I have been proposed to three times in my life thus far, and my reaction to each of them has been very different.

The first made me laugh and wasn’t even said to me. A shipyard worker having a conversation with my captain while we were in dry-dock and a comment along the lines of ‘she’s pretty and if her cooking tastes as good as it smells I’ll marry her’, according to my boss he was quite serious. The next day saw him knocking on my galley window from a height of several stories and slipping me his number, surprisingly that didn’t go anywhere.

The second was more a business proposal than anything else. A regular Australian customer at the cafe I worked at wanted to stay in the country once his visa had run out and proposed a marriage with a three year time limit that came complete with the promises of not having to pay rent during the duration of our ‘marriage’ and having my own room. While I could have gone through that process twice since then I shockingly do not regret saying no to the proposal. I do however regret the fact that I made up a boyfriend to turn it down and to be honest that’s still my instinctual way out of a situation with a male that makes me uncomfortable. When I’ve thought about why it is that I default to the ‘imaginary boyfriend’ excuse (and I know that many other women default to that as well) I feel it’s that underlying fear of what the repercussion of a flat out no could bring. I proudly call myself a feminist and so the fact that I do this really bothers me but, the fact remains that violence against women is a very real thing and you don’t really want to piss off someone that is essentially unknown.

The third (but hopefully not last) has left me shaking with rage and again feeling very aware of my own vulnerability as a women. A new volunteer at the cafe I’m in once a week sent a text proposal to me a few days ago. I wish I could say that it was just a joke but it really wasn’t. Starting with a question of whether or not I was single it then progressed to asking me to marry him finishing with a request to keep this all confidential between the two of us and that he was a dual British (and other) citizen. I don’t think I can accurately convey what I felt in the moment I read that on the top of a bus on my way home from the cafe. The image that comes to mind is that of being the carcass of a cow hanging on one of those butchers hooks in a row, while people walk by bidding on the one that they would like. I was no longer a human being with thoughts, emotions or an opinion I was simply something to be obtained. It’s really the request to keep it ‘just between us’ that gave the whole interaction a really sinister undertone as it implies that the individual who had sent the text understands that what is being done isn’t ok. It’s the language of abusers and those who wish to dominate and this was a situation where I refused to be silent. I am able to say that this time my response was not that of conjuring up a boyfriend to stand in front of this unknown threat but rather one where he was told under no uncertain terms the following:

1. This request was completely inappropriate
2. I would not be keeping the whole exchange confidential
3. He should never attempt to contact me again.

I should also say that those involved in the cafe and the organization to which it is attached have been very supportive of me. I had immediately screenshoted the whole exchange and sent it a member of staff who involved her manager and so on. I have felt listened to, supported and assured that my safety and that of those I volunteer with is very important. The individual involved has been contacted, spoken to and banned from the site and I know that there will be some additional eyes around on my next shift in the cafe.

As I’ve reflected on this in the last few days I can’t help but think of all those women globally who don’t have the luxuries that I have taken for granted throughout. Women that don’t have a say in who it is that they are to marry but must do as their family dictates. Women that live in societies where their voice is worth a fraction of a mans and any unwanted advance is deemed no ones fault but their own. And finally women exactly like myself who don’t feel like they are worth having a voice, those that experience has told shouldn’t bother speaking up and as a result stay silent, and my heart breaks. My heart breaks because feeling as though you can not speak is one of the most debilitating things a woman will experience. Fear strangles and kills and so many women have been slowly suffocated because no-one has cared to listen.
And it is while reflecting on that fear that a still small voice reminds me to hope. It whispers into my soul to remember, to remember those women that refuse to be silenced, those that have passed and those that are only beginning their journey. I think of those giants that have shouted into the darkness demanding a place in the sun and dragged others along with them. Tears are gathering in my eyes as I type this and my gratitude to those that have gone before is deeply felt and completely genuine. I think of the great women of the suffragette era, those first feminists that demanded women’s voices  should be heard just as loudly as those of men, women who were powerful because of their number rather than simply the one. My mind then turns to that of a woman who’s humility and compassion spoke louder than she probably ever though possible. That of Mother Teresa, a woman giving dignity to those considered less than by society. And finally I have remembered those that are continuing now and I think of my amazing friend Christina a woman that I admire greatly even though I have not known her as closely as I would like. A woman that has never let situation dictate whether or not she should have a voice but rather seeing a need (in her case the specific need that many women in Africa are forced to drop out of school when their period starts) and doing her best to ensure that those women will have a voice to call out of their own by keeping them in school. (please check out You&Her for details). My situation is obviously very different to that of each of these and I don’t think to compare myself to them but it all comes back to this place of being able to speak out whatever the situation, or feeling as though you should stay silent.

And so, in this whole crazy time I have come to a place of peace. Am I happy with what went on? absolutely not, nor will I be completely comfortable as I leave the cafe for the next little while. But I refuse to live in fear, I know that I have been given a voice and that however faulted it is it is one worth hearing. I am firm in the belief that despite what I may have felt in those minutes on the top of that London city bus as I came home in the dark, that I have a heavenly father who has deemed me worthy of receiving so much more and who shines a light into the darkness that chases away fear. And with that I move forward and wait for what is yet to come.