The streets are dark. I'm walking home from the ATM on 35th and Market with one earbud in and one out. It's about 7:50, and I still haven't gotten used to the skies darkening earlier. I haven't yet said goodbye to summer. Lianne La Havas croons in my ear as I bop my way home.

Then I hear the footsteps behind me, just a bit out of reach, just a little off beat. Keep walking fast, don't turn around just yet. Assess the situation. There is no one else on this dark side street. My heart speeds up and my feet desperately try to match its tempo. Heavy, heavy footsteps. I am alone. Hands shaking, I fumble in my purse, searching for pepper spray. Shit. I forgot it at home.

I turn around, eyes wide, fearful. There's a man behind me. He's at least 6 feet tall, maybe more, and very broad. His hoodie is pulled up over his head. I can't see his eyes, and that scares me.

I'm alone and his hands are bunched into fists. I whip my head back around, trying to focus on moving my feet quickly and efficiently. My heart pounds at what feels like 190 beats per minute. I think I'm going to throw up, stay calm, I think I'm going to throw up, stay calm because there is no one here to hear you if you scream. Will he know I'm onto him if I start running? Don't cry, Mary, don't cry.

And then the footsteps slow. They fade. Softer and softer, until I can't hear them anymore. I turn again and no one is behind me. The man has moved to the other side of the street. I breathe a tentative sigh of relief. I'm okay. I think I'm okay. There is nothing to worry about.

Guys (or women, I don't discriminate) there's probably been a few times in your life that you've been that man. You probably weren't trying to be intimidating. You were just walking home in the dark, listening to music or texting your mom. Your ears were cold, so you had a hood up to cover them. You were just trying to get through the night air to your warm apartment. And you were probably blithely unaware that you were scaring the shit out of someone just like me.

Women are taught to live most of their lives fearing men. It's not just women who can be scared by a stranger on the street, mind you. It's perfectly normal for a man to feel scared of someone who could physically overtake them as well. But older generations specifically instilled this fear in women as the best way they knew to keep us safe. Watch where you walk, when you walk, with whom you walk, and how you walk. Whispers of horrible acts committed on dark streets float through our heads at night. Our bedtime stories were cautionary tales, the only moral being that it's better to be scared than ill-prepared.

So yeah, when I see someone stronger than me on the street, I get scared. My first reaction is to run to safety, regardless of if he or she is actively posing a threat, because eventually they could try something. There's nothing that you can do to stop my reaction of abject terror. But there is something you can do to make it better.

Slow down.

That's it. It's really that simple. Don't yell after me to tell me you won't hurt me, don't try to get ahead of me, and don't tap me on the shoulder to tell me how friendly you are. Do you know how many creeps have told me they wouldn't hurt me only to grab my wrist moments later and hold fast while I try to get away? I was walking down the street one night and somehow "Slow down, baby, I won't hurt you," turned into "It doesn't matter how fast you run, I'll catch up to you!" I ran to the closest friend's house that I could find and collapsed into his arms, shaking and sobbing.

Does it sound dramatic? A little. But I've heard all the stories ever since I was a little girl. I knew what could have happened to me. Maybe the man was all talk, and maybe I could've fought my way out. But if Orcel hadn't answered his phone that night, maybe I wouldn't be here to write this article.

So if you are one of the good ones and you want to prove it? All you have to do is slow down so that we no longer think you care about us. Cross the street so we don't have to. Don't acknowledge our existence and put as much space in between us as you can. I don't care if it's a habit that you talk to strangers on the street. I don't care if you're in a hurry, I don't care if you think you're non-threatening, and I don't care if you think I'm stupid for being scared. Slow down or take another route. That's it.

Maybe you're reading this and thinking "Hey, this isn't fair! I don't want to cause you any harm, why should I have to adjust my behavior to make you more comfortable?" To that I say, I adjust my behavior every single day to avoid being a target. I have to actively think about every move I make, changing my habits as the days turn to nights earlier so that I won't be caught in the dark on the way home from the gym.

I have to wait an extra 15 minutes before I can leave the library, exhausted, so that a Public Safety Officer can walk me home.

I have to take a 20 hour course on Rape Aggressive Defense in case I get attacked.

I can't listen to music when I walk alone because I need to be alert.

I have to sit through a seminar every year on "Party Safety," a master class in how to make sure no one can blame me if I'm assaulted.

I change my habits because potential victims bear the burden of their attacker's transgressions.

You can take the extra minute and a half to make someone else feel safe.