As I looked out the car window and enjoyed the blur of the city lights whizzing past us, I felt safe. We were on our way back to the company Christmas party after going for a quick convenience store run, and I had enough alcohol in me to make me feel a little buzzy. I was really looking forward to this night because I was spending time with people whose company I truly enjoyed. One of them was the friend who was driving. He was the friend who introduced me to Dancing In the Dark and comforted me as I cried for ten minutes straight after the movie. He was the friend who would come over to my house and share songs he downloaded from Limewire, who I went to gigs with, who shared secrets with me. He was supposed to be a safe person.

I don’t recall what we were talking about, I don’t know what I did to give him the idea, but right before I got out of the car, he tried to kiss me. His lips were rough and his hand on my arm was firm. I immediately pulled away, with what I assume was the most surprised and confused look on my face. I didn’t know what else to do but just laugh it off. I quickly hopped out of the car and briskly walked back to the house, deciding to just pretend it never happened. Nothing happened anyway, he was probably just out of it, I’m sure he wasn’t thinking straight.

For the rest of the night, I tried to avoid him. I was determined to enjoy the party with my friends, and I wasn’t going to let one misunderstanding, if you could call it that, get in the way. And a good night it was. A little too good, in fact, because at some point I knew I had had too much cheap vodka and was ready to hurl. So I went to the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and unloaded a little too much fun into the toilet bowl. After a couple of minutes I stood up, gargled, washed my face, and turned to make some more questionable hydration choices. Right before I reached for the door, it opened, and there he stood.

He entered the bathroom, and with a grin on his face that I will never forget, raised a finger to his lips and closed the door behind him. My immediate response was to step back and say something like, oh sorry I just puked my guts out, I smell like vomit ugh I’m so gross, thinking surely this would discourage him. But he kept on walking towards me, and I kept stepping back. What are you doing? What are you doing? I started asking frantically. But he just kept shushing and saying it’s okay, it’s okay. Eventually I ran out of space and I found myself in the shower stall and nowhere else to go.

There is nothing else in the world that triggers my fight response as quickly as the feeling of being trapped. It’s why I’ve never been thrown in a pool, why I can’t do MRIs, and why a massive traffic jam gives me panic attacks. The slightest possibility of not being able to go anywhere sends my brain into overdrive, and on this night, my brain told my body to scream. So I did. I screamed STOP WALKING. STOP IT. GET OUT OF HERE. GET OUT OF HERE!!!!

The look of confusion on his face told me that he really thought this was what I wanted. That me vomiting privately in the bathroom was some kind of invitation for whatever it was he had in mind. He looked annoyed as he walked out and left me in the bathroom, my heart beat in my ears so loud it drowned out all other sound. What the hell was that? was all I could muster. What the hell was that?

That memory of that night came rushing back after I watched the video of Saoirse Ronan in the Graham Norton show. There she was, this beautiful, talented woman surrounded by men laughing about the ridiculousness of the idea of using random objects as self-defense. Meanwhile, you can see the look on her face that says that for women, everything is a weapon.  They stopped laughing quickly after she told them, “That’s what girls have to think about all the time. Am I right ladies?”

This is also what I felt while watching Anna Kendrick’s directorial debut, Woman of the Hour. The unnerving, indescribable unease of knowing something wasn’t quite right was palpable all throughout the film. A feeling that is, unfortunately, all too familiar for many a woman. She was able to show the reality for the fairer sex: that all we have to do is exist to become a target.

On many an occasion I have asked men do you ever feel unsafe? Do you ever feel the need to take note of the exits? Do you ever think twice before walking around outside at night? Do you send your location to your friends and family anytime you go anywhere? Most, if not all of them, find that they’ve never felt it necessary to consider these things. How wonderful it must be, I always say.

Saoirse Ronan was right. Girls constantly have to think about their safety, whatever the situation may be. Not because of some inflated sense of self-worth, not because of fear mongering in the media, but because of experience. Ask a woman, any woman, and she will have some kind of story to tell you. When I was in high school, a random grown man grabbed my butt in a pet store and then ran away. IN A PET STORE. I was standing there, just existing, and I still wasn’t safe. Even ponytails were ruined when it went around about how it can be used to grab us. We have somehow created a world where not even pet stores or ponytails are safe, and we feel the need to walk to our car with the keys in between our fingers, just in case.

A few days after the incident, I tried to confront my friend about his bad behavior. I asked him if we could meet at a coffeeshop in the mall (public space, of course), and he obliged. But when we arrived there, I barely had the chance to speak. I asked him why he did what he did, and he feigned innocence, like I was crazy for thinking he was trying anything. And then he went on and on about this new girl he liked, how she was the best, nicest person in the world. I sat there, dumbfounded and confused. I thought this person was someone I could trust. This happened roughly 17 years ago, but that night changed what safe meant for me. It no longer included friends you’ve known for years.

The reason that video of Saoirse Ronan has blown up so much isn’t because she put men to shame, or because she went there raging with an agenda and a soapbox. The video resonated with so many women because it was such a clear example of how different reality is between us and men. To the rest, using a cell phone to defend themselves was something no one would think to do in reality. To women, we’ve imagined not just our phones, but our water tumblers, bags, high heels, elbows, umbrellas, and keys as self-defense devices. We think about safety all of the time, because it feels threatened all of the time. The World Health Organization reports that one in three women experience some form of intimate violence in their lifetime. One in three. One in three. That says something, doesn’t it?

Maybe one day we won’t feel the need to carry pepper spray everywhere we go anymore. Maybe in my lifetime I’ll see the statistics change. Maybe my daughter will grow up in a world where she can walk alone at night and not fear harm. I feel like that’s not a very big ask, is it? To live life and feel safe? That seems really fair to me. Maybe, one day. In the meantime, to the men who have women they love, whether it’s your mom, sister, lover, friend – be their advocate. And when they report something, for the love of God, believe them. We might not see the world change in our lifetime, but we can always start it, right here, right now.