Kristen Jordan Shamus

Detroit Free Press Opinion

Me, too, of course.

I tried to recall the first time it happened to me, and questioned whether an incident when I was 7 should count.

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Is it sexual harassment when the nuns at your Catholic school tell you to take off your pants because you broke the dress code? Is it sexual harassment to be told you'd have to parade around in your underwear for the rest of the school day because you picked the wrong pants that morning?

Maybe. Probably. (I refused, by the way. Even at age 7, I knew something about that was very, very wrong.) Somehow, despite fears of eternal damnation, I made it clear that my pants would stay on.

And then, when I was 12, something worse happened.

I was with friends — twin sisters — doing a community service project for the Civil Air Patrol. My father dropped us off at a rest area along Interstate 87 in upstate New York. I can't recall exactly why we were there. Maybe we were selling something as part of a fundraiser or just passing out information. My friends don't remember, either.

What we do recall is the three of us being alone when two men pulled off the freeway. They tried to get us into their car. When we refused, they chased us around the building. We were screaming, but there was no one around to hear us.

They trapped us in a bathroom, pressed against a wall. There was no way out. We were three girls, arms wrapped around one another, crying, screeching, petrified.

It's the oddest thing: I remember one of them singing Lionel Richie's song Hello as he pawed at us, trying to tear us apart.

Our only hope was for someone to pull off the freeway and intervene.

Thankfully, someone did. A couple — people I'll never be able to properly thank — were our saviors. The husband chased off our would-be rapists. His wife sat with us, drying our tears until my father came back. We were lucky.

To this day, one of my friends is still afraid to stop at rest areas. And I can't hear Lionel Richie's voice without reliving what happened. For me, Richie's voice also triggers other incidents that followed like tally marks on a sadistic mental scorecard.

Since Sunday, I've seen hundreds of stories like mine. Women I respect and admire have taken to Twitter, Facebook and Instagram using the hashtag #MeToo to share their truths. These women are my friends, colleagues and family members, and all were inspired by actor Alyssa Milano to speak out about sexual assault and harassment.

The intense blast of #MeToo messages has made it all too clear that sexual assault and harassment are as pervasive in American society as the flag itself. It's also devastating.

It feels like a gut punch every time I see another friend post her story. I find myself reliving all the instances in which it happened to me, instances that are worse — unbelievably — than that day at the rest stop.

A campaign that's supposed to be empowering, and it clearly is for some, to me feels like re-victimization. It feels a little like pushing women who might not yet be mentally ready to tell their stories to tell.

Just because a woman has not posted #MeToo to her social media pages doesn't mean she hasn't also lived through some really awful things. Just because a woman isn't telling her story of sexual harassment or assault doesn't mean she doesn't have one (or many). Nor does it mean she doesn't care.

Survivors have precious little power over their assaults. Often, the only power they wield is when — or whether — to tell. We should respect their silence.

I feel overwhelmed by all these stories, and am left with this morose sense that it’s an unsolvable problem. As the mother of two little girls, that's a really hard reality to face.

In some ways, it feels like a recurring theme, surging and dissipating like an ocean wave on social media. This time, #MeToo flowed out of allegations involving Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein. And this time, it seems as if victims are being bullied and goaded to come forward.

After The New York Times exposé about Weinstein's alleged assaults and harassment, there was a lot of pressure to get women to come out with their stories. People took to Twitter demanding: Why aren't all the other Hollywood actresses who worked with Weinstein speaking up?

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I wanted to shout that to tell or not to tell is each survivor's choice. Harassing women to tell when they aren't ready accomplishes nothing but make them feel worse.

Let victims tell in their own time. And when they do tell, believe them. Applaud them. Lift them up.

When perpetrators of harassment and assault repeatedly get away with it, they are empowered to do it again and again. Call it out when you see it happening in the world around you. Report it. And if you're working in human resources or law enforcement, believe the victim.

That this #MeToo campaign got people talking about sexual assault and harassment is a good thing. Making it part of social consciousness is never bad, but we've got to do more than just talk about it.

We need men (and women) who have been harassers and abusers to stop. Own up to your behavior. Apologize. Do better.

If you're out in the world and see something happening that shouldn't be happening, intervene.

Be the couple at the rest stop who turned around a horrifying experience for three 12-year-old girls.

Kristen Jordan Shamus is a columnist at the Detroit Free Press where this story first appeared. Follow her on Twitter @kristenshamus.