While travelling, I slept in a mixed dorm for three nights. The first two nights, I was alone in the room, but the last night, a man in about his sixties joined me in the room. I was already not particulary comfortable around him from the start but figured, “oh well, I’m in a mixed dorm, that’s how it is.” So I went to sleep and woke up at 3:30 a.m. to find his hand high up on my thigh. I jumped and pushed his hand away. He immediately receded and then asked whether I was okay and without telling him off, I said yes. I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night because I was scared, especially because he was also awake the entire time. I didn’t tell the hostel manager (even though I had a good relationship with him) or anyone else the next morning and only left as planned. I can’t say whether I would have said something if it hadn’t already anyway been my last night. I have spoken to barely anyone about this, because – even though I know on a rational basis that it was fully his fault and not okay – I was somehow ashamed, without even knowing about what. When I think back to that night I shudder in disgust and anger, and yet very few people around me (especially the men in my life) don’t know or can’t even imagine that that happened.
