Warning: this post contains content regarding sexual harassment/assault that can be triggering. Please proceed with caution and take any space you need.

Every 73 seconds, an American is sexually assaulted. On average, there are 433,648 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault each year in the United States (data taken from rainn.org). The most disturbing thing about these stats? These are just the people who have come forward. If every single person reported every instance of sexual assault in her/his lifetime, these numbers would skyrocket.

I once did a series of Instagram polls, and out of 173 people who participated, 102 said they have been sexually assaulted. 59% said it had happened more than once, and only 8% said they had brought it to the authorities. 73% feared people would not believe them. Many people privately messaged me about their assaults, and some had been telling someone for the first time when they had sent me their messages.

Growing up, harassment and sexual assault were not only commonplace, but they were also expected – especially as a woman. I remember being 10 years old and walking into town and being cat-called. This is degrading, and it’s pedophilic. In schools, we were disciplined for “breaking dress code” at the discretion of adults (both male and female) in positions of authority who were examining (and therefore sexualizing) our underage bodies – deeming them appropriate or not. The older I get, the more and more disturbing this is to me.

I have genuinely lost count of the amount of times I have been inappropriately grabbed/touched/groped in large crowds, where someone can easily get away with this behavior due to a) loud music, b) alcohol, c) a large crowd, and/or d) lack of lights. I will never forget someone literally putting their hand up my skirt and then shrugging when I turned around in horror. I wish we lived in a world where confronting these situations did not put our safety at risk, but that is simply not the case.

While many of these instances were considered sexual assault, the first time I consider being sexually assaulted was when I was 17. I wish I could say this was my first and last time. At least 3 more assaults happened throughout college – and I did not report a single one due to fear of not being believed and my stories being invalidated due to the presence of alcohol. I will never ever forget being completely unconscious and waking up to someone saying to their friend, “This one has a tampon in”. And then realizing the speaker’s hand was down my pants. I later found out someone had tried to carry my unconscious body out of the party, but was thankfully stopped. I never ever want to know what his intentions were or what could have happened if people didn’t stop this disgusting person.

There have been many times I’ve looked back and asked myself why I didn’t report these people. I knew every single person – or at least the names of them after the fact. What stopped me? What stops anyone from coming forward? Why wouldn’t we want to see these people punished and prevent them from acting again?

Here are some reasons:
– Having your story minimized
– Experiencing every detail of your recount being analyzed, questioned, and used against you
– Reliving the trauma of your experience
– Not being believed by those who are close to you
– Fear of retaliation
– Being known as “the victim” while people refuse to call the rapist a rapist
– Knowing your body is going to be examined/on display for strangers
– Not being looked at the same way

I’ve always felt guilty for not coming forward, but the cons have always outweighed the pros for me in every situation. In 2019, I was faced with a situation in which I actually did come forward – and it took 15 months for our legal system to deem the perpetrator not guilty. So, even if you do come forward, you will not always see justice. This is also nothing new. Look at Chanel Miller (author of Know My Name) and Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimonies – two of the bravest women I’ve heard of – having their lives completely ripped apart by those questioning and denying their rapes.

The thing I think people are most unaware of is the moment you allow yourself to be vulnerable by telling your story, your story is then open to judgment. People immediately decide in that moment if they believe you or not. And this needs to change. We need to support and encourage women who come forward – because this is the only way things will change.

While I do not want to go into further detail about the other assaults in this post, I am ready to talk about the 2019 incident. I’ve posted about it on my personal accounts, and I know a lot of you have been along for that ride. I’ve had incredible support the entire way, and I cannot thank you all for that. On the other hand, I’ve also had a few people question/minimize the situation – and there are so many things wrong with this. Hopefully knowing the full story will help you understand:

In March of 2019, I was commuting via a NJ Transit train from Bridgewater to Newark. At the Westfield stop, a man sat down next to me in the already-too-small 2-seater at the end of the row (these are even smaller than the other 2-seaters ahead). This lack of personal space was surely uncomfortable, but that’s public transportation for you. He then folded his hands in his lap so that his right elbow was resting on my pubic bone – and this is when a red flag was raised in my head. After this, he was fidgeting the entire time so that his elbow was rubbing against me or his right leg was rubbing against my left. His movements were so subtle and calculated that I began to question if I was being paranoid and imagining things.

