Me too.

I don’t identify sexual harassment and assault as only being experienced by women. I don’t identify the assailant with always being a man. But what I do know, is it’s prevalent and we live in a culture of “shame”, secrecy, and disbelief. The “Me too” campaign has made me revisit some old haunts in my mind and reflect on what I thought at the time – a cost of being human and vulnerable.

I think of being under the age of 8 and having a friend’s father hold me to the floor and tickle me inappropriately. He woul often open the bathroom door to mock me and leer. The cost of friendship.

I think of the seventh grade health teacher who stared at girls’s budding breasts. We all knew he did it and warned each other before the school year began. I thought it couldn’t possibly be real until it happened to me and he told me I was “developing well”. But then I  shrugged it off as just as  something he did to students and then warned the girls who took his classes after me. The cost of puberty.

I think of the boys in middle school who stuck menstrual pads with ketchup to the outside of my locker. The cost of being unpopular.

I think of the man who assaulted me in the corner of church as I waited by the coffee and cookie table until the the second church service ended. The cost of being a preacher’s kid and not going to both church services.

I think of preparing to testify against that gentleman but worrying that no one would believe me due to the fact I felt unattractive and overweight. Those feelings had nothing to do with reality and what he did, but I felt it made the scenario impossible to believe. The cost of being an awkward teen.

I think of the bus driver who asked for my picture and when I said no, taunted the entire bus full of kids. The cost of going to school.

I think of being on a trolley in San Francisco and having a man gyrate against my leg as we were all crowded together. I didn’t know what was happening and then felt ridiculous assuming it was sexual. But then knowing once I got off the trolley, that what happened wasn’t okay. The cost of visiting a big city.

I think of walking to college on a busy Portland street, having a man run by me and grab my breasts. I remember stopping, frozen on the street- wondering what I had done to deserve it. And then thinking I must have imagined it, he came and went so quickly. But remaining frozen with tears rolling down my face. The cost of walking to classes downtown.

I think of the boss who when I walked into his office would look me up and down and make me feel self-conscious and embarrassed. I had no one to tell- was I imagining it? But he did it to all the female coworkers and my family who would visit and say hello. The cost of being a professional.

I think of the other experiences still too painful to share. The cost of privacy.

These are all experiences which have led me to want to hide in my own body. To disappear in a crowd- be unremarkable so that no one sees me. Move forward in the shadows. 

I think of the family and friends I have in my life who have experienced much greater stories of harassment and assault. The cost of an unfair world.

I think of the people on Facebook belittling the “Me Too” campaign. By questioning why men or women feel the need to identify what they experienced as assault or harassment. I think of the men who feel threatened that women are identifying it and joking about silly situations and saying, “Well I experienced it too”. I think of the man writing that everyone has a different idea of what’s harassment so women can’t just say they experienced it. The cost of people who justify harassment and assault.

No man or woman should feel uncomfortable in their own skin. No one should be fearful of entering a room in case they are charged the cost of their own vulnerability and sexuality. I can’t take away my own experiences or ensure they will never happen again. But I can teach my son, my nieces and nephews, and myself that it will never be acceptable – and we should never have to be told to keep it quiet or hidden.

Me too.