Recently, I was groped on the subway staircase. A man stumbled up to me and put his entire palm on my skirt, right above my pelvic bone. I turned after him and yelled, “Are you f**king kidding me?” (eloquent, I know) and off we both went, me struggling not to pass out from my stress reaction and him, I don’t know, likely not thinking about it ever again.
But here’s what I’ve been thinking about: It didn’t end there for me. On the train, I dissociated,...