To Every Man Who's Ever Harassed Me
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Politics and Activism

To Every Man Who's Ever Harassed Me

Your actions never go unnoticed.

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To Every Man Who's Ever Harassed Me
Matter / Medium

Dear construction worker, ex-boyfriend, ex-lover, businessman, druggie, and the likes,

I used to wonder why my mom would get so mad when we walked past construction sites. She’d always walk with her eyes metaphorically on every part of her body, making sure the men at work were doing nothing but what they were paid to do. Sometimes she’d even tell them to keep their eyes to themselves or stare them down as we walked past. It’s around seven years since my first memory of this, and I finally realize what my mom was doing.

To every man who’s ever verbally, physically, or mentally harassed me, I’m sure you’ve never heard this before- thank you. Thank you for making me cringe every time I walk from the ferry to Bowling Green. Thank you for grabbing my ass when I walk to Dunkin’ Donuts in the morning. Thank you for yelling things out of your car window as you drive past me. Thank you for staring at me when my midriff shows. Thank you for calling me “curvy for a white girl” and “thick for a white girl” and “cute for a white girl.” Thank you for doing this in front of my parents, my grandparents, my boyfriend, and most importantly, my sister. Thank you for telling my boyfriend that I can “do better,” “get better,” “fuck better” than him. Thank you for offering me all five of your social media handles. Thank you for writing your number down and making sure I put the slip of paper in my bag. Thank you for grabbing me when I don’t answer you. Thank you for making my friends feel weird about standing next to me. And, above all, thank you for reaching out- I mean it.

As much as I’d love to keep thanking you in the name of sarcasm and satire, it is time for objection- you should know that objectification pairs well with objection. Do not stare at my chest as I walk down Whitehall Street. Do not grab my ass, or I will make your nose bleed (reference my previous article about sexual assault). Do not scream “damn baby look at those legs” from your beaten-down Toyota Camry. Do not look at my stomach through my crop top. While I am “curvy,” “thick,” and “cute,” your observations are just stating the obvious. Do not disrespect me in front of my friends and family. Do not tell my boyfriend I can “do better” than him when sometimes I spend hours thinking about how he’s too good for me. Do not watch me take down your number, because 99.99% of the time I don’t want to. Do not grab me when I don’t answer you, when I do answer you, and when I don’t care about you at all. Do not say things to me that make my friends consider themselves “not good enough.” And, above all, do NOT reach out — I mean it.

Yours truly, except the part about being yours, and truly,

The girl who made the business man cry, the ex-boyfriend fall to his knees, and the assaulter a hermit

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