Statistically speaking, nearly 4 in 10 victims in New York City do not report crimes because they fear they won’t be believed or that nothing will be done. In cases of sexual violence, that fear is doubled . Reporting doesn’t guarantee protection, it often guarantees criticism .

What is a safe space to you?

To me, it was coming home.
The smell of Jamaican, African, and Spanish food drifting through the building. Sometimes mixed with marijuana and cigarette smoke, I never minded it.

Knowing that on every floor, I had memories.
Conversations with neighbors who knew my mother. Older folks  who watched me grow. Familiar faces that felt like protection.

I loved watching the seasons change from my living room window. The fights, the laughter, I never viewed the Bronx as a place in which I wanted to leave from, it is  home.

That night, I came home from shopping.

After a week of balancing my 9–5, bartending an event, and doing pantry work with Diamond, I was exhausted but happy. My best friend wanted to go to Target. This was before they ended DEI damnnnit. Stay with me.

I’m street smart, I can defend myself. I damn sure
almost beat this man up if he ain’t pull out that tooly on me ( that’s for another blog)

But exhaustion makes you human. I froze.

I made excuses for why I opened the door.

He didn’t look familiar, but there wasn’t a stranger in my neighborhood who didn’t know of me. They mix my name up with my sister’s last name. They stare, trying to figure out am I the same little girl.

But they don’t know me at all.

I placed my bags down in the lobby. I heard my neighbor yelling at his new dog a mini pit. I felt safe enough to leave my bags by the elevator to open the door for him.

He stared.

I panicked.

Was he trying to remember where he’d seen me? Maybe the pantry?

The buck 50 on his face, his eyes, when he asked “are you getting on the elevator?” I knew this wasn’t just a lil hood fight, he didn’t want to rob me, he wanted to hurt me.

I thought of my sister, my bestfriend who had just been outside. 

F I V E minutes.

That’s all it took to fracture my sense of safety.

Research shows that over 80% of sexual assault survivors experience acute PTSD symptoms within the first week. Trauma isn’t defined by how long an incident lasts it’s defined by violation, fear, and loss of control.

The officers came at 4 a.m., two DAYS later.

I was petrified to open the door. I couldn’t wake my sister up because I needed to regain control. 

“At least he didn’t complete his mission.” The officer in blue
“It could’ve been worse.” A friend
“Well… what did you have on?” An older lady that has a daughter!!

BITCH, that shouldn’t matter.. 

In that moment, I learned why so many victims never report.

I’ve always prided myself on not victimizing myself. I didn’t watch the video of that night but in my supers face I knew it was bad.

I know what happened.

So why did I feel like I did something wrong?

Am I really a queen of routine?  I started switching up my schedule, no longer going on walks, on the phone everywhere I walked to and trusting no one. I was scared.

For months, my body responded before my mind could catch up panic, freezing, fear, pain. I needed validation. 

The lobby, once my safe space, became a trigger. But how the fuck else can I get upstairs?!

In New York City, more than half of reported sexual assaults do not result in an arrest. The reasons range from lack of evidence to investigative delays to administrative failures. The system has excuses for it and survivors live with the consequences.

& then I would sit up at night wondering…

What happens if he reoffends?

To the officer who said he didn’t complete his mission now he had.

The detective called me months later, I was conflicted.
How did he know me?
Was it personal?

He sighed and told me he needed my support & for me to give a statement. Where I’m from a statement is crazyyy.

Why now?

Not far from where I lived, he reoffended.

I was shocked. Disgusted. Angry.

I turned to my Bible. I wrestled with it.

Is he a bad person or am I helping the system harm someone? Does he need help?
Am I wrong for participating?

My therapist helped me unpack the truth.

I wasn’t helping the system. I was helping protect people.

My guy friends were shocked at my distance, I couldn’t stomach a joke, a weird stare. I felt sick. I didn’t want a man to save me when one hurt me, but that was wrong of me. These men have always been my protectors.

A lot of people say don’t call your dad, don’t call your cousin, don’t call your homeboys call the authorities.

Because the men who are truly stand up men should never have to risk their lives or their freedom responding to violence that the system is meant to address. But what happens when the system doesn’t address it? 

And I need to say this too because it matters.

False accusations cause real harm. They break trust, derail justice, and make it harder for survivors with real trauma to be believed. I HATE that I have to say that but it’s real. You bitches and the false accusations are weird and men do it to.

Just recently I read about the streamer Tylil being falsely accused. That young man could’ve lost it all.

I then found myself hearing about another assault which is being normalized.. what the fuck is good? That situation I can barley stomach because of my own trauma. Imagine being betrayed where you should feel safe?

Then another false accusation which could’ve caused an entire career. 

Just now you read about 2 real ones and 2 false ones. If the justice system fails us regularly how do you think lying about something so serious can help get some type of justice?

And to the women that protect predators. I wrestled with that, I turned to the Bible for guidance. “The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth” (Psalm 11:5, KJV). It reminded me that the blame is never on the victim violence is the sin of the perpetrator, and justice demands accountability. And I do not believe in taking justice into my own hands but if I did I have a gang of mfers that’ll run in your shit and you won’t have a dick to play with (allegedly ).

This all resurfaced during a casual conversation with one of my best friends. I realized I had never even told her. Not because I didn’t trust her but because I never had the space to process it.

That’s how normalized this is in our community.

It is okay to go against the norm when it comes to protecting our children, our communities, and ourselves.

I regained my power by talking about it, crying, I no longer think of the what if’s because the truth it nothing would’ve changed what he attempted to do in five minutes. Even if you freeze you are brave, if you run you are brave, your body would do whatever it takes to survive in that moment. 

Silence doesn’t keep us safe and it doesn’t help us heal.