Moms And Dads: What Your Daughter Hasn’t Told You About Sexual Assault

''Trigger warning

A week ago as I was walking from my parking lot to my office, an older man driving a utility van passed me, stared at me too long and then pulled into my parking lot. My anxiety spiked and my car keys found their way into position between my fingers, a position I know too well, the one where I can use the keys to defend myself if I am attacked. I was 27 when this happened.

A few years ago I was sitting at a red light intersection on a busy road in a college town. My window was cracked and my doors were unlocked. I saw a young man exit a local bar and start walking directly beside the vehicles waiting at the intersection, peering inside the windows as he strolled. I immediately knew what he was up to, so I locked my doors quickly as he approached my vehicle. As soon as I locked them, his hand was yanking on my passenger side door handle and he yelled at me to let him in. I hit the gas as soon as the red light changed to green. I was 22.

Almost a decade ago I had an evening class in college that I had to walk home from in the dark. I always had my keys out and in their familiar place in my hand, my cell phone at the ready, and I knew where all the “blue lights” were along my path. These lights were the emergency call boxes on campus that women were supposed to use if they were attacked or found themselves needing police help.

by Whitney Lloyd