harassment — blog — Southern Belle Nomad

Before sitting down to write out this story for you I went through multiple vicious cycles of self-doubt, unworthiness, invalidation, and silence.

This is an article about sexual assault. I was not physically harmed in any kind of serious way in this assault, which is why my mind initially thought “it could’ve been, and has been much worse for so many, this isn’t a story worthy of sharing.”

Never having been a victim of what my brain has been washed to believe is “real” assault, I felt it unimportant to speak up.

In a cascading swoop, it dawned on me that this is what women who are “actually” raped feel like. Well, he didn’t touch me. Well, he didn’t take my clothes off. Well, he only put his hand on me. Well, it wasn’t painful. It must not have been assault.

As much as I like to believe I am confident in the line between right and wrong as far as how someone else treats me, it appears my mind, through conditioning, still questions whether or not I have been treated with respect. It still gives the benefit of the doubt; he’s still just pulling my pigtails because he actually likes me.

****

Outside a bar in Munich I ran into a guy who heard my American accent, ran up to me, and said “Hey where are you from?” I replied,

“HOLY SHIT. I’m from Georgia. Where are you from?” With his initial question spoken in a ridiculous Southern accent, I expected him to reply with Alabama or Mississippi.

“Germany.”

Turns out he had studied for a year in Tennessee when he was in high school.

We walked inside and got a drink and started an incredible conversation about fried chicken and education systems. It is rare to find anyone from another country that has truly lived in the Southern United States and understands its charms and faults.

Somewhere in the conversation, we landed on politics. A man standing nearby butted into our conversation and asked what we were talking about. These were bars chats so whatever, the more the merrier.

He begins to tell me about his work and says he's from [English speaking country] and asks me where I’m from. I tell him I’m from Georgia.

“Are you a Georgia Peach?”

“Well, yeah, all women from Georgia are Georgia Peaches.”

“Not true.”

“Seriously, dude? You’re going to question my own fucking roots?” [genial, sarcastic bar talk]

“I went to [Southern state] and they say everyone knows that besides being from Georgia, there are two things that make you a Georgia Peach: you can hold your alcohol and you would never ever be a dick.”

“Be a dick?”

“Yeah. You’re not a Georgia Peach. You were already a dick just now. Georgia Peaches never cause any problems. They don’t ask questions. They don't make waves. They’re just fun and hot as fuck and never say any stupid bullshit back to you.”

[Post-writing proofreading thoughts: "Wait, did I mishear him? Was I in the wrong? Was he just kidding around?"]

“You mean like when you’re raping them and they just lie back with no objection?”

Cold. No response.

“You mean when you harass them and they stay smiley and still and silent?”

Cold. No response.

“You’re despicable.”

“You’re an asshole. See, I told you you weren’t a Georgia Peach.”

I ran out of the bar and the first thoughts that moved through my mind were: ANGER.

How DARE he disrespect my home state? My home girls? Who the fuck are these [Southern state]ian people making my home girls into silent pretty faces who learn to drink their alcohol and never peep of discomfort? Who the fuck does he think he is to talk to me like that? Why am I at this fucking bar? What means Germany? Go home dude, you’re drunk. I’m too fucking CHILL for this shit.

My larger group of friends were in the upstairs of the bar, so I headed back through the darkness, grabbed my newfound Southern German friend and, in turn, felt another hand grab me forcefully.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

I yanked my arm from his hand.

“Of course. [Laughing] Overreacting like a typical American.”

That was it. I ran upstairs to find the bathroom.

I made small talk with my friends upstairs who hadn’t seen me for 20 or so minutes. Long enough to ask where the bathroom was, holding back rage and propping up dams.

I found the door, opened it, closed it behind me, and I lost it. I broke down into the most fervent tears I’ve experienced since the last time I was verbally harassed.

I call this stage: TRAGEDY.

And as much as I’m not trying to make myself out to be any kind of martyr, I couldn’t help but feel a new kind of tragic rage. I cried for all of the women who have been conditioned to embody this perception. I felt their silent voices speaking to me the words they never felt were valid to say. He disrespected me. He hurt me. He assaulted me. He raped me. No, I'm just overreacting.

I have never felt so violated, so empathetic, and so lucky at once. I cried for myself, for others, for the man with so much hatred in his heart. And then I was able to walk back to my circle of friends, unharmed. Because nothing happened to me. I was fine. Totally fine.

FORGET.

Some divine intervention occurred that night. My Southern German friend got it. He listened. To what I could explain. And he understood. Always look for the helpers. I will always be grateful for the space he gave me to speak and feel.

I spent the rest of my evening at my joint birthday party of October birthdays with beautiful strangers I’d only met that evening. We finished eating our cake. I was driven to a dance club via a stolen shopping cart (sorry, Munich). We danced until 7 AM.

I am a Georgia Peach because I am unrelenting. I am a Georgia Peach because I am kind. I am a Georgia Peach because I am loving and giving and imperfect. I am a Georgia Peach because I use my voice loudly and proudly. I am a Georgia Peach because I don't give any fucks what you think of me. I will take back this title and I will not have it be tarnished by gross superiority and control. And I vow to give my heart and my space to any Peach or man or woman who has ever felt like they have had their dignity tampered with as if it were a faulty smoke detector. I want to hold your hand and help you ring the alarm.

This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay.

REMEMBER.

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