1 in 3
A while ago, I went to the Raye concert. It was magic - pure, true, unfiltered magic. Tears streamed down my face the second she stepped on stage, an unexpected, yet completely valid reaction. The true mastery of her voice and the pain behind her words shuttered my body.
Before her performance at the Metronome festival, my roommate and I experienced an interaction that completely tainted our semblance of safety. A man came up to us, unprovoked and targeted. Asked if we were in line and forced his way into a conversation with us, questioning where we were from, his eyes vulgarly undressing my dear friend. I watched as he claimed to be “from secret service” and continued correctly guessing details about her life. It was the most jarring, weird, and scary experience. Not from his words, but from the pulsating desire radiating from him. It told us to be afraid.
Raye has a song entitled, “Ice Cream Man.”, in which she expresses the plethora of sexual abuse most people, as well as herself, have faced. During her performance of this song, I balled profusely, feeling the ancestors of ancestors of every single woman at the concert and beyond. It felt as if the collective pain stored in my female DNA rose to the surface and reminded me I’m an object, and that’s all we are. I cried for my relatives, my friends, and the 1 out of every 3 women who’ll experience sexual abuse at least once in her life (WHO, 2021). I cried for those I’ve met and everyone I haven’t. I cried for the pain I carry for them and for the unbelievably guilty gratitude I feel that I’m not one of many…yet. As her song echoed through the park I covered my low cut top feeling unsafe to sexualize myself in that moment, unsafe to play into the male gaze following me constantly. This song was for me, for every woman in that dark field feeling the eyes of the men around them and the lingering pain that every crazy interaction with men causes, as it wedges its way between them and their souls - clinging to their clothes, bodies, minds, and hearts.
As I made my way home, at 1:20 am, I was constantly aware of my vulnerability, the bright red target marked on my back claiming that I was indeed alone.
“Walk to the tram stop, but remember to hold your keys between your fingers just in case. Okay there are two men behind me, stand to the side, let them pass to keep an eye on their movements. Look fierce but not sexy, like I could beat them up if I needed to, like I’m prepared for their attack. Turn your head, observe, am I being followed, am I being watched, is the guy that just asked for directions changing his course to follow me home? Okay no, it’s okay, I’m safe, I’m protected, I’m alright. My intuition says I’m safe, but the voices of all women who came before haunt my every step. Will my phone be stolen, will I not make it home tonight? I’m not sure. I trust, I have to trust. There’s another woman at the tram stop, okay stand by her, packs are harder to take, right? Oohp and she left, great, I’m alone again. Finally on the tram, whoof, thank goodness, at least there’s light, at least I’m around people…and I’m off again, in the world again. I’m being stared at, gawked at, I’m only checking the tram times, why does anyone care? No, no, I’m safe, I have to be safe. Okay, a guy is passing me, hunch over, suck in your butt, let your stomach out, look as ugly as possible, maybe no one will notice me. Remember, don’t close your eyes, don’t show how tired you are, look strong, look powerful. Don’t look them in the eyes, don’t look docile, but know you can’t be messed with, use your phone as a shield, but don’t look like you don’t know where you’re going, but, but, but. Back on the tram, surrounded by people…by drunk men? At least there’s people. Look around, oh good a crazy drunk guy. It’s okay I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m…I’m safe, until I’m not.”
This constant stream of thought races in my mind as I move through the dark city. It’s dangerous and I feel it. Every move I make, every time I’m alone, fear riddles my body. When will I join the many? When will I lose all safety in my already scared body? When will I “provoke” the wrong man? I see girls walking in the same fear I do. Holding their stomachs and praying they don’t look too cute, too womanly, too easy. I see them staring at the floor, hoping they won’t be noticed, standing closer to me for safety, and yet we’re all still afraid, all aware that tonight might be the night we join the 1 in 3.
Even if a woman in your life hasn’t been assaulted, someone they know definitely has whether their pain is held deep within or shared publicly like Raye. I should not be afraid of walking the streets, period. Regardless of the time of day. I should not be cat-called. I should not be nervous of showing “too much” of ANYTHING. And I sure as hell shouldn’t understand on a deep physiological and psychological level the pain that billions of women live with everyday and have gone through since the dawn of time. I am reminded in these moments that I am lesser than, that I am a target, that I am unsafe in this body, a body I didn’t choose to have. And all this fear will shadow me through life as long as society continues to excuse the behavior, overreactions, and unresolved trauma of men and aggressors alike.
To move forward, we must teach our sons to respect, protect, and celebrate women, instead of teaching our girls to fear men. We must share our experiences with men and the pain we carry from them. Share that moving to the other side of the road or ahead of a woman walking alone does help, that there’s little threat in someone you can see. Share that they must advocate for women in their friendships and around other men. That saying nothing, says everything…it says that you’re not safe for the women in your life, that this behavior is allowed, expected, and warranted. I don’t want to negate the fact that men are also sexually abused and women can also be the abuser. We, as a society, must shine a light on the inflicted sexual abuse from both sexes, and everyone in between, so we can heal the issue as a whole, as Raye and many others are doing.
I desire this post to be a glimpse into the mind of a woman wandering alone. Most of the time these thoughts are more subtle, minuscule, but on this night my thoughts raged a war within my mind, leaving me emotionally drained and reminded of the prey I am in a world full of predators. Is the answer in becoming predator too? Or can we engineer a softer narrative and heal together? I guess only time will tell and until then, I will continue to share my experiences. Because every story told is another unmasked man and another spotlight flicked on, illuminating generations of stories lost to darkness. Keep sharing your stories and keep speaking up, especially when all they want to do is shut us up. Keep living your most beautiful, joyous, and loving life…it’s the most rebellious thing you can do!
I love you! Thank you!
xoxo, Ayla
WHO. (2021, March 9). Devastatingly pervasive: 1 in 3 women globally experience violence. World Health Organization. https://www.who.int/news/item/09-03-2021-devastatingly-pervasive-1-in-3-women-globally-experience-violence
photo credits - Genevieve freaking Flores
