My Shield: A Look of Fierce Determination

“You just passed me on the street. I would have stopped you but you were on a mission!” I chuckled to myself reading my text message. I had just commuted from my clinical externship in San Francisco to a meeting Berkeley’s campus. I was pressed for time, and in typical fashion, was walking quickly with cane in hand and AirPods in ears.

When my friend and I met up later that day, she shared her impression that I looked fierce. I responded by saying “that’s what I was going for. I’ve had several unfortunate encounters lately that have prompted me to put my guard up, especially when traveling with my cane.”

I regaled her in tales from the most recent couple weeks.

I was walking in San Francisco talking on the phone and waiting at a stoplight. Three large men wearing construction uniforms stood in front of me, facing me, with their arms blocking off the street. Two of them simultaneously shouted some version of “miss, lady, wait, you can’t cross, it’s a red light. We'll help you.”  I calmly explained that I was fine and could cross the street on my own. They proceeded to make snarky remarks to each other about how I was “pissy” and they were “just trying to keep me safe.” When I was well out of earshot, I ranted to my friend on the phone. It does not make me feel safe to have three men stand around me shouting orders with arms outstretched blocking my ability to move.

I was walking from my train stop to my office. After passing two men smoking a blunt, one of the two turned to me. He complimented my shades. I thanked him. He turned to walk with me, and proceeded to remark on my appearance, “you’re really beautiful, you know that? You can’t know that. So you gotta believe me. Fucking beautiful.” Again, I thanked him. He became agitated, turning to me with arms outstretched, raising his voice to shout close to my face, “I said you’re fucking beautiful.” As his cursing and anger increased, I walked faster. There were people all around us, no one seemed to notice the scene. I was desperately trying to walk away. He followed me for nearly5 blocks. At the end of the chase, before I walked into my office building, he grabbed my arm and scolded me for not appreciating his affection. I did not appreciate his so-called affection, but I verbally thanked him for the unwanted treatment. Despite arriving to safety at my desk, I was rattled, thinking about how helpless I felt amidst a street of busy people, desperately trying to escape.  

I could carry on with story after story of disrespect, presumption, and harassment. The intersection of sexism and ableism often encourages unwanted attention. To protect myself, I walk quickly with sunglasses on, headphones in, cane outstretched, and a look of fierce determination. As much as I hate looking so unapproachable, I want to send the message that you, random passerby, should not pick on me, try to help me, or tell me how to live my life.