In the midst of the cases involving murders of women in our country including Shanann Watts and Mollie Tibbetts at the hands of men,

I am again struck by all the times I personally have been victimized by men in my own life. When will our society stop and realize that women are dying at alarming rates because abuse and mistreatment of an entire gender has been normalized?Earlier, I recounted my own childhood story of abuse. I also was involved with a man who was incredibly verbally, financially, and emotionally abusive. But there have been other times that men put me at risk. And there was very little I could do about it.In the 90s, my husband and I lived in a tiny town in the Midwest. We were both school teachers. We had two small children at the time. The town had a population of about 500, and I lived on a very remote road with only two other houses near mine. At first, my new house seemed idyllic. I was surrounded by fields of corn, and I had a huge backyard where my children could play. I moved into the house in October. On Halloween, I took my two and four year-olds trick-or-treating. I stopped at the house right next to mine. An older man answered the door and invited me in. He was very friendly, and not thinking much about it, I walked into the living room. He chatted for several minutes with me and offered me a drink. I declined, and said the kids and I still had candy to conquer. Little did I know, it was the beginning of months of terror for me.

I stopped at the house right next to mine. An older man answered the door and invited me in. He was very friendly, and not thinking much about it, I walked into the living room.

A week later, the first strange occurrence took place. My husband was a coach, and he was often gone in the evenings. I remember it was the first week of November, and it was cold and foggy that night. My kids were asleep at about 9:30. I had turned off all the lights, locked the door, and gone to bed. About 10:00, I heard the front door open. Assuming it was my husband, I just kept reading my book. I called out his name, but heard nothing. I got up, and our front door was open a couple of inches. Thinking I must not have latched the door firmly, I closed it and locked it. I promptly went back to bed and fell asleep. The next morning, my husband told me he came home and the front door was unlocked and open a couple of inches. I told him what happened. He assured me that I probably just hadn’t gotten the door latched. Again. But thinking I was overreacting, I let it go.

I told him what happened. He assured me that I probably just hadn’t gotten the door latched. Again. But thinking I was overreacting, I let it go.

Two weeks later, I was again at home in bed late at night with my babies asleep. I had on my lamp for reading, and had just turned off the light about 10:00. Within a couple of minutes, I heard scratching sounds at my window as if someone was trying to get in. I was paralyzed with fear. I called 911. The dispatcher told me to take the phone and go into my children’s room and wait for the deputy. She kept me on the line while I waited. It took the deputy about 20 minutes to reach me as it was a frosty and foggy night and I lived in a very remote rural area. The deputy searched my yard and found footprints from my window, to my children’s bedroom window to my patio door and back to my neighbor’s house. He knocked on the neighbor’s door. The man, Mel, denied that he had been outside. And there was no proving it was him. The footprints ended at his gravel driveway, so tracking them any farther was impossible.The deputy returned to my house with a look of concern on his face. He told me I needed to get a floodlight, a motion sensor light, and a lock change immediately. He then told me he was concerned because he believed the man next door may not have been stable. He acted like he knew more but couldn’t tell me. He then said that peeping toms don’t usually stop at just “peeping.” They usually escalate to more violent crimes, such as rape and murder. He actually said that. The next morning, I called my landlord and he changed the locks and installed lights. I also told him about the door being unlocked on two occasions. He wondered aloud if the previous tenant had given out a spare key to a neighbor just in case. I had already wondered the same.

[The deputy] said that peeping toms don’t usually stop at just “peeping.” They usually escalate to more violent crimes, such as rape and murder. He actually said that.

Then, I began noticing Mel was everywhere I was. I told my husband, who didn’t fully believe I had a stalker yet. I think I realized it the next week when he chased me down to speak to me at my mailbox but ran away when he saw my husband driving down the road. The next day, I was visiting a friend who lived in a town of about 100 people 15 miles away. As we sat on her porch talking, I noticed Mel drive by multiple times. I didn’t say anything. After seeing Mel’s blue truck drive by for the fifth time, my friend, Kathy, looked at me and said, “I think you have a real problem.” I told her what had been happening. She talked to me about steps I could take to keep me and my children safe.A couple of weeks later, my husband and I took our kids to the large town about an hour away for lunch and shopping. My husband looked in the rear view mirror as we pulled in the restaurant parking lot and announced that Mel was right behind us. We did our best to ignore him. He left. Later, while at the store, we saw him again.Right after Christmas that year, my in-laws came to visit. We were at the diner in town, which was connected to the grocery store by an open doorway. I had my back to the doorway. My father-in-law asked us if we knew the man who had been standing in the doorway staring at us for 30 minutes. I turned around, and sure enough, there was Mel. Just staring at me. These are just a few of the examples of Mel following me. The truth was he followed me every day. He followed me to work. He followed me to the store. He watched my every move.

I turned around, and sure enough, there was Mel. Just staring at me.

I didn’t know what to do. There were no stalking laws in my state in those days. And truthfully, the stalking laws in that particular state still aren’t proactive. But at the time, Mel would have had to attack me for me to have any reason to get an order of protection. And he hadn’t been caught breaking into my home, so I had no proof that he was responsible. So I lived my life in fear. Constant fear. I began keeping my curtains shut all the time. And I love natural light. I lived in a cave. I would go to work, come home, check all the doors and windows, and stay inside. My kids weren’t allowed outside unless their dad was home. Paranoia had set in. I looked for Mel or his truck everywhere I went. And he was usually there.My father and mother came to visit in February. It was unseasonably warm, so my dad suggested I take the kids outside to play. He planned on sitting in the kitchen to watch for Mel. I went outside. I was incredibly uncomfortable, but felt better knowing my parents were right there. Then, out of nowhere, Mel appeared. He walked up and began telling me about unsolved rapes and murders in our county. I looked at the patio door, realizing that Mel was between me and my house. My kids were playing, oblivious to my distress. Where was my dad? He was supposed to be watching. Then, my dad came out the door, and Mel literally ran away. My dad had stepped away from the window for just a few minutes and had missed seeing Mel walk up. Dad suggested I get a gun, but that was not something I felt comfortable doing.

