PEOPLE who know me, especially those in feminist circles, might have been wondering why I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet amid the current whirlwind of sexual harassment, abuse and assault allegations. It’s maybe something I’d be expected to speak out about. But in some ways, that’s why I’ve felt uncomfortable.

That harassment, abuse and sexual violence is rife in every sector of society is no surprise to me – or any other woman. We live with the knowledge of our own experiences every day. We live with the constant possibility of that inappropriate comment and daily wrestle with a dilemma – do we opt for a quiet life by ignoring the remark, or do we go down the much tougher road of challenging it?

We live with the constant possibility that a seemingly kind and friendly uncle, neighbour, partner or workmate might suddenly reveal themselves as a predator when no-one else is looking.

From the earliest experience of having men leer and cat-call as we walk to school in our uniforms, girls and women learn to avoid certain situations. We adapt to our environment, avoid eye contact and walk with our heads down. And when we dare to ignore the attention, we then have to endure the tedious “cheer up, hen, it might never happen”.

It’s all part of a continuum that reinforces the inequality of power between the sexes. And whether or not they consciously describe it as such, this is a tyranny girls and women learn to live with to survive. Patriarchy, to give it its rightful name, is as old as the hills and keeps women in their place.

The recent flow of allegations and the #metoo campaign has gathered momentum to such an extent that it feels almost obligatory to disclose. Some people have described this time as a watershed, a seminal moment. The veil of silence has been lifted. Could it be the end of the acceptance of sexism? Have we finally dismantled the patriarchy?

I’d like to think so. But already there’s a backlash – a minimisation movement. “But it’s just a touch on the knee”. Apart from asking why anyone would think it’s OK for a man to touch a woman’s knee in a professional setting uninvited, we also need to understand that these so-called “lower end of the scale” allegations are just the tip of a very large iceberg. This is the stuff that is visible above the surface – and women endure many other experiences that are much more difficult to talk about under the full glare of the media.

One fear I have is that far from signifying the start of a revolution to overturn the patriarchy, we are encouraging a culture of obligatory disclosure. Silence is not allowed. I heard an interview recently on BBC where a female politician was bluntly asked by the male interviewer to divulge her own personal experiences of abuse.

Those who are prepared to put themselves in the line of fire deserve our support. But many more women, for multiple reasons, are unable or not willing to be upfront about what they have experienced. Yet in the current climate, women can feel under unfair pressure to spill out their own personal evidence to prove the extent of abuse.

YES, silence assists the perpetrators. But girls and women – and boys and men – who have experienced men’s violence have had control of their lives ripped away from them, some as a result of one act of abuse, others because of a sustained pattern of harassment. They must have control over whether, when and how to disclose their experience. The last thing they need is to have their right to silence steamrollered by the momentum of a campaign or the need for the media to obtain yet another scoop. Women’s silence is not responsible for abuse – the blame lies 100 per cent on the shoulders of the abusers.

I think we really need to pause and think about the impact and unintended consequences of #metoo. It is a laudable movement and I respect everyone who has chosen to disclose under that hashtag. But when women who speak out are praised as courageous, those millions who don’t can be made to feel like cowards. People who have experienced abuse usually have well-founded concerns about speaking out. That is their right. To “go public” or report incidents to the police can mean terrifying publicity, followed by months and maybe even years of being caught up in legal processes. And at the end of it all, there is no guarantee of a conviction or redress.

In the meantime the fallout can include family breakdown, ill health and unemployment. That shouldn’t be the case. But so very often it is the reality, despite reported improvements in the response of voluntary and strategy agencies.

In recent years, the government and prosecution services have made men’s violence against women a top priority. It is no longer acceptable to drop cases in the public interest, or because an alleged victim is too frightened to give evidence. That has been progressive change.

But sometimes it can mean police officers knocking on a woman’s door decades after she has split from an abusive partner because her ex’s current partner has made a complaint, and the authorities want to gather corroborating evidence.

Stuff women have spent years trying to come to terms with, and perhaps have finally moved on from, can be dredged up – with all sorts of collateral damage. Women can find themselves giving evidence in court against their adult children’s father, under oath to tell a truth their children are not ready to hear.

Few women understand that they are under no obligation to provide statements to investigating authorities. But once they do, their lives can run away from them. Sexism, harassment, abuse and violence is all about power and control. If women are not allowed to keep control of their own stories, their own experiences and whether to speak about them, then they have no power over their own lives. Just as it is under patriarchy.