Before we celebrate women, stop attacking them

I run. A lot.

I run every morning long before the sun comes up, or late at night long after it has gone down. I run with four essentials in the FlipBelt around my waist: a key to the house, my cell phone, my headphone case, and my pepper spray.

Usually, on those early runs, it is just me on the path under the stars. My runs are meditative, grounding, and clarifying. They clear my head. They settle my body. They give me space to think.

But they are far from peaceful.

I am constantly looking over my shoulder. I listen for footsteps. I notice cars that slow down and people who come too close. I am hyperaware of every shadow, movement, and sound. I am always calculating the distance to the next light or public space, and how quickly I would need to run there if I had to get away. My hands are clenched in fists and my senses are always on high alert. My headphones never go in my ears until the sun comes up.

All that for a simple run.

Every woman I know lives like this.

We are taught from the beginning how to move through the world. Be careful. Be smart. Do not walk alone. Text when you get home. Hold your keys in your hand. Take a self-defense course. Do not walk in the dark. Carry pepper spray. Do not leave your drink unattended. Stay alert. Stay sharp. Stay alive.

We have literal codes in bars to alert the people around us that we are in danger. Hand signals. Special drink orders. Secret words. Entire systems built around the understanding that women are not safe.

The world profits, and markets products specifically to us, because of how ordinary the threat of violence against women has become. Pink pepper spray. Pink knives. Pink alarms. Pink everything. They tell us to be ready. They tell us what is coming. They tell us to protect ourselves.

Women learn these lessons early. They are etched into our hearts and burned into our brains. We absorb them into our bodies long before we have the language for what they mean. Passed from mother to daughter, friend to friend, woman to woman.

It is so prevalent that it feels as though it is simply inevitable. One in three. One in three women will experience sexual violence. In my family, we are three sisters. I have three daughters. It makes my stomach turn. One in three.

But then, when something does happen, when a woman is assaulted, abused, raped, trafficked, cornered, silenced, or forced to flee for her life, the world is shocked. She is met with disbelief. The burden moves back onto her. Did it happen the way she says it happened? Is she credible? Is there enough proof? Is her memory clear enough, her behavior correct enough, her pain visible enough?

She is expected to prevent it, survive it, explain it, prove it, and somehow carry it, and even then it is still not enough.

Even when it is filmed by the perpetrators themselves, reported by journalists, proved by forensic evidence, investigators, survivors, and international bodies, as it was in Israel on October 7th, it is not enough.

Even when it is documented for years, with mountains of evidence and testimony of countless survivors, as in the Epstein files, it is not enough.

Even when the whole world watches, as with Boko Haram, Sudan, Afghanistan, and the Yazidi women, it is not enough.

Today, on March 8th, the world marks International Women’s Day.

It is meant to be a day to celebrate women, recognize progress, highlight achievements, and recommit ourselves to a world in which women can live fully, freely, and equally.

But maybe before we celebrate women, we should stop attacking them.

Maybe before we post slogans about strength and resilience, we should build a world in which a woman can go for a run before sunrise without pepper spray in her pocket and an escape route mapped out in her head.

Maybe before we tell girls they can be anything, we should make sure they are safe enough to simply be.

A run should be just a run.
A drink should be just a drink.
A walk home should be just a walk home.
A woman’s body should not be a battlefield, a bargaining chip, a target, or a crime scene.

And when the worst does happen, we need to believe her.

Because women should not have to spend their lives preparing to be attacked and then spend what is left of them proving that they were.

So on March 8th, I don’t want more slogans. empty words, or chants. I want change.

I refuse to continue this chain of handing fear down to my daughters and calling it wisdom.

Stop teaching girls how not to be attacked and start building a world in which they are safe.

A world where violence against women is not treated as inevitable.
A world where governments defend women’s rights instead of stripping them away.
A world where women have control over their own bodies, futures, and health.
A world where power and status no longer shield those who do harm.
A world where perpetrators are held accountable and justice is not delayed.
A world where security is not a private responsibility placed on women, but a public promise upheld by society.

Safety should not be a skill women learn. It should be a condition the world guarantees.

Women have carried the burden of prevention long enough. It is time the world carries the burden of change.