Fight or Flight

Whenever people tell emotionally distressing stories, its natural to think, “What would I do in that situation?” It’s hard to know how you will react in an emergency situation. Despite rationally understanding the proper response, instinct is hard to override.

During graduate school, I attended a self-defense seminar on campus. The participants were overwhelmingly women, and it focused nearly an hour on aggressively screaming “NO!” Even with this lackluster drill, I struggled.  My cries were unintimidating and barely above a library whisper. I always thought of myself as a non-confrontational flight kind of person secretly hoping to be a fighter.

One night, tired of waiting for a ride home, I decided to walk 15 minutes to my home. Just as I turned down my side street, two guys walked past me towards the main road. I noticed that one guy double backed and was now walking towards me. I picked up the pace, but he was faster. He caught up to me. My entire body was tense, my hair stood on its end. He asked me if I needed a taxi. I said no. Walking too close to me, I stopped and asked him to keep walking while clutching my purse under my shawl.  Refusing to walk away, he pledged to me that he is a “peaceful man”.

Frustrated and scared, I kept moving but he grabbed for my purse. “Give me the fucking bag,” he hissed. I growled back, “No, get the fuck off of me.” He swung me into an alley, trying to knock me down. Feeling vulnerable in my dress, I fully acknowledged the severity of my situation.

Still pulling me down by my bag, I struggled to maintain my footing. One of purse straps broke. I swiveled around trying to get out of his grasp. He pulled me back by my hair. He punched me in the throat and upper body. I screamed as loud as I could. Surprised by the ear-piercing shriek, he close-lined me in the throat. Despite the searing pain, I kept screaming for help. He covered my mouth. I could taste the sweat and urine in my mouth. I chomped down on his hand until I heard a crunch. He maintained his position behind me, holding me close. I swung my free arm across my body me to strike him. Releasing my purse, he used his non-chewed hand to stab in the back with a pen. Unlocking my jaw, I released his hand and he stumbled back. Stunned, we stared at each other, trying to assess the situation. He wasn’t expecting such a fight, and quite frankly, neither was I.

Two business cards fell out of my purse in the midst of the struggle. Crouching low, he lunged after them. In that moment, my primitive and territorial instincts took over. When he tried to knock me down, other perils immediately popped in my mind. If I acquiesced and surrendered my purse without a fight, what else might he try to take?  Running wasn’t an option. I was defending my dignity and refused to let him win even the smallest of battles.  

Fully aware of their lack of monetary or sentimental value, I defended my ground. Perched and ready to kick him the face, he recoiled. Confused at which to go after, he switched his target back to me. I punched him and shoved him off of me. Realizing the futility of my actions, I capitalized on my opening and reluctantly ran. Down the dark street, I saw a light streaming out of gate held ajar by shadowed figure. I sprinted to it, towards my refuge. By the time I reached him, I was doubled over hyperventilating. With my hand on my knees trying to keep myself from collapsing, I was acutely aware of the fact that I still may not be safe in the presence of this unknown man.

Arguably, I should not have walked home by myself at night. I should have given him my purse. I should not have resisted. But I was fighting for more than a couple of birr and an expired driver’s license. I was fighting for my right to walk home without being intimidated by drunken men who think they can take what they want from women. Truthfully, as much as I wanted to teach him a lesson, I wanted to prove to myself that I would not be bullied.

I didn’t realize that I would have such a protective and territorial response, but I’m glad I did. While I rationally understand that it is the smart safe response to run, to surrender, I don’t regret fighting. Instinct is hard to override.