‘I Was Sexually Assaulted At An Office Party And Nobody Said Anything’
I thought the first holiday party at my new job in 2018 would be like something out of The Office. You know, people standing around, awkwardly sipping punch, and staring at the clock. I was definitely not expecting to show up at the rooftop bar of a New York City hotel with my coworkers. I could hear electronic music pulsing from outside the building, and the open bar was flowing.
I just wanted to eat a piece of pizza, have a glass of wine, meet a couple of people, and go home. But that clearly was not the vibe.
When I saw John*, my stomach dropped.
I was worried about running into him because I kept hearing from people around the office that he thought I was cute. I’d been at the company since January 2018, but only in the New York office, where he worked, since April of that year.
It was weird because I didn’t really know him aside from a few Slack conversations. We may have talked in person once or twice. I was definitely not interested in him. I have a boyfriend, who I love very much. But given how well-liked he was at the company, I didn’t want to be put in a situation where I had to reject him, especially if there was alcohol involved.
When John walked up to me, he was sweaty and slurring his words. I kept trying to scoot away from him, but he was hovering around me all night. It got to the point where people around me started to notice and make comments to me about how creepy he was. At one point, I was standing by the bar, and there he was again with this laser focus on me. "You know I’ve had my eye on you," he said.
Then, in front of a room full of people, John pushed me against the wall next to the bar and tried to kiss me. I told him to stop and reminded him, again, that I had a boyfriend and was not interested.
"You don’t have a boyfriend anymore. Stop saying that," he said. He was touching me all over and grabbing my butt—just fully groping me. I finally slid out from underneath him, feeling so embarrassed and violated. I moved as far from John as possible and told one friend about what happened. I didn’t see John leave, but I later heard that someone put him in a cab 30 minutes after that. My boyfriend picked me up, and I left humiliated and angry.
No one, beyond the friend I confided in, said anything to me that night. I was both surprised—because it was so public—and relieved because I didn’t know how to verbalize all the mixed emotions I was feeling.
The first time I walked into the office after that party, I had intense anxiety.
I was terrified about running into John. I was afraid he was going to brush it off. But, I also didn’t want to have a tense interaction with him and have people see it.
It had always been a gossipy office. And the story of John being a drunk mess who needed to be put in a cab home was spreading like wildfire.
I heard from someone that he felt awkward and wanted to apologize to me, but he never did. I was disappointed. Either he didn’t think he did something wrong, or he did know and he wasn't going to do anything about it. But most people said nothing about it to me at all.
I weighed whether or not I should report him to our Human Resources department, but I wasn't sure how they would handle it, and I didn’t want to have this mark on me as this person who complained to HR. At my first job, I reported one of my editors for being verbally abusive, and he still works there to this day. I didn't have much faith that things would go any differently this time.
Instead, I just tried to avoid John at all costs. I used to drink five cups of coffee a day, which meant five trips to the kitchen in the workspace we shared. So, I just began brewing bigger batches of coffee at home. It reminded me of avoiding bullies in high school—I felt queasy and nervous, panicked I would accidentally pass him; scared of what would happen if I did.
Meanwhile, I loved my job and instead of focusing on all of my accomplishments, I spent time worrying about this creep. Soon after the assault, I temporarily moved to Washington, D.C. for work.
But John and I continued to cross paths over the next few months.
I was reassigned to the same team he worked on—although at that point, we worked in different offices. Still, I had to do weekly team check-ins on Google hangout. Just seeing John on the screen made me incredibly uncomfortable. I remember sweating bullets.
Every time he would make a joke, or present an idea that was well-received, I would feel this rage. The worst part was if you looked at his Twitter account or the work he was doing, you’d think he was a feminist. But in reality, he was just another sh*tty guy.
I did see John in person eventually when I came back to the New York office. He acted like everything was completely normal—none of the weird body language or guilty head-down expression he'd had when walking past my desk in the weeks after he assaulted me.
He'd put his disgusting behavior behind him and thought the tension dissipated. But I still felt it.
At the end of 2019, I left the company for a different (better) job and tried to move on.
But this summer, John's history as a sexual predator was finally exposed.
I got a text from one of my old coworkers who was with me the night of the holiday party. It read: "Hi. It's been a million years. I hope you're surviving all right. But Oh, my God. Finally." I was so confused. What did I miss?
I quickly learned that a bunch of women had come forward with stories of how John assaulted and harassed them. It was surreal. I had buried the whole experience, thinking, "Okay, that's never going to be resolved in my entire life, I might as well let it go."
It felt horrifying to see other women come forward, but also validating.
I realized I wasn’t crazy for being so upset and feeling so anxious about what happened because John was a predator.
I DMed some of the women to say the same thing happened to me with the same guy. To experience that connection with these random women was so sad, but also really empowering.
Not long after they shared their stories, an investigation was launched into John's behavior at work and he was fired. I’m glad we’re at a point in history where this kind of behavior is quickly acknowledged and investigated, but I don’t feel the satisfaction about it that I thought I would.
In fact, it has been simultaneously exhausting, distracting, and maddening to relive this experience. It's put a strain on my mental health, and on the people around me who love me. I keep my boyfriend up at night, sometimes, talking about it. Luckily, my best friend is always there to validate me; telling me it's normal and justified to be stressed, confused, upset, and to cry.
Now, I have a lot more empathy for survivors.
Going through this experience has made me understand why it is so hard for people to report their assaults. All of these emotions come up. I feel a greater responsibility to be kinder, better, and more understanding of that.
When the news about John came out, a lot of my former coworkers reached out to me about that night for the first time. It was frustrating, because I wished I'd had their support when it happened.
If you have the opportunity to do something—act in the moment. Not a year later. If I had to relive that moment again, I would tell myself to believe in my own power, and report him immediately.
*Name changed.
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