The entire time he was doing this, he was looking at me for my reaction. I was extremely uncomfortable and progressively feeling more and more unsafe. I tried to text my sisters, but any time I would reach for my phone, he would look directly at my phone – and I did not feel comfortable knowing he could read what I was saying. As a result, I sat and endured what felt like hours of violation. He then put his sweatshirt on his lap, and in that moment I was truly terrified he was going to masturbate. He did not – but I will be willing to bet the sweatshirt was placed to hide an erection. He then placed his open palm on the front of my hip and began rubbing me. I turned away as quickly as I could and got as close to the window as possible. 26 minutes of this man touching me, non-stop.

I wanted to scream. I felt so violated and was so infuriated that I didn’t say anything or call him out. Another instance in which I let someone get away with vile, unacceptable behavior. Then, the rational part of me kicked in: I was sitting against the window – therefore, I did not have an exit. I did not know how this man would respond, nor did I want to find out without an escape plan. His actions were so subtle that no one would have suspected anything wrong going on, so I didn’t think any action could be taken against him.

My dad insisted I report the incident to the NJ Transit police. I saw this as pointless, but figured it couldn’t hurt. I told an officer who was really adament about questioning EXACTLY where this creep had touched me, and this made me really scared that no one was going to take the situation seriously at all. To my surprise, the rest of the department was extremely supportive and very set on catching this man.

While I actually did remember a lot about the man’s appearance/the event, there were parts of me that questioned everything I remembered and was terrified of falsely remembering anything. They had an undercover officer ride the train, in case the man tried anything again. I did not see him, but I wanted to sit in the exact same spot in the same train car to remember things more clearly. Note: any other guy had chosen to stand behind me rather than sit next to me because the space in this specific 2-seater was clearly too close for comfort.

After a few days, the man sat next to me AGAIN. This time, I was very on-guard and I think he could sense this, because he did not try anything. I let the undercover officer know, as well as my dad, and the NJT police were awaiting the arrival of our train car in Newark. The doors were locked and no passengers were allowed to exit the train. A row of officers then walked down each car – and at this point, I was the only passenger who knew why. I motioned toward the man, which was terrifying, and they led him off the train and had me follow. At this point, my entire body was shaking, and I was just so happy to see my dad. The man denied any inappropriate behavior, and because no one had witnessed it, it was his word against mine. They were unable to press charges because of this.

The lieutenant was extremely bothered by the situation and later informed that I was able to file a third-party complaint for harassment through the municipal of Westfield. I had to write down the incident about 5 different times and give a video statement to ensure the stories lined up. I then had to go in person and sign an affidavit, which would then summon him to court. He was supposed to appear 2 weeks from this time, but this was first of many delays throughout this “journey”.

In June, I was summoned to appear, but since there was “outstanding evidence” (the bodycam videos on the police officers and the texts I had sent after the incident to my family describing the situation), the trial was postponed. Seeing him made my blood run cold. Add this to the list of wasted PTO days I had to take.

4 months later, I was summoned to appear again. They were finally able to review the evidence and decided that it was substantial. The texts I had sent to my family proved that I felt harassed from the incident and felt my safety was in danger. The prosecutor representing me told me that I could offer a plea bargain, which would be a ~1K fine, with no criminal charges. I wanted to take it to trial, because this was worth more than a slap on the wrist. I was informed that he was not a U.S. citizen, which I felt torn about – but at the end of the day, he chose his actions. This is now the 3rd day of work I had taken off, with no end in sight.

