Growing up, my dad used to warn me about the “ultimate impact of unintended consequences.” Decision making was a method, reviewing all the possible outcomes of Decision A versus Decision B, weighing them, determining the best and worst outcomes, and deciding which you could live with. However, there were always those darn “unintended consequences.”

A few weeks ago, I decided to stand up and voice my concerns about a matter that is affecting our community. I knew there could be consequences, ones that affected me, and I knew that for me, living with those consequences was more tolerable to me than living in silence.

I knew there could be consequences for my family, but as I consulted with them, they told me that I wouldn’t be the wife, mother and friend that they knew and loved if I kept my mouth shut. So, I stood up and I said that a local official should step down amid allegations of sexual misconduct. I was right, it literally took minutes before someone tried to drag my family down because of me standing up. But never in my life did I imagine how the “unintended consequences” would affect me.

All night long, my phone message alert kept dinging. At first it was friends and family members who were calling to offer support, but by morning, I had several messages from complete strangers. Over the course of the next few days, the messages continued and I was also stopped by several people on the street, encouraging me to continue speaking up.

It turns out that many of these people were people who at some point in their lives had been victims of abuse. The list of offenses went from simply being hit on by an unwelcome suitor or the subject of an unwanted wolf whistle, to jobs being lost when a co-worker or boss’s advances were rejected, to actual rape.

It has been a gut-wrenching and illuminating experience for me. Over and over again, these people said to me, “I wish I had said something.” Or, “I wish I COULD have said something.” Or, “I wish I could say something, but I’m still too scared.” What made me sadder were those that took what happened to me as another warning to stay silent, or risk being attacked, or not believed.

I have been very lucky in my life to have a strong support system. I have also had my share of #metoo moments. Shortly after college, I took a construction job as a laborer. I had no idea what I was doing, but the pay was good, and the hours were flexible, which allowed me to pursue my real interest of being a swim coach. I knew I was walking into a “man’s world” and I thickened up my skin and prepared for the worst.

For the first few weeks on the job, not a single man, other than my job boss and the foreman, would speak to me or even make eye contact. I couldn’t understand it. I expected to be the butt of many jokes, and to take some good-natured ribbing at the least. Finally, when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I cornered a co-worker and asked why I was getting the silent treatment.

He told me that the day before I started working there, the crews had been assembled and told a woman would be starting the next day. If she had any complaints about their behavior, they would be fired, no questions asked. I told him, in no uncertain terms, what an (expletive) ridiculous notion that was, and that they could knock that (expletive) off immediately.

Knowing that my co-workers were afraid of me and walking on eggshells was a terrible feeling, and I worked very hard to find common ground with all of them. Over the next few months, the ice gradually broke, and by the time I left, most of the men shook my hand and said they’d be happy to work with me any time.

When I was in college, I also had a situation where a co-worker aggressively pressured me into going on a date with him. He would not take no for an answer. I reported him to my supervisor several times, and he was reprimanded and warned. One night, he decided he would follow me home from work to plead his case. It was a terrifying situation, and one of the few times in my life that I have felt genuinely powerless and scared in the face of another human.

Luckily, because his behavior had been documented, and witnessed, he was terminated, and for the next few weeks, my co-workers kept a close eye on me, and offered me rides home. Not everyone has had the good luck and the support that I have had.

In both cases, staying quiet and putting up with maltreatment wasn’t something I could do. Maybe it’s my Pinkey DNA, which renders me incapable of keeping my mouth shut.

In my current situation, though, the “unintended consequences” left me to shut my mouth and open my ears. So many of the people who reached out to me asked not to be identified or asked to keep the details of our conversations between us. They just wanted a chance to tell their story to someone or to encourage me to keep speaking up for the voiceless. As I listened, I realized how an entire life can be shaped or shattered by a single act, or many small acts, continued over time.

That’s the funny thing about “unintended consequences.” You don’t realize how many people will ultimately be impacted. It is difficult to be attacked in public, difficult to relive that moment as your friends, families, and total strangers play it over and over again on YouTube. Difficult to know that your children may watch that same video, and hope that instead of being worried or scared, that they can be proud. I know that speaking up and speaking out is not something that many people want to do, either because they are ashamed, or feel threatened, or are afraid of not being believed. All I can say to that is that I am here, and I will listen. There are many fine organizations in our community that will also do the same.

Schuylkill Women in Crisis Hotline: 570-622-6220 or 800-282-0634.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.