Living in Fear

“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”

I’ve repeated that mantra after every mass shooting in recent history (well, all of them that made national news). Every time we turn around we hear of another shooting, in another seemingly safe location.

High Schools. Movie Theaters. Elementary Schools. Malls. Concerts. Churches.

These are not war zones. They are not “high crime” areas where people are on alert or know to avoid when possible. As women, we learn how to best avoid getting ourselves into dangerous situations. We carry our purses close. We travel in groups. We avoid dark alleys. In general, I knew how to keep safe, or at least give myself the illusion of safety.

Until now.

Is there anywhere we can go that an angry white man might decide this is a good target? Will a grocery store be next? Will my church be on someone’s list?

Since the news about the Sutherland Springs shootings came to light, I have lived in fear. Part of the reason is the increase in frequency. The Las Vegas shootings where 58 people were shot to death happened just a month (almost to the day) before the Sutherland Springs shootings. Another reason, I think, is that this church shooting hits home for me in ways others didn’t. Please don’t get me wrong, my heart aches for the victims of every shooting, but until now, I wasn’t struck with the crippling anxiety of knowing the places I frequent could become scenes out of a horror film due to someone’s desire to murder the innocent.

Since the Sutherland Springs shootings, I have been hyper aware of my mortality. I have wondered if I would be a victim of a mass shooting. My mind tries to show me graphic images of my own children being torn apart by flying bullets. When we are out in public, my thoughts are consumed with questions like… Could I protect them with my body? Depends on the caliber of the bullet. Where are the nearest exits? Should we even be here? Is this event worth the risk that we might get brutally murdered by a white man with a hand held weapon of mass destruction?

Yesterday, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Randomly, my husband and I had some “free” time during the day. As most of my fellow parents know, there’s always something better you can {or should} be doing, but yesterday, we realized how much we needed some fun, and decided to catch a matinee showing of Thor.

I was thrilled. I even got a little dressed up for our unexpected day date. We bought tickets, stood in line for what seemed like an eternity to get popcorn, and headed in to the theater. On our way to the top, I noticed a young white man sitting alone. He was wearing a hoodie and a big sweatshirt, playing on his phone. Immediately a wave of panic washed over me. My husband knew something was wrong before I sat down. I was embarrassed about my feelings, but I couldn’t shake them. As I began to explain how unsafe I felt because of this man’s presence, my husband suggested we leave. I didn’t want to. I don’t want to live my life in fear. But I knew at best I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the film. When we got to the lobby, my husband confessed that this man set off alarm bells for him as well. While that made me feel less embarrassed, it worried me all the more. We decided to see the next showing in another theater. After adjusting our tickets, we went to sit down in the new theater, far away from the other one. Whew. Okay. That’s better. I can’t believe I was so worried. I don’t like it. I scanned the new theater for potential threats. There was a white man sitting alone and that did not illicit any worry. Which, as an aside, the fact that I had a side by side that day helped me realize I am not simply profiling. I don’t think all or even most white men who enter public places alone are mass shooters. I certainly do not want to treat white men the way Americans, by and large, looked at Muslims following 9/11.

Just as we got settled, I look to my right. OH MY GOD THERE HE IS. The same man from the other theater was now sitting a few feet away. I had to contain myself because I felt an urge to run. I alerted my husband to his presence. And poor guy, he knew what that meant. I was afraid to leave too suddenly, but I wanted out of there as quickly as possible.

We left, unscathed, and since there is no news of a mass shooting at a movie theater, it is safe to say our fears were not warranted. Maybe you think I overreacted. Maybe I did. But would we say that to someone who skipped going out the night of the Orlando shootings? Would we tell someone who left the Las Vegas concert early because of a bad feeling that they were overreacting? We have to rely on our instincts to protect us, even if they are wrong, because what else can we do?

Gun free zones don’t protect us. The current gun laws don’t protect us. Not living in fear doesn’t protect us. Given the right circumstances “responsible gun owners” may slow the destruction but they can’t prevent mass shootings. Avoiding large, public events doesn’t protect us when men, women and children are mowed down in seconds while sitting in church worshipping their God.

I don’t want to live in fear. But more than that, I don’t want to die because someone decides this movie theater is a good place to make it rain bullets.