I was sexually assaulted in college.

While that’s a horrific sentence to type, it’s not an uncommon one: more than 17.7 million American women could write some version of it if they really wanted to. And many are, thanks to the #MeToo movement that’s happening across social media. Women around the world are coming together, using their voices to shine a spotlight on just how common it is for someone to experience some level of sexual harassment or assault.

But I’ve mostly stayed in the shadows. I’ve typed up my own post and deleted it nearly 50 times over the past two days. I shared it with my mother. My best friend. A fellow sexual assault survivor. But I couldn’t bring myself to join the masses and share the personal details of what had happened to me so publicly. At first, I thought it was out of fear—I’m a part of the 90 percent of college-campus assault victims who did not report, and one of many survivors who likely would have gone their entire lives without admitting what happened. Thinking about that night, when a guy I liked forced me to perform sexual acts against my consent, brings up emotions I’d rather keep buried; memories I’ve worked nearly a decade to try and forget.

Then I realized that, while this movement has been extremely powerful—strong enough to make me want to share my story for the first time—I wasn’t holding back because of some insurmountable fear of judgment or embarrassment. I was silent because the voice I wanted to see most on my feed was not my own. It was a man’s. Every man, in fact.

Don’t get me wrong—the posts that women are sharing are empowering, and they’ve made me feel safe, in a weird way. I no longer feel isolated, or like I will be judged for what happened to me so many years ago. I don’t wonder if my friends will be able to understand what I went through—I know they will, because in some way, it’s likely happened to them, too.

But those posts only go so far. Because, according to the U.S. Department of Justice, 99 percent of sex offenders in single-victim incidents are male. And they don’t fit a certain “profile” that’s easy to avoid, because they don’t all look like some creepy older man who gives off a weird vibe you’ve been taught to stay away from. These harassers are, quite often, our friends. And some of them actively title themselves as “progressive,” “feminist,” and “woke.”

Yet, they’ve still done this abusive, manipulative, demeaning shit to women.

Some men are starting to speak up—sharing supportive updates, saying they’re proud of women for their bravery and proclaiming they’ll step in the next time they see harassment happening. But the thing is, those aren’t the men I really want to hear from. Or maybe they are, but they’re just not admitting it.

I want to hear from the men who are committing the harassment. The man who said, “Hey baby, how you doing” as I walked out of my office last night. Or the guys who whistled and honked the car horn while I hiked through Santorini this summer. And the dude who rubbed my back while reaching for a drink at the bar last week.

Those men are the ones who need to speak up—who need to own up to the people they harmed. Maybe they didn’t even realize they were doing something offensive, instead believing themselves to simply be flirtatious or funny. It doesn’t matter. I still want to hear them apologize. (And don’t make it a huge performance. This isn’t about your feelings.)Doing so starts to take the blame away from the victims, and instead places it squarely on the shoulders of those who are committing these acts. And it shows that things might finally—finally—be ready to change.

If men were to post that kind of status—an #IHave status where they apologize for being someone’s #MeToo, actually mean it, and take active steps toward never being that person again—then I think that’s the first step to forgiveness that a lot of women need. It begins to blur the line of an “us versus them” mentality, and instead presents an opportunity for change. It opens up an avenue for honest dialogue about what men can be doing differently to make sure they aren’t perpetuating the problem.

But don’t be mistaken: Actually admitting and apologizing for your wrongdoing is not a way to shine the spotlight on yourself, opening you up to applause or an expectation of thanks. I can’t speak for all women, but if I were to see that status, yes, I would thank you. But it would be for recognizing that this is a battle that you, as a man, need to wage, and for the acknowledgment that action should not be dependent on the survivors. I would not thank you for having enough human decency to own up to your shameful, demeaning mistakes. You shouldn’t need thanks to do that.

So, I hope more men will, well, man up and admit to what they’ve done. Doing so just might create waves that steer us toward a place where women don’t experience sexual harassment or assault on a daily basis. Because, ideally, we’ll one day live in a society where sexual assault isn’t the rule, but the exception.

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