Grateful to be a Woman

I think we can all agree that traveling is a gift. Traveling alone is still a gift, just a slightly more dangerous one. And traveling alone as a woman, at least for me… well that’s a whole different story. I’ve been a pretty independent traveler for years now - since I was old enough to drive - so the idea of traveling abroad by myself seemed daunting, but not impossible. However, being a woman, I am acutely aware of the risks I am taking by going to a foreign country by my lonesome.

I came face-to-face with my first heart-pounding scare situation tonight and when I got home safe, I couldn’t help but resent my sex. I’ve never been attacked by a stranger, yet I possess instinctual inklings that I cannot ignore. My gender equivalent (yes, that’s you boys) do not share this burden. And up until a few minutes ago, I wouldn’t have wished these gut feelings on anyone.

Let me explain. I was in my local market late at night when a man stepped in line behind me in the checkout area. I should preface by saying that the market is in a very safe area and I didn’t feel daunted by going out to pick up a few things despite the hour. Anyway, the man stood unnecessarily close to me, so close that I could smell his unlaundered clothing and the cigarette smoke on his breath. While he was impeding on my personal space, he spoke to himself. I was thankful for the language barrier in that moment because I don’t think I would have liked what he was saying if I understood it.

When I finally paid, I decided to go off to the side of the store where there was a table available so that I could “organize my purchase,” a.k.a. stall until the man had left. Well what does he do? He comes over to the table with his single purchase (a beer, how comforting), and instead of putting his purchase somewhere else on the abundantly large table, he puts it essentially on top of my things.

At that point, I knew he was trying to assert dominance over me by literally forcing me into a corner and worming his way into my space bubble. And I wasn’t having it. So I collected my things and moved towards the door to leave, stopping just before I walked outside to fiddle with my jacket. Thankfully, he got the picture that I wasn’t going to allow his assault on my personal space to continue and left the store ahead of me. Of course, when I finally exited the market, I did a full 180° glance to be sure that he was really gone before making my way home.

Even though he didn’t touch me or directly assault me, he compromised my ability to feel safe. That should NEVER happen. And it’s disgusting when it does. I can’t speak for every woman and I applaud those that don’t share my feelings on the matter, but I can say for certain that I am personally always on guard.

On my walk home, when I should have been mentally shaming that man for his attack on my personal space, I was instead stuck resenting my womanhood. I asked myself questions like, “Why do I have to feel this way every time a creep comes near me?” and “How am I still scared of people like that when I am a strong, independent woman?”

And the answer is, because I’m a survivor. And not in the clichéd Destiny’s Child kind of a way, but in an I’m-biologically-gifted-with-these-instincts sort of way. They’re a gift; each gut-wrenching, heart-pounding feeling is a gift, no matter how petrifying they can be in the heat of the moment.

I finally came to the realization that there will always be another creep; there will always be another close encounter. But not everyone has the gift of heightened sense to guide them safely home. And I’m grateful that I do. I’m grateful to be a woman.