What about that job where a man in a different department, who had no work-related reason to speak to me, regularly muttered gross comments as he walked past my desk on his way to the bathroom? Once, he wanted to know whether I could hear him peeing. That most certainly was my story to tell, and although it pales in comparison with what so many women have endured, I can’t believe I let it happen for weeks. The insane thing is, I don’t even remember if I eventually told my boss. Before #metoo, it had been years since I’d even thought about that guy (and I still couldn’t tell you his name). Now, I’m not sure whether he really failed to make a lasting impression on me or I shoved it into a dark corner of my memory because it was too humiliating to keep contemplating. I do know that I have a visceral aversion to seeing myself as a victim, because it means acknowledging the limits of my agency, and am capable of summoning some pretty sophisticated defense mechanisms in order to avoid it.