I live in Canada and even living in Canada, the American Presidential Race has dominated my Facebook news feed over the past many months. Every day I find my eyes and mind inundated with memes and articles focused on the upcoming US Election and I hide most of them but for a few I deem to be insightfully read-worthy. I hide the ridiculous and insulting memes as well as anything introduced by a 'bashing introduction' because I just don't feel the kindness in making fun of physical appearances or mannerisms of ANYbody. But in this past week, there has been another form of hurtful making the rounds and the focus is suddenly OFF of the Presidential contenders and mostly ON every person who has ever been attacked. My news feed this morning was filled with multiple posts talking about the ridiculousness of people who wait until there is a spotlight to tell of what they've been through but I did find two posts speaking for the newest people being bashed for coming forward with sharing their previous and obviously lasting traumas.
I am disappointed in many views I have witnessed in the past two days. I shouldn't be, none of those views are mine. But I am... disappointed.
Telling or not telling is something most of us will have to wrestle with at one point or another in our lives and the fact that victims are being shamed for finally finding courage to share their most painful moments is simply disgraceful to me. So many victims of predatory attacks have waited to tell and sometimes will never tell because of how victims are so often publicly shamed as well as from their own humiliation, fear and personal shame over having lived it.
The humiliation, fear and personal shame is real. I know it because I experienced it.
I am and always have been someone who is extremely cautious. I watch, I listen, I don't take chances. I listen and I heed every gut feeling my body gives me. Even still, I did find myself pinned and petrified a few years back. I didn't tell. I was terrified, I was hurt and I was embarrassed. I think I was mostly embarrassed because I am always so careful... yet even in my careful, I allowed myself to be intimidated.
I had been at roller derby practice on a Wednesday night and as always once practice had finished and I had taken off and packed my gear, I waited for someone to walk out in the dark, chilly night to my car with. I had tried for months to set up a sort of 'buddy car walk' system so that no one arrived at or left our not-so-safe practice space area alone but everyone told me I was wasting my time... "Who's gonna want gross, sweaty derby girls?" ... "We're derby girls, we'll just hip-check and break away!" ... "If I had to have a buddy everywhere I go, I'd never get anything done!" ... "Pfffffft, I can handle myself!" ...I heard just about every excuse and even from my own sister so I finally gave up trying to help make certain we all arrived and left safely but I still made certain that I never left alone. I asked one of my teammates if she had parked in the same direction I had and luckily she had so once she was ready we started out together. We were both parked fairly close but my friend had snagged the close spot just across the intersection which I was congratulating her on (since it's a rare spot to get) while we waited for the light to change. Just before the light changed for us to cross we heard a loud party-type conversation come out of the previously quiet night air and looked up the street ahead to see a group of around eight to twelve (or more) men filing out of a building up and across the street just a few feet past where my car was parked. The hollers were amiable and mixed with laughter as the men parted still calling out to one another until just as quickly the talk turned to mumbles and then to silence. We kept walking and neither of us thought anything about it as we watched the group split; most of the men headed away from us, some went toward the opposite parking lot, a couple had turned to head down the opposite sidewalk and there was one man who had crossed the street and was heading directly toward us. He was on his way just as we were and neither my friend or I were concerned.
We reached my teammates car and I continued to walk but turned back to ask if she would be at practice the following night then waved as she climbed into her car and continued toward my own waiting vehicle. Flanking the outer sidewalk edge was a car parked in front of my friends car and a pick-up truck directly in front of that and the inner sidewalk was towered over by a large building that at one point had been a movie theatre. The sidewalk didn't offer a whole lot of space to walk and I was dragging along behind me my wheeled Zuca gear bag so I naturally moved over as close to the wall as I could when I saw the man coming toward me down the centre of the sidewalk.
Just one step passed between us before he made eye-contact with me and deliberately stepped over and intentionally into my path.
My heart picked up a little then and my gut was telling me to get away from that wall, so I did but I had just heard my friends car door close and I knew she was still there so I didn't let myself panic. Instead, I moved to the outer edge of the sidewalk but had just slightly passed the path between the car and truck so I had to keep going the length of the truck.
Another step passed and I could now clearly see his face and feel how his eyes were focused on me.
And then he stepped deliberately and straight into my path again.
That was the moment I did start to panic.
He was only a few steps away from me when I reached the front bumper of the pick-up truck.
I started turning the instant I reached the front of that truck. I stepped down off the sidewalk and didn't take the time to check my gear bag behind me as I normally would and as I felt it drop behind me I started angling my body to make the diagonal bolt for my car while making a quick check for oncoming traffic before crossing.
I shouldn't have checked for traffic.
I should just have started running.
In that split-second I found myself pinned so hard against the front of that pick-up grill that my back hurt and I couldn't move and I couldn't breathe.
Now, I'm a pretty big girl at five-foot-ten and I consider myself strong because I have always been active in sports and taking care of my body, keeping my muscles strong. But pinned against that truck like I was I felt smaller than I've ever felt in my life. The fact that my face was in the middle of his chest and I could see nothing but his chest told me that this man was huge. I'm tall, he was massive.
I felt his arms crushing my own against my sides. I felt him pressing into me until I was gasping for breath and I felt a sharp pain in my back before I felt warmth trickling down my back. I couldn't move and I couldn't speak.
