(TW: sexual assault)
I love my boyfriend, but we're not engaged. Yet, every morning I slip what looks like an engagement ring with a pale blue stone onto my left ring finger before I head out to work or class. This is a recent routine, one that I never would have imagined doing even a few weeks ago.
Like many women, I have felt unsafe due to my gender. My first encounter with sexual violence occurred when I was in middle school and went to a friend's house after dance. We snuck into his pool even though his parents weren't home. I was swimming in my dance attire: spandex booty shorts over barely there underwear and a cami tanktop. There were five of us in the pool, and I was the only girl there. That was normal; I only hung out with guys when I was younger. We were playing chicken, and I got tossed into the water and was struggling a bit to resurface. One of my friends grabbed me to pull me up into the air. I remember thanking him and that he didn't let go, which seemed strange. Then he pushed me towards the wall, his breath against my face, teasing me. I remember pushing away, only to have another friend pull my pants and underwear down under water. I was mortified and quickly tried to pull them back up. Over and over again this happened; three teenage boys against me, until one of my friends who wasn't in the water with us jumped in and pulled me out, wrapping me in a towel. We never spoke of it again, and I let the boys, my best friends for years, drift away. I never told my parents, my therapist, anyone. I was too ashamed. I had experienced sexual violence and was so guilt ridden I was afraid to speak of it.
Then, earlier this month it happened again. I had lost my friend in a bar downtown and both our phones were dying. I sent her a quick text saying I wasn't feeling well, couldn't find her and was going home. I had one too many drinks. and I needed to go home. That shouldn't make me or any other woman a target. Period. I was walking home when an older man approached me. He demanded my name, put his number in my cell phone and texted himself from my number so that he would have it. The whole time I was so afraid I just let it happen, hoping that would be enough and he would leave me alone. I had already tried walking away, telling him my sister was waiting in a restaurant down the street from me. He handed me my phone and grabbed me, sticking his cigarette tasting tongue into my mouth. I froze. I told myself it'd be over soon. As soon as he broke away, I ran towards a bus, luckily it was heading back towards campus. When I got home to my boyfriend, I was in tears. I felt so sick, guilty, dirty. It didn't help that he had my number and continued to text me until an older mentor told me to text him saying I was going to the police if he contacted me again. I spoke to special services and filed a report with them to have it on record, but I didn't go to the police. The thought of having to relive the situation over for an officer scared me and thinking about it made my anxiety take over. I decided it wasn't worth the extra stress. I thought that would be the end of it.
That was naive. There's never an end, not in a world where I get catcalled on the streets at least twice a week, not in a world where a man would reach out and grab the arm of a friend when we were walking to get lunch, not in a world where groups of female students have pre-made excuses to fend off a certain pushy peer.
Earlier this week, I found myself in the bank waiting in line to speak to the teller during my lunch break. "What's your name," the guy behind me asked. I answered. The guy was wearing nice clothes and a Penn hat. He looked like he was in his late 20s. I didn't feel threatened. He proceeded to ask me what year I was and what I was studying. When I told him I was studying political science, he smiled. "Law school?"
That turned into a discussion about his current profession—an attorney. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or if he was trying to keep the conversation going. It really doesn't matter. At this point, it was my turn to speak to the teller. The guy didn't back off. I started to feel uncomfortable and tried to focus on the woman in front of me. "Want to go get a beer?"
"I can't, I'm getting lunch with my boyfriend."
"Ah, well if you never ask, the answer is always no." I thought it was done. It wasn't. "Guess where I went to undergrad?"
I shook my head.
"Come on, what color is my skin?" I looked at him. He looked South Asian, maybe Indian. Why did that matter?
"I don't know."
"Brown. I went to Brown. They actually care about people there, unlike here. So how about that beer?" I told him no again, praying the teller would just give me my money so I could leave. "You don't sound so sure about that no. Why do you sound so equivocal?"
That was too much. I grabbed my money, a panic attack rising and ran out of the bank. The whole rest of the day I had a knot in my stomach. I felt sick, shaky, worn-out. I didn't want to walk home from work alone, my boyfriend had to come get me. I couldn't do my homework, and watching TV was the only thing that kept me calm. The man in the bank was the last straw for me. I have been too strong for too long.
The next morning I got up and slipped on my ring.
What does this have to do with the ring I now wear? Everything. I thought the first ring I would wear habitually on my left hand would be a symbol of my connection to a man I love dearly. Instead, the ring I wear is an attempt to push men away from me. It is an attempt to fend off unwanted attention. It's sad that I've even gotten to this point, but I'm desperate. Men should just leave women alone, period. The "taken" status shouldn't matter. Deep down I know that. I wish I could expect that to be the reality. But I can't. The incident that triggered me to start wearing the ring in the first place involved a man that wouldn't leave me alone no matter how many times I mentioned my boyfriend.
Ironically, the ring I wear is from my mother. She gave it to me because the blue and white stones are the colors of my sorority, the colors that represent the women I love most. When I look at it now, it reminds me that my story is just one of many. We live in a world full of problems, rape culture being one of them. And I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm have some protection from my white privilege, my cis-gender privilege, my middle class privilege. But all those layers of armor don't keep me safe. I'm just going to keep on adding layers to myself and fighting how I can so that I can survive. And if I need a ring to do that, I will use it. But I'm going to keep pushing back. We all need to keep pushing back. Share this article and others like it. Tell your brothers, fathers, friends and boyfriends how rape culture affects you. Don't be afraid to protect yourself. Keep your head high. We're in this together.
