Why We Lose Ourselves as Women
Hint: It’s part of the job description
Every now and then, I have nightmares about an incident that happened about five years ago — something that only belongs in nightmares. I still remember his exact words. How many times he pushed and pushed, becoming increasingly inappropriate with every exchange.
Most of all, I remember how it felt in my body. My stomach felt sick, as if I was going to vomit — that familiar feeling of disgust that is unique to women when we encounter men who engage in a kind of sexual behavior that I can only describe as sickening. I also felt like a tuning fork that had just been struck with a sledgehammer. Every part of my body and soul were ringing so violently that I felt physically disoriented.
I didn’t understand at the time that I was caught in the web of a sexual predator. Or rather, I didn’t know intellectually. My body, however, was telling me very clearly that something was seriously wrong.
I tried pushing back: putting up boundaries, explaining my feelings, and even directly confronting him at one point. But each time, he came back with a sob story about how rejected he’d always felt by women and how no one had ever really paid attention to him or made him feel special.
