After Bondi stabbings women are still in fear – it’s a tragedy we have to live like this

He was right behind me now. I walked on, slightly quicker, all senses alert. I hurried into my car, locking doors with pounding heart. The man walked on, innocently.

Members of the public leave floral tributes outside Westfield Bondi Junction following the murder of six people. Picture: David Swift

I needed to buy a protective case for my laptop. Was apprehensive. Because I had decided to go to Westfield Bondi Junction– to be still, by the sea of flowers, and sign a condolence book – yet I was fearful of copycats in obscure corners. The centre had only reopened a few days previously.

Deep breath. Survival strategies. I’d go early in the morning, yes, less people about. What to wear? Inconspicuousness would be the armour. This was fear, irrational fear, but fear nonetheless. So, clothes of flight. Trousers. Pockets for convenience. No handbag, no heels. Nothing to weigh me down; to slow me as a woman. Trainers for nimble flight. Because if I needed to run there must be nothing getting in the way. No encumbrance.

Fragile masculinity is an encumbrance for women to bear. And the horrific stabbing deaths of mainly women at Westfield Bondi Junction had set us on edge, yet again. Around the time of the atrocity there was a lot going on in terms of women. A man had won his court case to gain access to the Ladies Lounge at MONA. Nike had unveiled kit for US female Olympic athletes which left little to the imagination in terms of genitalia (male athletes were given shorts.) There was a national focus on the grim rise in the numbers of women murdered by violent, controlling men, often known to them. And a photo had gone viral of a lone woman on a bus. A man had chosen to sit right next to her, out of all seats. The woman wrote on X: “Please don’t do this. Even if there’s nothing behind your decision to sit next to me on an otherwise empty bus, it immediately puts me on edge. I can’t be alone in this.” No she was not, as thousands of responses from women-on-edge testified.

And now here I was, in this sparse and sombre shopping centre. Black ribbons. Drawn faces. The sweet, sickly scent of multitudes of flowers. It felt like I was almost intruding on this place of grief. And shopping centres like this had always been sanctuaries, temples of joy.Places of children’s haircuts, nail bar relaxations, payday indulgences. Places to uncurl in, to shop with glee in; delicious, womanly treats.

Some shoppers will never return. For others, it will take time. Still others were champing at the bit to get back into their familiar world. Each to their own. I needed to reclaim the havens like this. Reclaim them from the horror. Live normally once again and almost forget, even though I never would.

As I walked back to my car in the carpark, a lone man in front of me hesitated, looking at his phone. Right. Now I had to pass him. Walk ahead into a cavernous expanse suddenly emptied of any other people. I hastened to my car. The man had altered the direction he’d been facing – he was right behind me now. I walked on, slightly quicker, all senses alert. It would only take a few seconds. Me. Him. Knife. No one would see. I hurried into my car, locking doors with pounding heart. The man walked on, innocently. But it’s a tragedy that we women have to do this, think this, live like this.

Minister for Women, Katy Gallagher, spoke around this time of a fear all women have, down through despairing generations: “My daughter is facing the same issues I faced when I was a young woman. That’s really depressing for me. Young women don’t feel safe. Older women don’t feel safe. That’s 50 per cent of the population in this country.”

Will it be any better for our daughters when they’re our age? It actually feels worse, now, than when I was young. Women don’t feel safe because of the actions of men. We self-police because of the actions of men. I’m so tired of endlessly having to think about how to stay safe. To my dear male readers, can you imagine living like this? I long for an unbound existence.