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I’ve always seen gay bars as a safe space, a place where I can truly relax despite being a trans woman. A few months ago, that comfort shattered before my eyes, all thanks to one man.

Growing up, I was always aware of how dangerous public places can be. Witnessing the MeToo movement grow and grow, even at a young age, was powerful and moving. Social media has given victims a place where they speak out against their abusers and as a society, we’ve truly reached the point of non-tolerance for this behaviour. But even if we can deal with those problems facing the public eye, it’s difficult to figure out what’s happening on the inside.

That night, I was with my friends. I felt safe and I felt comfortable. This was a bar that I had been to many times before, a place I knew inside and out. I had never had a terrible experience there, nothing even close to it. So, many drinks in, as I felt the hands of a stranger crawl down my back, I felt something that I had never felt inside those walls. I felt vulnerable. In that moment, it felt like I couldn’t even buckle up the courage to say a word, because, honestly, I was terrified. Under the ruse of a dance with the table sitting next to me, I managed to wriggle my way out of the situation. With a dart towards the front entrance, I barely made it outside before I burst into tears.

I am strong. That is what I’ve always told myself. I have always held the belief that if something bad were to happen to me, I would be able to fight through the darkness and come out on the other side. Oh, how wrong I was.

No one can really explain to you how it feels afterwards. How it feels to want to rip your own skin off of your body. How it feels to be so disgusted by your tainted lips that no amount of water will wash away the memories. How it feels to not be able to wear the shirt that his hands explored without bursting into tears.

He was a basic man. Nothing really stood out. If you saw him in a crowd, you wouldn’t be able to distinguish him from the other men that surrounded him. And that’s the terrible part.

Just two days later, I thought I had processed the emotions of this incident. I just wanted to move past it, so I distracted myself by visiting a friend from a different town. Not even two steps out of the station and my heart was racing. I knew it wasn’t him. There was no way it could be him. But the basic look that he had that night made the rest of the crowd look like doppelgangers. For weeks following the incident, sometimes even now, if I catch a glimpse of someone who looks even remotely similar, I can feel the sweat drip down my forehead.

I wasn’t prepared for this reality. The aftermath of that night has lingered far longer than I could’ve ever anticipated. The safety that I felt had been tainted by one individual and the great moments that I had with my friends that night simply turned into haunting memories.

For a while, I’ve struggled to reclaim my own body. My emotions have felt completely out of my control. And it wasn’t until I realised that healing is a messy and unpredictable process that I started to truly recover.

I’m beginning to understand that my feelings are valid. No matter how small or insignificant this incident may seem in my story, this isn’t something that I can keep ignoring. And now, I’m finding my voice.

To anyone reading this who may have experienced something similar, know that your feelings are valid, your pain is real and your road to recovery is yours to navigate. It’s okay to seek help. It’s okay to open up. It’s okay to take as much time as you need to heal. 

You are stronger than you realise. And if you’re ever having a bad day, remember that. Each step you take, every day that you survive, is a victory. Hold on to that fact and never let it go.