And then I heard my friends car start and her headlights lit the road. And I started figuring out what I might need to do. I suddenly found myself worrying that this truck I was trapped against might just belong to this man and I know it sounds ridiculous for such a minor happening but I heard the words from years ago on an Oprah show blast through my mind... "Never allow them to take you somewhere else!" Those words found their way back to me right when I needed them and once I heard them inside my head again I was ready for whatever I might need to do next. I was fortunate that I didn't have to fight for myself from being taken somewhere else.
The man tightened his grip on me, rubbed himself even harder against me. And he wrapped his arms fully around me while leaning down before speaking into my ear with a low chuckle that assured me he had enjoyed every brief second he had controlled me, "Remember to call your friend when you get home... you really need to thank her," he quietly instructed me with a voice so deep I almost felt it burrowing into my skin.
He pulled himself away then and headed off across the road.
I didn't look after him. I didn't check for traffic. I beelined for my vehicle, threw my gear bag in, started the engine and halfway home the terrified tears began.
I didn't tell.
I was so embarrassed that I had let that happen to me.
I didn't call my friend when I got home but I did have a message waiting from her making sure I had made it home and that I was okay. In my reply I begged her not to tell anyone what had happened, I promised her the world as long as she just... wouldn't... tell.
Enz was watching television when I got home so I just called out that I was home and headed straight for the shower. My scrimmage shirt and jacket were both soaked with blood but I prayed my back would stop bleeding and just clear up in the shower. It didn't. I could see the gash in the mirror but I couldn't reach it so I had to ask Enz to come and help me with a bandage.
"How the hell did you get cut there?" he asked as he started opening the bandage package.
"Oh, you know... anything can happen at derby..."
"This is deep! You might need stitches."
"It's fine, just... tape it tight, it'll heal."
I worried over going to practice the following night but I didn't want to be that girl, the one who lets a ridiculous fear hold her back from living and derby, at that time, was a pretty huge chunk of my life. I didn't sleep a whole lot that night and the next day I did get my gear packed and ready for another practice but leaving the house wasn't quite as easy as I had expected it to be. I procrastinated like I never, ever, do. My ponytail wasn't in right. I needed an extra water bottle. The socks I had on were going to bunch up in my skates so I needed to change them. I had packed the wrong scrimmage shirts. My skate wheels needed to be rotated. My toe stop was loose. The list went on and on and on until Enz finally said... "Are you planning on actually going to to practice today??"
So finally, off I headed. But by the time I finally made it across town and parked my car just a few spaces farther up from the spot I'd had the night before... it was already twenty minutes past start of practice and there was no one nearby to catch up and walk with. 'Don't be ridiculous' I whispered aloud to myself, 'get out of the car and get your butt in to practice'.
But I couldn't make myself do it.
Instead, I started my vehicle back up, pulled back out onto the road and I drove myself back to the safety of home.
"Practice cancelled?" Enz asked when I made my way back inside the house.
I told him what had happened then and just like with my friend the night before, I made him promise never to tell a soul. The only other person I told all of what happened to was my sister who was also involved with roller derby practices as our Head Ref and the only reason I told her was to beg her to let me pick her up so we could drive to practices together and so neither of us would ever have to walk from our cars alone. On the days my sister couldn't go to practice, Enz dropped me off at the practice space doors and picked me up straight afterward so I felt safe to go. Even though it was a one time happening, I still feel every instant of those few seconds filled with absolute terror in every tiny detail of what happened to me that night and I make no apologies for being seen as ridiculously cautious in keeping safe.
A few of my friends and teammates did ask me why Enz had started dropping me off and arriving to walk out with me if he couldn't get a spot directly out front and I was honest in telling them that something had happened and I wasn't willing to walk out of practice without a true buddy system set up so I had just made my own dependable buddy system.
My point... I didn't tell either.
But my not telling, doesn't make it untrue and it will never mean that it didn't happen. It did happen. I was lucky to get to go home with just a cut back and soul.
I feel incredibly guilty that I didn't go to the get the stitches I probably needed in my cut back because had I gone to the hospital I would have had to explain what had happened and a report would have been filed and the police probably notified. As it were, and still is, I may have let someone else get hurt by that man I let walk away and leave me in a trembling, fear-filled mess. But these women who have now come forward in the news about having been assaulted by people ('people' - because victim shaming is happening on BOTH sides of the competition) who could very well soon be in even greater power are being accused and shamed themselves for finally finding strength to speak up and just maybe save more people now.
Looking back, even though I didn't know his name and never have seen him again, I wish I had told. Even though he didn't actually and fully attack me, I wish I had told. But I did just tell... now, five years later. So many people seem to be shaming the people who have waited to tell but I understand and I know I'm not alone. SO many people have been hurt and haven't told. For me, I didn't tell because admitting to it felt weak, dirty, shameful... Think about it for a moment. In my case, I was pinned and couldn't move, I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe so I couldn't speak and a strong, forceful man I didn't know was pressing and rubbing himself against me. I felt gross and I felt tiny under his intimidation and this was a man not, as far as I know anyhow, in public power but he didn't have to be because his power was being gained from intimidating me. I didn't tell on a man who had no public power so how can I condemn those who didn't tell on anyone with incredible public power? I will tell you that if ever again I see the man who changed me that long ago night, I will tell and I will do all I can to make sure that what he is capable of, is known.
Sometimes doing the right thing after having been so horribly wronged takes a little time.
How about let's just not shame one another, at all? We all have been through moments we regret but let's not make it harder on ourselves and others when finally we do find the courage to do right, even in the face of fear.
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