In a world where women are often preyed upon simply for existing, the reality of being female is a harrowing experience. This reality isn’t just an abstract concept; it’s a daily battle that millions of women navigate with courage, resilience, and sometimes, sheer survival instincts. The fear and anxiety that come with being a woman are so deeply ingrained that they often go unnoticed by those who don’t live it. Yet for those of us who do, the struggle is all too real, shaping our thoughts, our actions, and the very fabric of our lives.
From a young age, women are conditioned to live in a constant state of vigilance, not out of paranoia, but necessity. This isn’t just about avoiding dark alleys or not walking alone at night; it’s an all-encompassing fear that shadows every moment. Whether it’s walking to the car, taking public transportation, or jogging in broad daylight, the threat feels ever-present. The weight of this fear is exhausting, draining women of energy and peace.
This fear isn’t irrational. Sexual harassment has become a routine part of women’s lives. Ask any woman, and she will have a story—whether it’s about being catcalled, groped, or followed by a stranger. These stories are not rare; they are the norm.
Many women face harassment from a young age, sometimes as early as childhood, introducing them to a world that sees them not as individuals but as objects. Over time, these experiences multiply, becoming background noise. Women adapt their behavior, changing how they dress, avoiding certain places because they know they could become a target at any time.
I often find myself envying my male friends who move through the world with a sense of freedom that I will never know. They don’t have to live with the constant anxiety of what might happen if they step outside their homes. Their world is one where they can go wherever they please, whenever they please, without a second thought.
But for women, that freedom is a luxury we can’t afford. We are always calculating the risks, always aware of our surroundings. It’s a draining, exhausting way to live, and it’s one that no one should have to endure. This isn’t just about safety—it’s about the fundamental right to exist in the world without fear.
This disparity breeds a deep sense of frustration. Why should my gender dictate how safe I feel in the world? Why should I be the one who has to adapt, to change my behavior, to limit my freedom? This anger is not just personal; it’s political. It’s a recognition that the world is built on systems of power and control that privilege men’s freedom over women’s safety. It’s an anger that refuses to accept the status quo.
Despite the anger, I hold onto hope that the world can and will change. I hope that if I have a daughter, she will inherit a world that is kinder, safer, and more just. How do I explain to her the dangers that come with being a woman? How do I teach her to be cautious, to choose her friends wisely, to navigate a world that isn’t always kind to us? These are questions that haunt me, questions that every mother of a daughter must grapple with. But even as I worry about the world she might face, I am determined to be part of the change that makes it better.
But I also know that this won’t happen on its own. It will take work, it will take courage, and it will take a collective effort to dismantle the systems that have allowed this reality to persist for so long.
This hope isn’t just wishful thinking; it’s a call to action. It’s a recognition that the fight for women’s safety, for women’s rights, for women’s freedom, is far from over. We’ve made progress, but there is still so much work to be done. This work isn’t just about changing laws or holding perpetrators accountable, though those are critical steps. It’s also about changing the culture that allows harassment and violence to flourish. It’s about educating the next generation, raising boys to be respectful and empathetic, and raising girls to know their worth and their rights.
This safety shouldn’t be a privilege; it should be a right. I dream of a time when that safety isn’t the exception but the norm—when every woman can move through the world with the same freedom and peace of mind that so many men take for granted. I dream of a world where my future daughter, and every woman’s daughter, can grow up without the fear that has shadowed my life and the lives of so many others.
Until then, we fight. We speak out. We demand better. Because we deserve a world that doesn’t prey on us but protects us. We deserve to be safe. We deserve to breathe. And we will not stop until that world is a reality.
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Jessy Mallo, 26, is a home-based marketing assistant and part-time storyteller of life’s truths.