8 Women Share Their Stories of Sexual Assault While Traveling

I remained in Gros Islet for an entire month before continuing on with my travels. It never occurred to me to go home. I bought a Gerber knife at the marina the next day and practiced flipping it open over and over again. But even with that small weapon in my pocket, I wasn’t sure I would ever bring it out. After all, when my attack had ended, I was still holding the glass Piton bottle I had been sipping on moments before. It still had beer in it.

My attack didn’t make me fear travel or fear strangers, it made me fear myself. Growing up, I had always been taught to walk with an air of ‘Don’t fuck with me.’ And that’s always the way I’ve been, before my attack and even more so after. But where does that attitude get you when it turns out to be just a costume? I hated that my friend had to come to my aid, hurting himself, just so I could be one of the lucky ones — one of the women who escaped, who didn’t get raped. It’s not the actual memory of my attack, but the uncertainty, the question: Am I really who I think I am?, that plagues me when I’m walking alone at night. And unfortunately, that’s never gone away — no matter how many knives I buy or how many self-defense moves I practice.