In December, I was summoned to court again. And presented with another plea bargain. This time, it was mandated therapy and a fine – or go to trial and potentially risk his citizenship. The way that this was presented to me felt very manipulative, and I actually cried for this man/his family at the thought of possibly being the reason he is deported. As hard as it was, I did not come this far just to let him get away with possibly doing this to another woman. Day #4 of PTO.

Finally, trial day rolled around in February of 2020. And after 11 months of this painful emotional roller coaster, the case flipped from being entirely in my favor to completely against me – all thanks to my prosecutor being switched. The new prosecutor took one look at my file, said the incident was not harassment, and stated that I would be humiliating myself by going to trial.

I did NOT wait 11 months to hear this. My aunt asked him to read the code for harassment, and after he did, I flat out said, “I fully disagree. This was the definition of harassment, and I am going to trial.” He clearly did not know my aunt was a lawyer (not representing me, but there for emotional/legal support) and did not take well to two women challenging him. This man was incredibly misogynistic, and this was clear from the moment he opened his mouth.

When we went to trial, the prosecutor who was supposed to defend me completely threw me under the bus and then proceeded to run me over with it. He asked me why I had not told the man to stop, reiterated that “I was not in danger”, asked why I didn’t switch seats, asked why I didn’t report it in the moment. He pretty much said/asked anything a defense attorney attacking me would. There was a point when even the judge looked taken aback by what was happening.

In my entire time riding public transit, there has never been a time where I have felt violated or in danger aside from this. People have to sit too close on transit all the time – but you know when something is intentional versus involuntary. And this was 100% intentional. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, the texts that were supposed to be evidence in my favor were then used against me. No one had seen them aside from the defense attorney. The defense attorney tried to question me about the texts that I hadn’t seen for almost a year. They tried to conveniently use bits and pieces of my own texts – and thankfully, I fully remembered more and requested that they present the full evidence. I was a 25-year-old with hardly any legal experience asking these people to properly do their job. It was absolutely horrifying.

A text I sent at the very end of the conversation was then manipulated and thrown at me. I had mentioned that on top of this man ruining my day, a woman had yelled at me because my bag had touched her. The defense then tried to say that small spaces can result in accidental touching and that I was clearly bothered by this woman and was taking out my anger on the man I was accusing. I’m sure my face had flushed with fury at this point – I couldn’t believe these men were doing exactly what every woman fears when going to trial.

There was a point where these grown men made me define what pelvic region meant. I stated that this was the front of my vagina, and the men visibly rejected this statement and said that the pelvic region “means the hips to the groin”. My response: “Does the vagina not fall within that region?” It was the most unprofessional experience imaginable. And to this day, I am still mind-blown that the case went from offering me two plea bargains to not guilty. It was appalling, and I was clearly fighting against all men in the room.

The judge said he would rule offline, and that the ruling would be sent via mail. Sure enough, COVID came along and delayed this by another 3 months. After 15 months of this hell, the judge ruled not guilty. While I was disturbed and incredibly disappointed, I was not shocked whatsoever. The prosecutor failed at his job, and put my entire case in jeopardy. And as a result, this man is now walking free. And I will never be able to feel comfortable, alone in a train seat, ever again.

If anyone wants a glimpse of what it’s like to come forward, here it is. The entire time I went through this, I was plagued by the thought of someone having to wait even longer for something more severe/traumatic – just to be failed by the legal system in more cases than not. I give anyone who has come forward so much credit, because it is one of the hardest things you will ever have to do.

While this experience was grueling, discouraging, and incredibly tiring, I sincerely hope this does not deter anyone from coming forward. I have no regrets about going to trial, and I am very thankful my friends and family encouraged me to keep pushing. While the judge ruled not guilty, this man spent a ton of money and time on this case – and that in itself is a win. When (notice how I didn’t say “if”) this type of thing happens again, I will be prepared – and I hope my experience helps you prepare as well.

If you’ve made it this far, I thank you for your time and care. As always, my inbox is open if you ever need anything.

Truly,
Taylor