I’m hardly ever scared. And I know that makes me lucky.

Author note: Language may be shocking. (I know it shocked me…)

I’m 42 years old. And I admit it, I love my life.

Seriously, I dig my life. It’s not perfect, not by any means. My laundry situation is a mess, my kitchen cabinets could use a good empty-out and scrub-down, and my kids are in various stages of teenage and pre-teen angst that I don’t always find charming. But, overall, I just love my life.

There isn’t a day where I wake up dreading what is awaiting me. Sometimes I head to my office, where I love the people that I work with, my workspace, and can’t wait to tackle the majority of my tasks and goals. Other days, I’m helping out in one of my kids’ classrooms, driving them to their sports or arts classes, or just enjoying some time with them.

Like I said, it’s a good life. One I have worked hard for, stumbled into, and somehow created with a really great guy who respects me and the other women in his life — his employees, his sisters, his mom, my mom, our female friends…along with most of the men I know, and who I interact with on a regular basis, he’s been raised to treat everyone with kindness and genuine good regard — and that is how we are raising our children as well.

Which is why, when I suddenly felt unsafe in the presence of a small group of men recently, that I felt some full-on suburban-mom shock. It took me a while to process those feelings, because I had to admit some hard truths to myself:

- I rarely feel unsafe, and I feel a lot of guilt about that luxury.

- I intentionally avoid possibly uncomfortable situations, including big crowds and unfamiliar settings, because I don’t like feeling unsafe.

I’m sure you’re wondering — where did I find myself feeling suddenly uncomfortable, threatened, and possibly in a dangerous situation?

No, I wasn’t traveling alone…in fact, I was with colleagues who I know well and trust.

No, I wasn’t in a dark alley, a questionable club, or any other place where we might feel tempted to say “Ah, then…that explains it…you were looking for trouble, and it found you.”

Not at all. In fact, I was on a private luxury shuttle, which had been hired to transport the elite amongst my industry peers, from one of the most expensive homes in one of the most expensive cities in the world, to a private, red-carpet event.

The best-of-the-best for the best-of-the-best.

We were screened by private security before entering a gated mansion, which had amazing views from every floor-to-ceiling window. Servers with trays full of delectable, savory bites enticed us to indulge and enjoy, as we sipped from bottomless flutes of bubbly and took selfies in every impeccably decorated room.

We were summoned to the main balcony to hear a speech about how important it was to “give back” as we helped ourselves to gourmet s’mores and other delectable treats before making our way back down to the chartered coaches which would take us to our next destination — one of the city’s most well-known venues, where another security check would greet us directly after we took our turn posing for the cameras in our gowns and heels.

My small group of friends was one of the first to board the bus — we had responsibilities to attend to at the gala, and didn’t want to be late, so we hustled back down through the mansion, thanking our hosts and making our way to the awaiting line of drivers.

We took seats near the front of the bus, taking a moment to chat with the driver, and then getting settled by digging through our evening bags to grab a quick phone charge from the provided outlets in between each set of seats. I didn’t really notice who joined us, as we were chatting about our impressions of the house, the party, the other guests, and the evening’s agenda still to come. I remember thinking, as the almost-empty bus pulled away from the curb, and I looked back at the amazing home which had hosted our soiree, “Wow, how lucky am I? I love this life.”

But then, our conversation slowed…I’m sure we were taking a moment to post a photo or two on Instagram and Facebook, sharing images that we had managed to capture, and enjoying the amazing architecture as we traveled up and down the hills.

And that’s when we became aware of what was happening a few rows behind us.

“I swear, I would have punched that bitch if I knew I could do it without fucking killing her.”

“I mean, I know how to hit a cunt so that she can hide the bruises.”

“Now I’m back on Tinder just hitting that shit — I’m still married but fuck that cheating bitch.”

“You guys know what I mean — fuck all the bitches, amiright?”

Exchanging glances with my now silent friends (who, may I mention, are amongst the most strong and outspoken women that I am proud to know), I shrank down in my seat. I avoided eye contact with the bus driver in the mirror, who didn’t seem surprised or shocked by the conversation, but who did give me a sympathetic shrug and eye-roll when he got the chance. And I looked at my colleagues, wondering if they were as horrified as I was. Thankfully, they were.

My little group of comrades, who had come together from across North America to learn, to network, and to grow as industry professionals, were just as horrified as I was by what we were hearing.

“Yeah, man…you had every right to fuck that bitch up.”

“If my girl ever did that to me she would fucking regret it for sure.”

“Hell yeah…who’s the hottest girl you have ever screwed off of Tinder?”

All of a sudden, I recognized their voices — from the conference stage, from podcasts, from highly regarded industry panels, and from the hotel lobby’s lounge, where I had chatted with each of them throughout the week.

They were industry rockstars, leaders, company owners and speakers from the event. And now, on this short bus ride, we knew what kind of people they truly were.

I found myself tugging at my admittedly short little black dress, dreading the moment I would have to get off of the bus in front of them, and at the same time willing our ride to get there faster so I could stop hearing their conversation, which was growing more loud and heated with every passing moment.

A couple of my friends looked back, either trying to convey to the group that the conversation was offensive and inappropriate, or maybe trying to figure out who was speaking. And that was when a cold chill of fear passed over me — one that I haven’t felt in years.

“Are you ladies learning something up there?!”

“Don’t ever cheat on your man or he has every right to fuck you up.”

In the moment, I was just relieved to get off that bus. To enter the “safety” of the party, to leave it all behind.

But I couldn’t shake that cold chill. That threat.

And later, given time to reflect, I have had the chance to appreciate the fact that I rarely have to put myself in vulnerable situations.

I commute to my awesome, safe dream job in my comfortable car — where I listen to podcasts at leisure and never have to overhear threatening conversations. I stroll through boutiques and eateries while choosing where to enjoy a gourmet coffee or lunch — never worried about being assaulted or confronted. And I pick my kids up from the safety of their schools — where my biggest worry is whether or not I remembered to throw on some mascara after Pilates class so I won’t embarrass my middle schooler.

But what about those women, and girls, and everyone else who has to deal with bullies every day? Who sit on a bus bench hoping not to be noticed? Who switch subway cars to avoid the threats of assholes on a regular basis? Who hunch down in their seats at work and avoid eye contact all day, every day?

And what about the girlfriends and wives of those men on the bus? And their kids who probably witness or experience at least some of their anger?

What about those lonely girls on Tinder just looking for Mr. Right, only to find Mr. You-better-fuck-me-right-now-or-else?

How do I prepare my kids to deal with these inevitable situations…and how do I accept the fact that someone very like those men on the bus might be the next President of the United States of America?