By: Shannon Lam ’19

I was 10-years-old when I was first sexually harassed. I was at the grocery store with my parents. Normally, I stick by my parents, walking next to the cart, admiring the vast options of chips and cookies. However, at one point, my mom realized we had forgotten to grab the milk. Me, adventurous and trying to be as independent as a 10-year-old could be, offered to quickly go grab it. My mom was hesitant at first, but since the milk aisle was just a few aisles down, she let me go. It was only for a brief second, but as I leaned into the fridge to pick up the milk, I felt a hand on my butt. I turned around and a middle-aged man quickly walked past me. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe I was taking up too much room in the empty aisle, maybe I was in the way, maybe it was my fault. When I walked back to my mom, there was a sinking feeling that was hard to describe at 10-years-old. Something didn’t sit right with me. I felt lost, I felt guilty, I felt violated. At 10-years-old.