To Walk Without Fear

“Do you hear that on the wind?” she said. “It says I am so many mountains more than the way you made me feel.” — Atticus Poetry

It was a little after seven o’clock on an early spring evening. The air was crisp with just a touch of sweetness stemming from the trees that had only just begun to bloom. And the sun, which had just settled behind the mountains to the west, gave way to the most brilliant moon-lit sky.

It was one of those nights that just made you happy to be alive, happy to be in that moment.

I had just wrapped up work for the day and was making the long walk across the beautiful Regis University campus to my car, a routine I had grown to really look forward to. It was the perfect way to unwind after a long day; just me, my music, and my thoughts.

I never ever had any reason to feel uneasy or unsafe. This was something I had done every day for the past three years, after all. It was something that became second nature to me: walking past the big weeping willow tree, over the tiny footbridge, and past the baseball fields that were now fully animated with cracks of the bat and players anxiously awaiting the new season that lay before them.

It was because of this that I also didn’t think anything of it when a stranger stopped me halfway on the walk to my car to say hi.

This stranger, an older man in gray sweatpants and a blue baseball cap, was standing in front of that tiny footbridge next to his bicycle. He waved at me, smiled, and introduced himself as “Father Woody”, someone I had heard about in the short time I had been at Regis who headed up the community service and outreach projects here at the university. I was honestly honored to meet the man I had read so much about, the man who had done so much good for the members of the Regis and surrounding neighborhood communities.

As I approached the bridge, he smiled again, although this time it wasn’t as friendly as before. Stepping in my direct path, he held out his hand and said, “Now wait just a second, beautiful. You’re gonna have to give me a hug first if you want to cross this bridge.” I was a little weirded out for sure, but gave him the benefit of the doubt, laughing it off as a joke, a man just trying, albeit horribly, to be nice and funny to a young woman just trying to get home. He proceeded to move to the middle of the path, saying in a much firmer tone, “You must have not heard me correctly; you need to give me a hug.”

Do you ever get this uneasy, pit-in-your-stomach feeling?  A feeling that shoots a message to your brain that something just isn’t right?

What happened next was somewhat of a blur. The man grabbed my arm and dug his fingernails into my wrist with such speed and force that I was stunned. Maybe it was adrenaline, or fear, or a distinct feeling that I needed to get out of there and get out of there ASAP, but I pulled away and ran to my car, not without hearing him exclaim in a tone that still sends a shiver down my spine, “You just gave me a god damn woody!”

*It turns out that this man was not, in fact, Father Woody. He was a mentally-disturbed man who got his kicks off of sexually insulting and physically abusing young women. Of course, looking back on it now, I should’ve seen the signs that something wasn’t right. But hindsight is 20/20, so they say.

The weird thing was, I got home that night and really didn’t think it was that big of deal. I remember calling my sister and telling her what had happened, the shock and anger in her voice is still something I won’t ever forget.  It wasn’t until that very next morning when I saw the man again on campus, this time riding his bike through the first floor of my office, the look he gave me and the “Hey sweetheart” that escaped his voice that I realized what had happened to me was something much bigger.

I decided to come forward about what had happened, not for me, necessarily, but I had this distinct feeling that I wasn’t the only one this had happened to. Later that afternoon, I gave my statement to the Denver Police, recalling in detail, everything that took place the night before. Over the course of the next two weeks, over 30 other women reported having this man say and do crude and awful things to them around campus on multiple occasions. I wasn’t alone.

I never thought something like this would ever happen to me. And when it did, I didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as bulletproof as I thought. The strong, independent part of me wanted to brush what had happened under the rug. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want sympathy. But when I started talking to others who had come forward after I did, thanking me for sharing my story, being brave, and giving them the courage to share theirs as well, I realized the undeniable power that is telling your truth.

Unfortunately the path to justice wasn’t a short one.

For six years, his case dragged out in the legal system. For six years, I felt this uneasiness, this fear, this constant need to look over my shoulder when I was alone. Being a victim of assault is a funny thing; for the most part, you’re okay; you’ve moved on with your life, you’re stronger than you were back then. But then something out of nowhere reminds you of the debilitating fear you felt, the vulnerability, the complete intrusion of your safety, and it sends you right back to that place.

For six years, I’ve had to appear in court, rehashing that night over and over again and to no avail. For six years, I wondered whether or not this man was out there somewhere, continuing to hurt other people. For six years, I questioned whether or not any progress would ever be made, if justice would happen.

But today, that all changed.

Earlier this morning I received a phone call from the Denver District Attorney’s Office letting me know that this thing that has weighed so heavily on my heart and life for the last six years was just brought to a close. The man who tried to steal my sense of security and safety away on that fateful night on campus six years ago, was finally prosecuted for his actions and was behind bars.

When I tell you the breath that I finally was able exhale, the weight that was lifted from my shoulders, and the range of emotions I felt after hearing the news.

Happy.

Relieved.

Proud.

Just so damn proud that I was brave enough to stand up for not only for myself, but for women everywhere who have ever had their safety compromised, who were disrespected, abused, and hurt.

What had happened to me over six years ago undercut confidence, stole time, and harmed my mental health to the extent it that it impacted my work, my relationships, my life in ways I didn’t even comprehend.

Today, I felt like I had won.

That I had taken the power back.

And that…is an incredible feeling.

To those reading this that have gone through something similar, who may feel like they can’t or shouldn’t tell anyone because of shame or guilt or the antiquated stigma that comes along with being a victim, I want to let those people know that you are not alone. And that I love you. And that I am here if you need to talk or a hug or need a cheerleader to stand by your side.

Don’t ever, EVER be ashamed or afraid to speak up, to share your experiences and take a stand for what is right. You never know who else you could be helping.

I hope one day we won’t have to have these difficult conversations. But until then, I urge you to keep talking and creating these important dialogues.

And to the amazing men out there who are champions, who are kind, and respectful, who are challenging the status quo and working to help educate and raise an even better generation (I’m fortunate to have so many in my life), I thank you.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

If you are experiencing abuse right now, or fear for your mental and physical safety, please don’t hesitate to reach out. There are so many people and organizations who want to see you happy, healthy, and safe.