The Gifts of my Harasser

Getting into Oxford was a dream come true, the ultimate validation of my years of hard work. Unfortunately, it was only a few months until I began to be severely harassed by a man in power over me; a man I couldn’t escape without also giving up my dream.

In the end, Oxford was one of the worst experiences in my life - yet a foundational experience that shaped my world view. This paradoxical truth is hard for me to reconcile. How dare this man be able to claim any iota of my successes so far, my future successes? But without his abuse, I never would have found my path.

My harasser taught me that power lines are bullshit and hierarchy is a social construct. Seeing him in a position of power over me - despite his flaws and incompetence, incompetence that led him to harassment and psychological games to control me - made me realize that people in power are fallible. The carefully constructed ivory tower, nurtured by the institutions I once worshipped, came crashing down. With it came new opportunity.

Harassment gave me resilience. I rarely feel overwhelmed or nervous. Why would I? No feeling is as bad, no situation as anxiety inducing, as the ones he put me through.

Without my harasser, I never would have broken into Silicon Valley. Behind that email was the jet fuel of desperation to escape him, to escape Oxford.

It’s been two years since I left. I am not broken anymore, but I still feel the cracks. When people inevitably let me down, it’s more data to support my bias - I’m in it on my own. No one is there to help me. Why would they? There were many men who had the ability to help me at Oxford, who could have protected me but didn’t, who knew what was happening and had seen it happen to other women before me but did nothing to stop it. They didn’t want to burn their hands on the rope so they let me fall instead.

I see pieces of my harasser in other men. Difficult men end up being projected into case studies for me to retroactively fix what happened, to prove to myself that I fixed the shitty algorithm in my head and that the same variable inputs will never give that output - a victim - again.

In some ways, I won. The ghost of what he did to me will always follow him. He’ll live in fear forever that I’ll become more successful than him, more famous, more wealthy; that his most notable achievement will be playing a minuscule role in mine. I probably will - because of him. His abuse shattered my preconceived notions of how the world worked and cleared a path I otherwise never would have found.

I wrote this to explore the mixed feelings I have around the consequences of my harassment. I ask you to respect my wishes to keep the man anonymous. I have moved past this period of my life and have no interest in revisiting it except to learn from it and hopefully help others who may have had a similar experience.