A man tried to fight me. He didn’t land a punch but he still won

While you were yelling at me, I was taking notes.

You’re short for the width of your torso. You have white skin that glows red under the influence of alcohol, a strong jaw, a stronger forehead accentuated by a straight hairline. You’re about 50 and you’re going grey so you’ve started to cut your hair closer to the scalp.

You wear washed out jeans and collared shirts with short sleeves. You have straight teeth but when you yell at people we can see your bite has gaps. Your eyes widen and your nostrils flare to tell me you’re angry long after your words have run out.

You got married in the 80s and you think that relationship means you’re good to the opposite sex. Box ticked. Job done. Sound familiar?

Just to let you know, you also abuse women. You abused me.

On Friday night, a man tried to fight me.

I’ve stood up to a lot of bullies in my time. I have admittedly got myself into some intense situations because I don’t back down. You see, I’m a journalist so I’ve got a thing about injustice — cannot tolerate it.

But for all the times I’ve walked the social plank to stand up for myself or someone I care about, it was a Friday-night cab line in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley that broke me.

I’m done. Faith lost.

The man crossed the road and stood at the front of the line we’d been waiting in for half an hour. The night was fairly young, we were sober, he was not. True to form, I stepped forward and said: “back of the line, mate.” I didn’t get a chance to say anything else. With those five words I ignited a fury that I have truly never seen.

He spat “f*** off” seconds before moving in my direction. Thank you to the taxi supervisor who stood between me and the 100-plus kilograms of rage. It’s hard to describe the behaviour. His eyes and nostrils were flaring, he was sticking his tongue out and jerking his head in my direction. Women have an in-built self-defence system and mine had activated.

My mind did this: “OK, I need him and the road in front of me, I need my friend behind me, I need to stay on the other side of the taxi supervisor, I need that drunk woman we’ve been keeping an eye on to move away from the aggressor, where is my phone, oh right, it’s in my hand, where are some police officers, oh I guess the bouncer behind me will do, how many drinks have I had, five in five hours, that’s fine, you’re fine, actually none of this is fine.”

Thank you to my friend for speaking when I couldn’t. “Are you really going to fight a woman?” she said. His defence? He’s been married to a woman for 28 years. Because, you see friends, husbands never hit their wives.

Is this it? Is this how far we’ve progressed? I had to physically raise my hands in terrified surrender to a man for suggesting he go to the back of the line. You know, a line — society’s original attempt at order and fairness.

None of that exists, people with power reign and on Friday night I had none.

So when I finally got my taxi, I sat in the back and I cried, because for all the work, all the advocacy and all the times I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone for the feminist cause, here we are at a moment in time when that can still happen. I can still feel so threatened that I wave the white flag to someone I hate. It’s not my fault, but I fear it will always be my problem. So, I’m going to take some time and lick my wounds a little. Then, hopefully, I’ll find the strength to stand up for myself again. And then, again.

To that man, it’s not just a cab line. It’s a suburban kitchen, a boardroom, a playground, a footpath, a military academy, an operating theatre, a social media feed, a tennis court and you are one of the abusers.

I can’t identify you. I wanted to take a photograph but I was too scared. I knew I would pay the physical price for that piece of this puzzle and so I did what women so often do — I surrendered. And you did what men so often do — you got what you wanted. You abused so many people, we all wanted you in the next taxi and away from us.

As the taxi supervisor gestured for you to take the next car, you turned to me and cackled. You were sober enough to know you’d beaten me and it would hurt.

You were wrong, you were mean and you won. Sound familiar?

If you or anyone you know is experiencing abuse, or if this story raises feelings of depression or anxiety, support is available from Lifeline on 13 11 14 (24 hours).