The morning sun fills the room and consciousness slowly reveals itself. You are grateful to have survived the night. You emerge from your bed noticing the clothes and running shoes you slept in have become part of you. To stay alive, you must be ready to run at any given moment.
Something inside stirs with each step forward into the unknown of another day. You recognize it as courage; it is almost tangible, and it spurs you onward despite your fear. As you put one foot in front of the other, an inner fire builds to fuel your will to stay alive.
No matter what happens today—even if the stalker catches up with you—here, in this moment, with courage in your heart and determination in your steps, nothing can stop you from doing whatever it takes to be safe.
This is how the target of a stalker might spend the first minutes of every morning. Imagine starting the day like this every day for five years.
Living life as the target of a stalker is like being hunted. You have become prey, cornered by a predator. No matter how much you struggle, release from captivity remains beyond your reach. Even while sleeping, you are fighting a battle to survive.
It was by chance that I encountered the man who chose to stalk me. I was having drinks with a friend at a local restaurant when he first approached. She had known “Todd” (not his real name) from his work at the police department and introduced us in an attempt to play matchmaker. He persistently asked me out for months before I finally said yes. When he came to my house, he expressed concern that I lived alone. Todd offered to install security cameras, and I agreed.
“There are all sorts of bad people in this world,” he had said.
On another visit, he informed me about a smartphone app for my car. “You won’t believe how many times we’ve used these apps to locate stolen vehicles.” Todd offered to set up the smartphone app on my phone, so I unlocked it and handed it to him. He created the login.
After a short period of dating, it became clear our relationship wasn’t meant to be. At least for me. Todd, of course, didn’t see it that way.
He followed me whenever I left my house. It wasn’t a crime for him to be at the same grocery store, the same restaurant, the same places I shopped at.
“You are mine and I don’t share,” Todd once said after slithering uninvited into the passenger seat of my car while I loaded groceries in the trunk. I didn’t go to the grocery store for four years after that. Instead, I relied on an app to deliver my groceries and hoped he didn’t sign up as a shopper.
I tried to change passwords on the car app he had set up, but it was registered to Todd’s email, which I didn’t have access to.
Todd harassed, humiliated, taunted, and tormented me in public. He mounted a vicious campaign, scouring my social media channels, contacting anyone to tell his lies to. Venomous, repulsive lies.
I’d spent years working my way up to senior management at my job, only for Todd to ruin my career. He contacted my employer accusing me of having an affair with a subordinate. An internal investigation was mandatory for allegations, even false ones. Despite my being cleared of wrongdoing, my professional reputation was stained. I resigned a year later.
My story is similar to that of many other victims of stalking. An estimated 13.5 million people are stalked each year , with 11% of those cases lasting more than five years .
By broad legal definition, stalking is a pattern of behavior that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear. Depending on the state you live in, this definition can vary. Proving someone is a stalker is a difficult, often insurmountable task because stalking criminalizes otherwise legal behavior.
“The world would be a better place if you just weren’t in it,” Todd once told me. I believe he meant it.
“Would you rather see death coming or not?” he asked. I answered no, and each day after I waited for a death that I wouldn’t see coming.
In the June 27, 2023 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Counterman v. Colorado, the legal threshold for stalking increased and a victim must now prove the stalker was aware their statements could be construed as threats to their victim. Apparently, stalkers are protected under the First Amendment’s right to free speech and their prey is not.
All of this would cause a reasonable person to feel fear. In my situation, law enforcement officials didn’t quite see it that way. Individual acts are often not enough for law enforcement to act. A victim must endure multiple incidents for stalking to qualify as a pattern of behavior. Criminal charges are subjective, at best, and elusive, at worst. The law itself is not subjective; however, the application of the law is. Proving to a law enforcement official that otherwise legal behavior demonstrates a criminal pattern depends on their ability to recognize it as such.
If you present a log of dates, times and locations to the police, they might say the incidents are all coincidences. If you reach out to people who have witnessed the stalker’s behavior, they may refuse to testify out of fear of the stalker. These roadblocks can make it even more difficult to prove you’re being stalked.
If you call the police, the stalker will be gone by the time they arrive, and you will be labeled the crazy one. The stalker is not stupid—he is calculated in his pursuit, masterful in his craft like a surgeon with a scalpel.
For every 1,000 incidents of stalking, only 287 are reported to law enforcement. Victims fear police won’t believe them, and they are not wrong. Of those reported, only half will actually have a report of the incident filed3. If you are successful in getting a police officer to file a report, chances are slim that criminal charges will be filed. In 7.7% of police reports, charges are, and an arrest is made. Of those, only one stalker will be convicted.
