He didn’t knock. He didn’t speak. He didn’t give me a chance to comply.
He snatched my car door open like he owned the world and I was trespassing on it.
I was mid-motion, rolling up the window, gathering my things, minding my business. I wasn’t resisting, wasn’t agitated — at least not yet. But when he grabbed that door and yanked it open, something in me snapped. Not out of rebellion, but out of pure human instinct — the kind that flares when you realize respect only flows one way.
“Excuse me,” I said, tone sharp and scathing, “I was rolling up my fucking window.”
He replied, “I just didn’t want you trying anything stupid.”
That was it. That was the moment. The point of no return.
I wasn’t trying anything stupid. I hadn’t been disrespectful. I hadn’t raised my voice. I hadn’t even questioned his authority. But I saw it in his face — he wasn’t there to serve or protect. He was there to dominate. And when domination is the goal, your rights don’t matter. Your dignity doesn’t matter. The truth doesn’t matter.
He was going to find a reason to take me in. That much was clear.
So I got out of the car. I wasn’t going to sit there and be manhandled. I locked the doors, called my sister to come get her car, and tried to keep my composure.
That’s when he crossed the line — again.
He snatched the phone right out of my hand.
That’s when survival mode kicked in.
Fight or flight — and I couldn’t fly.
He twisted my arm behind my back, so tight and so fast I felt my wrist shift out of place. Then came the search. The kind that makes your skin crawl. The kind no male officer should ever perform on a woman without a female officer present. But he didn’t care.
And I was already unraveling. PTSD. Anxiety. Fear. Fury.
When he got down near my backside — too close, too invasive — I lost it. I pulled my pants down and said, “Do you need a closer feel and look?” That wasn’t defiance. That was trauma screaming for help, for space, for someone to just do the right thing.
But this man wasn’t interested in right. He was interested in power.
He tried to get into my sister’s car, but it was locked.
“You do not have permission to search that car,” I said. “It’s not in my name, and she knows her rights.”
His eyes — if looks could kill, I’d be dead.
I remember being shoved into the back of his patrol car. I couldn’t breathe. The panic was real. I begged his female ride-along to roll the window down. I should’ve never been put in that car in that condition, but there I was — caged and silenced.
I asked to go to the hospital. I was ignored.
I looked at his computer screen — saw an old dismissed charge pop up like a ghost from the past, a charge that shouldn’t have even been there.
And at some point, another officer arrived. I never caught his name, but I’ll never forget what he did.
They took the keys, unlocked my sister’s car, and illegally searched it. Then, just to twist the knife, they had it towed — unlawfully.
I was never read my rights until I brought it up.