I work at a small café, tending bar, serving food, and greeting the familiar faces of our regulars. Most days, it’s a decent job — I get to connect with people, make a few smiles happen, and earn a living in a space that feels almost like a second home.

But there’s always a shadow that follows women like me into spaces like this: the uncomfortable, unspoken entitlement some men seem to feel toward our bodies. And for as long as I can remember, I was taught — whether through words or through silent lessons — that it was my job to stay quiet about it. To be “polite.” To not make a scene. To be comfortable being uncomfortable so that everyone else could stay comfortable.

It’s taken me too long to realize that that lesson was wrong. And it’s taken going through some of the hardest moments of my life — like losing a parent — to find the strength to finally start doing things differently. To start standing up for myself, even when it’s awkward. Even when it’s hard. Even when my voice shakes.

This is the story of the day I actually did it — and why I’ll never let myself go back to silence again.

“Just Part of the Job”? No.

There’s this older white man who comes into the café all the time. Honestly, he’s always been one of the regulars who irritates me. You know the type — acts like he owns the place, takes up three seats when he only needs one, always has something offhanded to say.

But I’ve been taught to smile. Nod. Move along. It’s what you do, right?

So when I was taking a table’s order the other day, minding my business, trying to keep the day moving, he walked by and — without so much as a “Hey” — poked me in the side.

Not a gentle, accidental brush. Not a tap to get my attention. A deliberate poke.

I froze for a second. My whole body tensed. Instantly uncomfortable. Instantly angry.

But I didn’t react outwardly. I didn’t even look at him. My table hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wasn’t about to make them feel weird because of him.

That old training kicked in hard — the training that says it’s my job to swallow it down.

After finishing with my table, I headed to the back and vented my frustration to another server. I told her what happened, how it made my skin crawl.

Her response was simple, almost too simple:

“Did you say something to him?”

I laughed bitterly. She knows me. She knows how hard that is for me. I’m not the one who stands up and makes a scene. I’m the one who “keeps the peace.”

Even our expo, who happens to be her son, overheard and chimed in, asking if I wanted him to go say something.

And while the idea was tempting — having someone else handle it — I told him no.

I needed to handle it myself.

It wasn’t just about that one moment anymore. It was about something bigger.

A Moment of Clarity

As I stood there in the back, hands shaking slightly, heart pounding in my chest, something clicked inside me.

No one else is going to stand up for my body but me.

I love my body.

I’ve been through so much.

I’ve survived grief that should have broken me.

I’ve survived days when just getting out of bed felt impossible.

I’ve survived loss that showed me just how short, precious, and meaningful life really is.

And if I can survive that, then surely I can survive a conversation with a man who thinks he can do whatever he wants.

Somehow, that thought gave me the strength I needed.

I grabbed the food for his order, walked calmly up to the bar, and placed his plate in front of him. No drama. No scene. Just calm, firm truth.

“When you poked me earlier,” I said, steady and clear, “it made me feel very uncomfortable. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me.”

He leaned forward, confused, almost like he didn’t hear me.

“What?” he said.

So I repeated it, still calm:

“When you touched me earlier, it made me feel uncomfortable. Please don’t do that.”

He leaned in even closer and, with a sneer, said, “So… don’t touch you?”

I looked him straight in the eyes and said simply, “Please.”

And then I walked away.

No apology. No excuses. No backpedaling.

Just the truth.

Aftermath: Peace

It’s been about a week and a half now.

He didn’t show up for his usual Saturday breakfast.

The next week, I saw him walk through the door, look around, and then — I swear — the moment he caught a glimpse of me, he turned around and left.

Maybe it’s coincidence.

Maybe it’s guilt.

Maybe it’s pride.

But honestly? I don’t care.

If he never comes back, that’s fine by me.

If he does and knows better than to lay a finger on me, that’s even better.

What matters is that I stood up for myself.

I protected my own space.

I didn’t ask for permission.

I didn’t water it down.

And I’m proud of that.

Why It Matters

You see, standing up for yourself isn’t just about correcting bad behavior.

It’s about telling the world — and telling yourself — that you matter.

Your comfort matters.

Your boundaries matter.

Your body matters.

When you stand up for yourself, you’re sending a message that you are not available for disrespect, no matter how small or subtle it may seem.

It’s easy to dismiss little things — a poke, a comment, a look — and tell yourself it’s not worth the fight.

It’s easy to think you’re overreacting.

It’s easy to fall back into that old programming: Be small. Be polite. Don’t make waves.

But every time you let something slide, a little piece of you gets the message that you’re the one who’s supposed to be uncomfortable to make everyone else’s life easier.

No.

Not anymore.

Lessons I’m Taking Forward

1. My body is mine. Period.

– No one has the right to touch me without my permission. Not for any reason. Not ever.

2. Speaking up is not rude.

– It’s honest. It’s necessary. It’s how people learn where the lines are.

3. I don’t owe anyone my silence.

– If someone’s actions make me uncomfortable, it’s okay — and right — to say so.

4. Courage doesn’t mean not feeling afraid.

– It means feeling afraid and doing it anyway.

5. I am worth standing up for.

– Always.

If You’re Struggling Too

If you’re reading this and thinking about all the times you’ve stayed silent because it felt easier — I see you. I get it.

It’s hard.

It’s scary.

It feels unnatural at first, especially if you were raised like I was, to prioritize everyone else’s comfort over your own.

But here’s the thing: you deserve to be comfortable too.

You deserve to feel safe in your own skin.

You deserve to be treated with respect.

And if standing up for yourself feels impossible right now, start small.

Start by noticing when something feels wrong — and honoring that feeling.

Start by practicing the words in your head: “Please don’t touch me.”

“That makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t do that.”

Start by telling a friend or coworker, even if you can’t tell the person directly yet.

Every small step you take makes the next one easier.

You’re not “too sensitive.”

You’re not “making a big deal out of nothing.”

You’re honoring your humanity. And that is a big deal.

Final Thoughts

There’s an old quote I love:

“You teach people how to treat you by what you allow, what you stop, and what you reinforce.”

That day in the café, I finally stopped allowing something I had been conditioned to swallow. I finally taught someone how to treat me — by refusing to accept anything less than basic respect.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t aggressive.

It was clear, calm, and powerful.

And it changed everything.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the middle of your own journey — whether it’s learning to stand up for yourself, reclaim your space, or find your voice — know that you’re not alone.

I’m right here with you.

One “please don’t touch me” at a time, we’re rewriting the rules.

We’re teaching the world how to treat us.

We’re choosing ourselves.

And there’s nothing more powerful than that.