For the estimated 28.7% of victims that engage law enforcement, only half will actually see a police report filed but it doesn’t always result in an arrest. Of the police reports filed, only 7.7% will result in an arrest. Among these, there will be a single conviction for every 1,000 cases—an alarming and underwhelming statistic.
It doesn’t take a gambler to know the odds are in the stalker’s favor.
Many people have to face the terrible reality of being stalked every day, victims of psychological terror. Every day, someone experiences the same nightmare I did.
After several police officers told me that my stalking incidents were coincidences, with one even telling me I should be flattered by Todd’s persistent attention, I decided to fight back. I hired a private investigator to follow me. To catch my stalker—or the death I wouldn’t see coming—on video. In less than a week, there was enough evidence for the police to file criminal charges. Although I didn’t have the extra money to spend on an investigator, had I known this would work years earlier I would have gladly let the power company turn off my electricity to pay for it.
I believed Todd’s arrest validated my reports of stalking, but I was wrong. Todd only escalated his attacks, while the police refused to do anything until the charges made their way through the judicial system. Or maybe they were waiting until he was successful, and I succumbed to a death I didn’t see coming.
Todd was innocent until proven guilty, but what about my rights as a victim? Where was my right to life and liberty, and protection from the man intent on stealing it?
To address this problem, states have enacted their own Victim’s Bill of Rights. To access these rights, though, you must first be recognized as a victim. And if the perpetrator is innocent until proven guilty, this means a victim does not yet exist. What happens in that liminal space between crime and punishment? For me, it was a sadistic battery of stalking trauma.
The day of the trial finally arrived. I came ready to do battle, but at the last minute, he changed his plea from “not guilty” to “guilty,” giving me no opportunity to tell my side of the story. I had remained publicly silent on his actions to wait for my day in court. That day was stolen from me.
As I delivered my Victim Impact Statement, I forced myself to contain my emotions. Having to describe the psychological torture you’ve suffered in front of the one responsible for it is a paradox of sorts. You want the judge to understand what you have experienced, but you don’t want to give the perpetrator the sadistic satisfaction of knowing the pain he inflicted upon you.
Leaving the stand, I had to pass by the table where he was seated. “You’re going to regret this,” he hissed at me. Everyone in the room heard him. But I was told that this was not a direct threat. He could have meant that I was going to regret my victim impact statement. Yeah, right.
In 24% of U.S. states, stalking is a felony offense3—but not the state I lived in. The misdemeanor offense of stalking that he pleaded guilty to resulted in six months in jail, with five months suspended and two years of probation. Since the jail was offering two days’ credit for each day served, his one month was reduced to fifteen days of jail time. The judge also credited him with the less than a day he served after his arrest, further reducing his jail time to thirteen days in jail.
Thirteen days in jail, compared to the 1,896 days of stalking I endured. Waking up each day not knowing whether I would live till nightfall. And, just like that, he slipped unnoticed back into society.
It’s no wonder why many victims are frustrated by the lack of understanding and support they receive throughout their ordeal. Without proper resources and support from well-trained law enforcement professionals, victims are left feeling isolated. This is why it is important to raise awareness on this issue, so more people understand how to support those who have been impacted by stalking.
Education is key when it comes to understanding how we can best protect ourselves from becoming victims or how we can better assist loved ones who may be in these situations. Learning what constitutes stalking behavior and how we can manage our own safety is the first step in creating lasting change in our communities.
When you identify stalking behaviors, send a written communication to demand they stop. Police can use this to identify a start date, even if it is a text message or email. Log all incidents from this point forward, saving any receipts from that day or time. Receipts are crucial at proving the date, time and location of the incident. This information can also assist officers in obtaining any security camera footage available from a specific location.
One of the mistakes I made was when I used my smartphone to take photographs of Todd following me; the images showed him reflected in my rearview mirror. The police said if the other driver’s face was not clearly identifiable, the photos couldn’t be used as evidence. My advice is to get a friend to follow you in a separate car on a multi-lane roadway. Have them get alongside the suspect so they can take a photo that clearly shows the driver as well as your vehicle’s license plate.
Most importantly—no matter how many times others call it coincidences—trust your instincts. Primal intuition is finely tuned to danger. By heeding those gut feelings, gathering evidence such as photographs and incident logs, and seeking assistance, we empower ourselves to reclaim control of our lives.
Kathryn Caraway lived life as the target of a stalker for years. After her perpetrator’s conviction, Kathryn founded the Unfollow Me Project to raise education and awareness of the debilitating effects of stalking. For more information, go to https://unfollowme.com.
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