Editor's note: The writer's name has been changed at her request to protect her identity, given the nature of her role in politics. The views expressed here are her own.

I was 20 the first time I was grabbed by a stranger.

A little tipsy off of overpriced beer, I was waiting for my then-boyfriend in the parking lot outside a Washington Nationals game. A twentysomething drunk man ran up to me and stuck his face in my chest, "motor-boating" me in front of my friends and dozens of fellow baseball game-goers. I yelled and chased after him. When I caught up, I kicked him. He threatened to sue me. I stood there dazed, not knowing what to do next, and then turned to walk away.

I laughed, but my laughter buried the truth: I had never felt so violated and angry.

I wanted to call the police, but I had doubts about what good that could do. I knew he had invaded my private space, but was what he did even illegal? Who would take me seriously?

I settled on telling my boyfriend, who joined me in laughing it off. At the time, we didn't know any better. He didn’t know what that felt like. He genuinely thought it was funny.

But, seven years later, I still vividly remember that moment. I remember my anger, embarrassment, and the feeling of my body being violated.

At 27, I now have years' worth of memories telling men, “Don’t touch me.” I’ve been told that being grabbed at a bar is “normal.” That being hollered at while walking down the street is “normal.” I know that being kissed by someone you didn’t invite to kiss you isn't “normal.”

Our culture teaches women to accept a modicum of harassment and assault. We're told that confronting men directly will anger them. Better to let them down easy or try to escape the situation.