I lived alone in Washington, DC for several years. I watched the police chase down and arrest people outside my apartment window. I nervously walked by the muggers, trying to be casual (luckily for me, I lived near several gay bars, and the muggers set their sights on the drunk gay men, not on young females). I lived fifty yards from the park where intern Chandra Levy was found dead.

I studied karate for five years, long enough to earn a black belt. I began studying aikido in college, and my instructor there began to show me more authentic forms of self-defense. He taught me moves from Silat and self-defense programs; I learned a spin kick that won me a friendly spar with an Italian former military officer in a pool hall.

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A man in DC was beaten to death at a gas station in full view. Newspaper columnists lamented that no one did anything to save him. I wonder what they expected people to do. I can’t imagine being brave enough to challenge an out of control stranger to hand-to-hand combat, not knowing what weapons the man had hidden or if he was on drugs or what training he had. Not if all I had were my hands, or even a knife. Not if I wanted to survive. And I would wager that most people – male or female – feel the same.

I owned a few aikido practice weapons; I had a wooden sword and a staff the length and diameter of a broom handle. I had an idea of how to use them. If worse comes to worst, I could just keep the weapon between me and my attacker. But what if there were multiple attackers? My martial arts training would not be enough.

I owned pepper spray, and a claw-shaped knife with a curved blade that fit into the palm of my hand and was all but unnoticeable. I carried both. But pepper spray is unreliable. It’s ineffective against multiple attackers because you can also catch yourself in the resulting cloud. Many ‘bad guys’ have trained themselves not to be put off by something as mild as pepper spray. My knife could be effective only up close, and I did not want to get that close to an attacker. Firearms are illegal in DC, even though the ‘bad guys’ seem to have them anyway. DC is the murder capitol of the country, and other legal weapons seemed insufficient because they required such proximity to danger. When I think back to the dead man at the gas station and wonder what I could have done to save him (had I been there) all I can think is that my close-contact weapons and training are not enough. What if it had been a woman being beaten? Would that have changed my mind? I gave up on the idea of saving strangers. I felt helpless. I couldn’t save anyone. I wondered if I could save myself.

What could I do?

I moved. And I asked my boyfriend to give me a crash course in shooting. I learned to load, chamber a round, fire a shotgun, and then pump the action to chamber a second round. I learned to fire a revolver, and to clean and care for guns. My boyfriend taught me everything he could with blank ammunition (rounds that don’t have any gun powder or bullets – they simply have a spring that reduces the wear on the firearm that repeated firing sans ammunition can cause). Eventually I began practicing with live ammunition at a shooting range near my home.

Theoretically, I was comfortable with guns. Seeing them in action – or more aptly, hearing them in action – was something different. The men at the shooting range (and, sadly, there were many more men than women) were respectful of me. After adjusting to the noise of the firearms and the smell of gunpowder, I grew to love the place. I loved the attitude of people and the comfortable, relaxed mood that blended with the focused intensity that training with lethal weapons demands. These men embraced the responsibility and empowerment of self-defense. I would, too.

Initiative saves lives; just being willing to strike can end the confrontation. I learned that when I was grabbed in the bar. I have been lucky enough never to need to hit anyone. I will not die in my own apartment without a fight. Not everyone feels the same. "I have a husband with a baseball bat. What do I need a gun for?" said a woman on a radio show when asked about her opinion on citizens legally owning guns.

"Ha!" I thought. The cruel thoughts came first – what if her husband has the arm-strength of a five-year-old? Has he trained, like I have, how to fight off multiple attackers with a wooden stick? Can he do it with adrenaline coursing through him? Where does he keep the bat anyway – probably not by the bedroom door, since that wouldn’t match the furniture? Thoughts of concern came next. What if he’s not home when the bad guys break in (home invasion burglaries are rising in my county)? What if he’s not at home when she’s attacked? And finally, why is this woman’s protection solely her husband’s responsibility?

I look over my own apartment. By the front door are a staff, a wooden sword, and a walking cane. There’s another wooden sword and staff by my bedroom door. I have a revolver in my pajama drawer. Once I feel comfortable shooting it, I’ll keep the semi-automatic loaded, too. The shotgun’s under the bed. My husband has his own tools within easy reach. The office has its own array of tools. Where will I be when the gang bangers break down the door? When they rush into the room? Where will I have time to run to?

It’s a lot of pressure to be responsible for someone else’s safety. It’s asking a lot, I think, for a woman to assume her husband will take care of her with a baseball bat – a tool that isn’t balanced for ease of use in combat – and no training. And it’s giving up a lot to completely hand over your personal safety to another person. So I train, and I own more than a baseball bat.

Does that seem paranoid? Let me ask you this – how many places do you keep condoms? For me, there’s my backpack, my purse, my overnight kit, my pajama drawer. I’m not out every night with a different guy; I’m happily married, but I’m not on birth control. I like having sex, and I’m not ready for kids, so the condoms are always there for when I need one. It’s my responsibility not to have a child if I don’t want one. I’m (obviously) pro-birth control. I’m pro-choice, but my safety is my responsibility too. I don’t let strangers buy me drinks. I keep my computer virus-free. If women really want to "take back the night," they won’t do it by pleading with criminals to disarm. They’ll do it by protecting themselves and refusing to be victims anymore. I believe a feminist is a woman who has decided she won’t be a victim. She’ll do what she wants, go where she wants and, if someone tries to hurt her, she’ll fight to stop that person.

I’m not the fighter my husband is; he’s trained longer and is proficient with more tools and weapons than I am. I have little interest right now, between school and work, in becoming more than proficient. But he’s a hunter, and for the sake of morality must make his kills clean. So he trains more.

My husband taught me not to fear the recoil of a .357 Magnum. I taught him to shoot between breaths and that certain police-encouraged stances for shooters are bunk. It takes a hell of a lot of training to fight back against a trained attacker, decades in the martial arts and a few years with firearms. Most criminals aren’t trained, and most criminals fear guns. Crime decreases in states where citizens are allowed to legally carry firearms; the only demographic in these states where crime increases is among tourists, who are less likely to be carrying. Small-time papers carry the stories the major papers don’t: of a woman home alone, a man trying to break in, and her simple brandishing of a firearm coupled with a loud "Go away or I will shoot!" causing the criminal to run. Body language matters, of course – if you don’t look like you’ll shoot – if I hadn’t looked like I was ready to bloody that man’s face – the criminal won’t believe you. And if you don’t shoot then you may lose your gun, or your life.

Don’t even think about buying a gun for self-defense unless you are prepared to use it to defend yourself. And decide who else you would be ready to kill to defend. Your lover? Your parents? Your brother? Your sister? A stranger? These are not questions that should be answered lightly; shooting a gun is an action that can follow you in the criminal justice system (and beyond) for years. That stranger trying to mug that nice-looking man could be an undercover cop trying to arrest a rapist, but that man attacking your brother as he screams to you for help? Probably a bad guy, but think first.

Fighting should always be a last resort. Someone asks for your wallet? Take it out, throw it one direction and run away another. Pepper spray works, depending on range and wind conditions. Knives are generally legal, but they’re difficult to use, and you need to be in close. You don’t want to be close. You want to be as far away as possible and keep your attacker as far away as possible. Range weapons, like firearms, achieve that.

Knowledge of self-defense is empowering. A feminist should not be afraid to leave her apartment. A feminist should not depend on men – police, boyfriend, husband or helpful bystanders – for protection. It’s my life, and it’s my choice how I defend it.