I’m grieving.
Not one person, but many. I’m grieving the people and the spaces that were supposed to protect us. Those we trusted. Those we admired. Those in positions of leadership, who used their influence and power to take advantage of women instead of guarding them.
Every time another story comes out, a door closes. A church, a workplace, a classroom, a mentor, a man we looked up to. Places we thought were safe become one more place we have to watch our backs.
Maybe this grief comes with a reminder: no one belongs on a pedestal.
Not the pastor, not the boss, not the celebrity, not the leader everyone praises. When we put people up there, we stop asking questions. We excuse what we shouldn’t. We doubt the women who speak up, because it’s easier than doubting someone we admire. Pedestals don’t just elevate people; they hide them from accountability.
Respect should be earned again and again through how someone treats the people with the least power around them. Admiration should never cost a woman her safety.
So I keep asking: is there a place where women are truly safe?
A place where we can truly rest. Where we can let our guard down without paying for it. Where we can wear what we want and not be treated as an object up for grabs. Where our “no” is enough, and our presence isn’t an invitation.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask. And yet I find myself wondering whether saying it out loud will get me called a radical.
Is it really radical to believe that we deserve the love, care, and protection that we so freely give to the world? Women hold families together. We nurture, we comfort, we show up for everyone else. Wanting some of that care returned isn’t extreme. It’s basic.
Most people already agree that women deserve to be safe. I’m not asking anyone to adopt a new belief. I’m asking us to act on the one we say we already hold.
To the men reading this: When are you going to join the conversation?
Real protectors don’t wait until it’s their sister, their daughter, or their wife. They show up before the harm, not after the headline. They correct their friends. They believe women. They use their influence the way it was always meant to be used: to shield, not to take.
And real protectors nurture. They care. They listen deeply, comfort, check in, cook the meal, sit with the grief, and tend to the hurting. The very things the world has handed to women as “our job” are not weakness. They’re what protection actually looks like. A man who can hold someone gently is far safer than a man who only knows how to be strong.
I’m tired, and I’m grieving. But I’m still hoping. So I’ll end the way I always do, with an invitation.
My invitation to you
Don’t stop talking about this. Not online, not in person. Silence is where harm hides, so keep naming it, keep asking questions, keep believing the women who speak.
And don’t just wait for safe spaces to exist. Create them. Hold space for gathering. Open your home, your circle, your table. Build places where women, children, and those who are most vulnerable can come together and finally exhale.
Let them be places where love, care, and deep listening rule. Where no one has to prove their pain before it’s taken seriously. Where no one is on a pedestal, and everyone is held.
If the spaces that were supposed to protect us failed, then let’s become the ones who build better ones.
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