Keep Quiet, Play Nice: How street harassment can ruin a peaceful walk home

Join our guest contributor, Ria, as she shares one of her many street harassment experiences. Through her vivid imagery and storytelling, readers feel as if they are experiencing Ria’s pain and fear alongside her during her walk home from therapy. Ria is a mixed-race and demisexual psychologist and mental health activist living on Gadigal Land. She also hosts the Womb for Improvement podcast with her twin.

Trigger warning: This article contains mentions of harassment and sexual assault that may be triggering to some readers.

The walk home from my therapy appointment is my time. I listen to music – something calm, but uplifting – and reflect, breathe, walk. I feel the sun on my shoulders, watch how the leaves on trees are moved by the breeze, smile at strangers in the hopes I’ll brighten their day.

One day on my walk home, I was stopped by a man. He came up to me from behind, tapped on my shoulder, and signalled for me to take out my earphones when I turned around. I complied, assuming he needed help or directions.

He just wanted to chat.

I was annoyed that my time was interrupted, and still feeling a bit fragile from therapy. But I’ve been working on taking down my walls and trusting people more, so I engaged.

We made small talk until we reached the intersection where I would cross the road to my house.

“It was nice talking to you, I’m going to go home now,” I said to him. He replied, “I’ll come with you.”

Red flag. Don’t let him know where you live.

I tensed up. “Actually, I’m going to do some shopping.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said again.

Red flag. Get to a public place.

As we continued to walk and talk, he peppered words of ownership, calling me “baby” and “honey”. I looked at passers-by pleadingly. He saw them too and made a point to put his arms around my shoulders, my waist, to say ‘this is mine’.

Red flag. Red flag. Keep quiet. Play nice.

I nodded along while he talked about himself. Barely hearing a word over the sound of my own pounding heart. I watched him carefully. Noticing how he towered over me, how his body was twice the size of mine, how easily he could overpower me. My mind raced as I rehearsed how to ask him to leave me alone without making him feel rejected and angry. I ran through every outcome, all the way to assault, or murder. Or I could be overreacting.

We finally got to the shopping centre. Shaking, I said “I’m going to do my shopping now, I’ll see you around.”

He replied, “Let me take you out.” Not asking; demanding.

I told him that I had a partner and let him assume I was monogamous; he seemed like the kind of guy who would. “I don’t see a ring,” he bit back, visibly frustrated. “Sorry,” I said, hoping he would take the hint this time.

He did. His tone completely changed. Despite my efforts, he felt rejected and angry. He raised his voice, “Well then why did you let me walk all this way with you?” as if it was my choice.

He ranted at me about how us “bitches” are all the same: so disrespectful, so entitled to other people’s time and attention. I would have chuckled at the irony if I wasn’t so terrified.

I looked over at the people in the food court, signalling to him that they were watching us. He composed himself. “At least take my number for when you get bored of your man” - of course he assumed my partner was a man. I took his number and finally watched him walk away from me.

I waited for him to disappear from my line of sight before I let out a deep breath, one I felt I had been holding since the intersection. I stumbled over to a nearby seat. Choking on my own breath. My eyes darted around, still scanning for danger. My back ached from the tension. I let out two little whimpers and shed one tear, then pulled myself together. I paced as I gathered the courage to leave the shopping centre. I needed to leave. The fluorescent lights and the people walking by blurred and danced together as I continued to scan my surroundings.

Still shaking, and barely feeling my hands, I picked up my phone to call my partner. No answer. I called my sibling, and they offered to meet me at the shopping centre and walk me home. My partner called back and stayed on the phone with me until my sibling arrived.

I didn’t sleep for a week. My body held onto the fear and reminded me of the other times. The times I was (literally) beaten into submission. The many times my ex turned a ‘no’ into a ‘yes’. The times I was spotted walking home from a protest and groups of white men yelled “Fuck black lives!” out of their windows while they threw trash at me.

The message is the same: I’m not safe here. My body is not mine.

I’m not safe here. My body is not mine.

My peaceful walk home from therapy was taken from me that day. Even weeks later, walking home was a time for vigilance, fear… and when I reached my doorstep, desperate relief.

This story is not special. I have 20 others just like it. My friends who live in marginalised bodies have 20 stories just like it. And for this reason, I hesitated to share it. But maybe it’s time I stopped keeping quiet and playing nice.

Thank you, It’s Not A Compliment, for inviting me to share my experience.

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Ria (she/her) is a mixed-race and demisexual Psychologist, podcaster and Mental Health Activist living on Gadigal Land. She hosts the Womb for Improvement podcast with her twin, Malaika, where they discuss many topics such as grief, dating, race, disabilities and more with special guests. She is also a member of The Floor Lamps, a band formed in 2020. You can find out more about the Womb for Improvement podcast here.