It was 2am. I was walking back slowly from a dinner at the Mexican restaurant Rosie’s in the East Village, which was followed by drinks and deep conversation at a tiny bar with opera singers and an offbeat crew of barmaids and patrons. It felt more like Bavaria than NYC.

My gait and facial expression were probably dead giveaways that I was deep in thought. I had written someone a monster-length text saying that I really didn’t want to go to the beach with him the next day. It was for a petty reason. He didn’t want to walk a few extra blocks to meet me at a subway stop that would have made more sense for both of us and for our ultimate destination. He was adamant and aggressive about it. I guess I was tired of lazy people, and I had decided earlier in the night to hold people to higher standards, particularly in how they treat people and their general attitude towards life. As someone who is often overly accommodating (I hadn’t even wanted to go to the beach anyway!), I felt bad about the prospect of upsetting him. But i still pressed send.

I must have had an air of vulnerability and weakness about me.

One guy stopped me to say that I was dressed like I was looking to make some money for the night. What?! I now felt very self-conscious.

Then I was on a side street, walking on W 12th between 5th and 6th Ave. I made eye contact with someone across the street. I turned my head and suddenly he was on me, grabbed me, put his hands up my dress and squeezed and groped. I was shocked and angry. I thought for a second before screaming at the top of my lungs. Then I started running after him, heels and all. I couldn’t catch up. Once we got to a main street, I saw some guys and screamed, “HELP! That guy just assaulted me.” They didn’t miss a beat and ran after the pudgy guy and got him.

At this point, I didn’t even want to face it. A homeless man asked me what happened, and I burst into tears. I explained it to him and asked, “How could he do that to me?” “That’s not right,” he said. His sympathy released another layer, and I just could not stop weeping. I didn’t care who saw me and my animalistic sobs. I let it all out and walked back to the apartment, letting it flow, texting a few people.

As I walked up to the apartment building, a guy on a bike asked me why I was crying. I recounted the story. He told me I was being overly sensitive and that I shouldn’t be walking by myself late at night. Thanks, dude. Let me know how you feel next time someone tries to assault you. Let’s compare and contrast.

It is always interesting to see how people react to these events – how they can deal with it or not, whether they are empathetic or walled off. I don’t fault them for it because I was once a robot too, so I understand how hard it can be to truly feel the pain of others and extend your heart forward or know what to say. Compartmentalization has its benefits and its pitfalls, like everything else.

I sobbed and wept like I haven’t for ages. I think this was healthy. I hyperventilated, and my body shook like I was exorcising every painful emotion I had ever felt and had trapped inside me. I convulsed my way into a two-hour sleep, hoping this wouldn’t impact my performance for an interview the next day. I’m hoping it’s all out! Wow, I’m human. Good to confirm that sometimes.

This is not my first assault in NYC. The first was in 2012, a year when I was still a robot, a year when I could feel no compassion for myself. I was in front of my apartment on the UES, returning home from my boyfriend’s house. He was a stoner and the type of person who could be kind at his discretion, but he had a lot of blockages as well. That particular evening, we had not really gotten along, and I was despondent as I walked home. Similarly, a guy came up behind me, grabbed me from behind. For a moment, I thought it was a friend trying to scare and surprise me. When I felt his hand under my dress as he pushed up against me from behind, I realized what was going on. I struggled and screamed, “What the hell?” and elbowed him. Then he jogged (didn’t even run!) to the corner. He turned around on the corner of 89th and 2nd Ave. We made eye contact for about 2-3 seconds.

No one had seen. I felt nothing. Numb. I turned the key to my apartment building door not caring that he now knew exactly where I lived and went inside. I called my boyfriend. He didn’t have any words of support. He asked if I had encouraged it, if I had learned and would now consider dressing differently in the future. I learned that this is actually a pretty common response. Victim blaming.

That was the beginning of the end for us in some ways. I love that I give people so many chances, but sometimes it makes me sad for me.

Both of these experiences happened close to home in some of the nicest NYC neighborhoods. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve been in many dangerous situations. You really cannot predict what will happen to you and where. Even with all the proper precautions, you cannot control. And you certainly cannot let fear or bad experiences ruin or constrain your beautiful life.

This morning, I talked to some friends, ate two giant bagels, and was happy again.