Story 2: "What do you think you're doing?!"

Before I move on to “life after America,” there’s one more story I need to tell. Before that trip, I worked for a tour company in Namibia. The owner, a loud, middle-aged man with more ego than integrity, ran a successful business — and I was his assistant. I worked in the office as well as on site, on events. He was in and out of town a lot for work, so when I was in the office (which was at his home) I worked alongside his wife, who also worked for him. She was lovely. I really appreciated her and we got along well. They also had two children who lived in the house.

Whenever we had events, it was usually out of town in the bush somewhere. I was usually working in the sweltering, dry heat of the day, outside. It was hard, physical labour, but it was fine - I was getting paid. One day I was assigned to work on a camp that we set up on a lodge about 300 km from Windhoek. My boss, let's call him Mr B, booked me into the same room as him for the two nights that we were supposed to stay at the lodge. I was young and eager to prove myself. I didn’t yet know how to say no — I thought respect meant obedience. But my gut whispered otherwise. Luckily, it was two single beds, so it was fine.

This was on a different trip through Namibia: Sossusvlei.

That night became a turning point in my understanding of self-respect.

We arrived. I worked during the day and at night, I went to the room and prepared to go to bed. He came in to tell me that he'll be at the bar. I thought: "Oh my goodness. I'm grateful he's not here with me, but I'm also uneasy about the fact that he's drinking." He wasn't the most respectful person in the way that you could trust him or that he would make you feel safe. He didn't. So when it was time to go to bed, I lay awake. My back was turned towards the door and his empty bed. I'm not sure how much time passed...maybe an hour or two, but he eventually came back and sure enough, my gut was right: he sure as hell opened my duvet and climbed into my bed!!! He barely touched the mattress before I jumped out on the other side yelling: "What do you think you're doing?!" (I felt like hitting him in the face, but I held back). He started giggling and answered: "It's just a joke." My body shook with rage. My voice came out louder than I thought possible: “Get out!”. To this day, if there's one thing that I regret, it's that I didn't give him a blue eye.

The next day I called my mom, told her what happened and that I quit immediately. I went over to tell him that I'm done working for him and that he needs to arrange a lift for me back to town. Guess who he phones? His wife!

Some hours later, his wife arrives to pick me up. It was the most awkward drive back home, because the sad fact is that I knew she knew. She probably didn't know all the details, but she was definitely turning a blind eye to all his wrong-doings. I was furious at her too — not just because she stayed in this marriage, but because I could feel the fear underneath her silence. The fear that leaving might be even worse than staying, thinking that she's doing herself and the kids a favour, when in reality, she's doing more harm than good. It's heart-breaking that women like this stay with their husbands so they can have a roof over their head when physical safety doesn't compensate for emotional abuse.

The fact is that this story is not even nearly as bad as the realities that other women endure because they feel obliged to "keep the peace for the kids" or because "it's comfortable".

If you’re in a situation like this, ask yourself: whose peace are you protecting? Your children will not remember how comfortable the house was — they’ll remember how it felt. Energy doesn’t lie.

Whether it’s a marriage, a job or a friendship — if you feel unsafe or unseen, leave. Run.

You are not protecting your peace by staying quiet. You’re just postponing your freedom and you will pay the price in the long-run: whether it's with your health, your happiness or your future.

Feeling free!