about my underwear.
Now, at 27, I am a wife and mother of two—one boy and one girl. My most significant responsibility is preparing them for a world where toxic masculinity often goes unchecked, and the expectation is placed on women to remain silent.
You might read this and think, “Why is she sharing her experiences?” The truth is, these are only the surface-level stories. I never disclosed these incidents to my parents, and it’s likely your daughter has endured similar experiences without telling you.
One day, your daughter might come home upset about a boy snapping her bra strap in class. You’ll wish you had empowered her to stand up for herself. Unfortunately, she may not share these experiences with you at all.
I write this because the reality is, your child might encounter a situation far more serious than what I faced. A young man might not accept rejection gracefully; your daughter could become just another statistic.
Moreover, we must acknowledge that your son could become one of those who perpetuates these behaviors. It is vital to educate him on respect and consent, countering harmful narratives that suggest otherwise.
For more insights on preparing for parenthood, consider checking out this article on at-home insemination kits. In addition, you can explore resources on pregnancy and childbirth at the World Health Organization.
In summary, we must actively engage in educating our children about respect, consent, and the realities of harassment and assault. It’s our responsibility to ensure they understand the importance of these discussions for a safer future.
Keyphrase: Preventing Sexual Assault in Children
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