The Price of Silence

I had beaten myself up repeatedly for being unable to speak up about something for a while now.

I was a victim of sexual abuse during a work activity some years back. It was during a strategic planning session among the leadership team that was held out of town during a weekend. I was fairly new in our company and was an interim team lead. I didn’t really have any friends at that point, at least, not to the level that I could confide something like that. I had people I went on a break with regularly, but friend?

Also, as someone new in the company and among team members who had been there for at least five years, some of them already there for 10 – it wasn’t very encouraging for me.

Plus, I didn’t see with my own eyes the dickwad who grabbed and squeezed my left breast.

I saw the person in front of me when I took off the blindfold, but I didn’t see him with his hand on me.

I opted not to talk that day. I didn’t want to be the center of attention, and I didn’t want anyone else to think of me as the newbie whose boob got manhandled and couldn’t point out who did it.

I just wanted to continue working. I didn’t want anyone looking at me like some victim. I hate that word, especially referring to myself.

I did mention it to my team lead days after when we were back in the office, but she just looked at me and made a sound, and went back to her computer. I figured that was the general response I would get if I raised it, so I decided to keep my head down and just work hard.

Being an interim team lead wasn’t easy. I was super busy, obviously trying to prove something. I was able to compartmentalize and eventually swept it under the rug. I was even able to attend meetings with the subhuman stain on earth without any issues with remembering anything that happened that day.

I felt that at that time it was my own way of telling him to go fuck himself because I refused to be his victim and his actions had no impact because he was a worthless shit not worthy of my time or anything.

I continued working until I got promoted twice. Then the pandemic hit. Then things started going back to some new normal and people could travel again.

I was sent to the US for one of our global internal events to support the events app, a new app launch, and a Global Citizenship initiative. The flight took about 15 hours one way.

I was fine during the flight going there, because there were empty seats and the man assigned to my right transferred to another seat, leaving my left the aisle and an empty seat on my right.

It was the flight home when I had my first anxiety attack.

I still had an aisle seat, but a man and his wife were at my right. The wife was in the window seat and her husband was the one seated beside me.

I was very tired and sleepy and I really wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t.

The moment I closed my eyes to sleep I immediately opened them again.

I was afraid to close my eyes.

We were in Economy and the seats, though relatively comfortable, were a bit cramped, and I did not feel comfortable with the inadequate space between me and the passenger beside me.

I was so tired so I told myself I was going to close my eyes and sleep, and whatever would happen, I would just accept it and move on with my life, the same way I did a few years ago.

I apologized to myself, cried, and fell asleep.

It wasn’t restful and I was miserable.

That was back in 2023.

Since then, I couldn’t take public transportation without getting stressed or having an anxiety attack. I would always try to take a window seat and pay for the seat next to me. If that’s not possible, I would take the next vehicle, damn the consequences of being late to work. Or if I couldn’t afford to damn the consequences, I would spend over an hour crying in my head.

I had tried to speak up about it during a group coaching program. It was a fixed group, but that day there was a new addition to our group. I didn’t catch from which department he was. About a couple of months after, I got called in by our head of HR, saying that somebody reported what I shared with our group.

I understood where the guy came from. He was from global HR and he was very supportive. He also encouraged me to let the system work for me by reporting what happened. I appreciated what he did.

I tried. 2024 was the year I tried.

Yeah, I think that best sums up the year 2024. I tried.

Come 2025, I would hear about a rumor of someone from another department reporting one of my colleagues for sexual harassment. The guy’s friends knew who reported him and they talked about her for weeks in the office. I understood that they would naturally speak that way about her, because they were in trouble, hence defensive. When I heard the whole story, I could pinpoint where the miscommunication originated from. What I hated was that the one who made the report got dragged through the mud. I believe something could have been done by HR to ensure confidentiality and to stop any rumors from spreading.

It was disappointing and frankly, I felt relieved that I didn’t speak up.

I always felt bad that I couldn’t stand up for myself. I wanted to speak up just so I could prove to myself that I’m important and that I would take care of myself, because no one else will.

I wanted to speak up so that I could tell myself that it’s okay, that I’m here, that I’m standing up for you because you matter to me. You matter to me the most. That I love you. That it might just be me here standing with you, but I’m here.

While that rumor circulated, I asked myself if it would still be worth it. Sure, if I reported it, then what? Do I even have the energy to deal with being talked about, being judged? Do I want to be part of all that toxicity?

No.

Within the deepest part of my heart, I stand with you, self. I love you and you matter to me the most. I don’t have to do anything that makes me uncomfortable to tell you that, and to have that be the truth. I was working my way towards it to be comfortable, but in light of recent events…

While there is a system in place, and at one time I had trusted for the system to work for me, I remain uncomfortable with it.

It is perfectly fine to choose not to speak up about this. I have made my peace.