Out of nowhere, Mel appeared. He walked up and began telling me about unsolved rapes and murders in our county. I looked at the patio door, realizing that Mel was between me and my house. My kids were playing, oblivious to my distress.

I finally went to the principal at my school to explain what was going on. I told him I was afraid Mel might show up at work or harm me or those close to me. The principal told me something that sent chills down my spine. Mel and his wife (I had no idea he was married or that a woman lived in his home because I never saw her) had lost a son in action years ago. Mel had never recovered from that or his own years in the military. Mel was also a firearms aficionado and owned many guns. Mel had also been employed as a school bus driver about ten years previously, but was fired after he began stalking a young school teacher. My principal told me I needed to protect myself.This is where I really have to stop and consider what was happening to me. It’s much different looking back now because I realize the danger I was in on a daily basis.  I was in fear for my life and the lives of my children. I lived in isolation because of the fear, and it was starting to change me. Everyone who knew what was going on was concerned and told me I should be as well. But no one could help me. Not my husband, not my friend, not my parents, not the principal, not even the deputy. I began searching for new housing, but in such a small town, the demand far exceeded the supply. Why couldn’t the police help me? It was normal to just tell me to protect myself. Like it was my fault this man was following me. Like I was to blame for the fact that he felt he had a right to every part of my life because he was obsessed with me. I had no recourse, and I was helpless.

Everyone who knew what was going on was concerned and told me I should be as well. But no one could help me. Not my husband, not my friend, not my parents, not the principal, not even the deputy.

I’d like to tell you this has a happy ending, but I would be lying.

The terror I experienced went on until March. My family and I went back to our hometown for a visit over Easter weekend. When we returned, I remember feeling the dread in the pit of my stomach as we drove up to our house. But Mel’s truck was gone, and everything was still. I remember thinking I could get in the house and get settled before he returned home and was happy that I felt momentarily safe.My principal called us that evening and asked to speak with us. He told us that over the weekend, first responders had been called to Mel’s house. Upon entering, they found Mel’s wife injured on the floor. He had beaten her brutally, breaking her back. He had stomped and jumped on her back while she was on the floor. The EMT said there were boot shaped bruises on her back. She was paralyzed from the waist down and was still in intensive care. The police were aware that I had made calls about Mel’s behavior. One police officer surmised that Mel may have been frustrated because I was gone, and had beaten his wife because of his frustrations. That explanation makes sense, but let’s face it. Mel’s wife had been abused, probably for years. Mel was taken away to a VA hospital’s psychiatric ward.My shock was intense, but I felt more free than I had in months. I assumed Mel would be locked away forever. His wife ended up in a nursing home. I often wondered how she was coping.

The police were aware that I had made calls about Mel’s behavior. One police officer surmised that Mel may have been frustrated because I was gone, and had beaten his wife because of his frustrations.

My life slowly went back to normal. As the weather warmed, my kids could play outside, and I stopped looking over my shoulder constantly.This happiness lasted until the following April. Then, one day, Mel’s truck was parked in front of his home again. Soon, Mel was following me on a daily basis. My husband and I had already planned to move back to our home state. I just had to make it through a few weeks. I went back to locking myself in my house with my kids and I as prisoners until we moved away in May.I don’t know what happened to Mel after I moved. I suppose he ended up finding another victim to stalk. I still have nightmares about him once in a while. I picture his face so clearly, even 20 years later. I can tell you details about his truck and his house, because I needed to memorize details. Just in case.Sadly enough, I am not alone. I have four older sisters, all of whom lived in the same town. Three of them were stalked by the same man when they were working in the service industry as very young women. I had another short-lived experience in college when a man kept calling my roommate and me, telling us what we had worn that day or what he wanted to do to us (and it was violent and brutal). He even left dead roses on our doorstep once. And I have known multiple other women who have been stalked in the extremely small town in which I live now.

I picture his face so clearly, even 20 years later. I can tell you details about his truck and his house, because I needed to memorize details. Just in case.

The problem is our society. Until recently, it was entirely legal to stalk a person. LEGAL. As long as the stalker didn’t hurt you, you had no recourse. And even today, the laws are still woefully inadequate. Women are killed by partners, stalkers, ex-partners, and even strangers. A woman has to fear for her safety if she refuses advances from a man.  Margaret Atwood’s quote, “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them,” really speaks to me. I didn’t have to teach my sons to protect themselves walking to their cars, but I did with my daughter. I warned her that she had to protect herself and couldn’t count on others to help. I shouldn’t have to do that. She shouldn’t have to do that. But here we are. 2018. And women are still being killed by husbands who don’t want to mess with divorce, and by strangers who are angered when their advances are rebuffed.When will we stop handing out rape whistles? When will self-defense classes not be the answer to rape? When will women be safe? I’d like to say things have changed in the last 20 years. And they have. There are far more resources than I had. And victim advocates can help with orders of protection. But a piece of paper only goes so far when help is 20 minutes away and your stalker lives right next door. Or in your own house. So that’s where our culture has to change. We need to raise our children to believe a woman’s life is just as important as a man’s. That sex is not a right. That women have the right to say no. Until then, make sure you are not silent. Silence is a stalker’s best friend. And I don’t intend to let any more women I know be stalked without speaking up.