I am a Woman

I am a woman. Walking down the street alone, I always look in every direction, searching for anyone I deem threatening. I search for the look in men’s eyes when they stare at me; they look ravenous. I am a woman. Men think it’s okay to take away what they deem fit for my body; I have no choice. I am a woman. I fear for myself every waking moment, wondering if the man next to me will end up like those staring at me on the streets. When will this constant fear stop? Will it ever stop? When can I stop fearing for my life?

When I was 11, I got the new iPod; I was excited to play games and text my friends. I had a tie-dye case ready to be touched and used with my little fingers. Holding it in my hand for the first time felt so big. I was in awe of it, how I could do almost anything on there. I felt like I was living in a whole new world.

I started downloading as many apps as possible and was ready to use them for hours. I couldn’t wait to text my friends on the Instagram app and share pictures of the most random things. All my friends friended me back, but there was another person who followed me that I didn’t know. I was super excited; I could have a new friend.

I remember sitting at the table eating waffles in the morning when I got a direct message from the person who added me the day before. It was a super friendly man who gave me the kindest compliments. He even had a dog with the same name as my dog, Chloe.

He and I talked for a while that day; he asked how old I was, and being young and not seeing the problem with any of it, I told him the truth; that didn’t deter him, and he now wanted to be my best friend. I was so excited when he told me he wanted to hang out with me, a new friend; that’s all I thought. Looking back now, with the clarity of hindsight, I can’t help but recoil in disgust at how easily I allowed myself to be drawn into his web of deceit. What I had initially perceived as a harmless friendship now became something far more insidious – a calculated manipulation to prey upon my innocence and trust.

The realization sends a shiver down my spine as I face the harsh reality of how easily I fell victim to his charms. But even as I grapple with the discomfort of hindsight, I refuse to let shame and self-blame consume me.
Luckily, my dad started going through my new device to ensure everything was safe. When he saw the messages between me and my new friend, he took them away. I was sad and confused, not understanding what the problem was. The anger in his face drew to a slight sadness; he hugged me and cried. I never saw him cry before, but I only understood why once I got older.

At 12, I was a happy kid, playing on the swing set outside with no worries. What do you even have to worry about besides getting homework done the night before it’s due? I was doing cartwheels in my backyard, painting, and humming songs I loved. My brain was as clear as a blue sky on a sunny day until one night. A boy who slept across the hall took my innocence from me.

Every night from then, I was terrified, worried about what might happen if I closed my eyes. The purity of childhood shattered instantly, replaced by darkness that seemed to envelop every aspect of my being. The memories of that night haunted me relentlessly, casting a shadow over the carefree days I once knew. No longer was I able to lose myself in the simple joys of youth; instead, I found myself consumed by fear and mistrust. Was it then I started to see how men are cruel? How my own family can hurt me without a second thought?

I was 15 when I got my first job; I was to be a hostess at the new restaurant downtown. I was thrilled to be able to work to buy makeup, fast food, and anything a teenage girl could ever want. Then, I could see the eyes that looked at me; they were hungry. Men would leave me their numbers at the host stand; they looked all over my body when I walked around. I was scared to be close to them. I looked at the men I worked with to protect me, but they all thought the same thing as those who scared me. I was just a kid still, terrified that one day one would try to hurt me. As I navigated through the challenges of my first job, I quickly realized that the workplace wasn’t the haven I had hoped for. Instead of feeling empowered by my newfound independence, I felt vulnerable and exposed. The hungry eyes that followed me wherever I went made me uneasy, constantly reminding me of my innocence in a world that seemed determined to prey upon it.

But being hurt was coming close, close to my heart. I got a boyfriend when I was 16. He was so perfect and dreamy. He would take me to places I’d never been, hold me while I cried, and make me feel loved. I fell in love, or at least what I thought was love. He was unloyal. I was hurt; I was too tired of being hurt. I was hurt by the men close to me. I feared being broken by loved ones more than those I didn’t know.

As a child, I always thought boys were supposed to protect and be our knights in shining armor like the princes in the movies, not the villains. I began to question whether what I felt was love or a desperate longing for validation and acceptance. Had I been so blinded by my desires that I had failed to see the warning signs? I started to question everything I once believed about love and relationships. Was it naive to expect loyalty and protection from the men in my life? Was I simply living in a fantasy world created by fairy tales and romantic movies?

The more I pondered these questions, the more I realized that my experiences were not unique. Countless women around the world have faced similar betrayals and heartbreaks. It seemed as though the narrative of the perfect prince charming had been shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of human imperfection.

Is this what it’s like to be a woman? To live in constant fear of being hurt? Has it always been this way, and I just had to grow up to see it? As I reflected on my experiences, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the harsh reality of womanhood – a perpetual state of vulnerability, constantly on guard against the threat of harm, whether from strangers or those closest to us. Was this the fate that awaited every girl as she journeyed into womanhood, or had I simply been blind to it until now?

Looking back, I realized that the seeds of fear and mistrust had been planted long before I could comprehend their significance. From the subtle messages ingrained in societal norms to the blatant displays of misogyny and violence that permeated our culture, the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to reveal themselves in moments of crisis.

I was a child, I was a girl, and I am a woman.