"Face your fears," they said.

This time, I did.

I faced the topic that used to scare me the most. The girl who used to run away from movies, stories, and news reports about rape and sexual harassment is now choosing to draft her fears into words.

I’ve come to believe that the toughest thing a person can do is be still. I learned this the hard way during a career break last year. That period taught me what it meant to be stuck—not just professionally, but emotionally. But now, I’ve found a path forward, one that required moving far from home. I was finally beginning to redefine happiness for myself after having been still like a picture for too long.

But then came the inevitable question from my family:
How safe will you be that far away?”

I rolled my eyes at first—I’ve explained this dozens of times. But still, I tried to reassure them. After all, I’d be just as concerned if it were my sister in my place. I offered them every possible explanation to ease their worry. Yet deep down, I knew: they were the most fake reassurances I could give. Because I, too, carry those same fears. I’ve just mastered the art of masking them.

The truth is, I can only tell them how I might stay safe—not how safe I will be. Danger doesn’t increase just because I’m away from home. The kinds of horror stories we read in the newspapers can happen anywhere, to anyone.

Before I began writing this essay, I even Googled whether acts like rape and harassment are still considered social issues. Because often, it feels like we’re just expected to get used to them. Society teaches us to normalize it—this "human" society where the humane element seems to be vanishing faster than it ever appeared.

And sometimes I wonder: What if I became part of that horror story one day? Can anyone give me a sure ‘no’? These brutal acts don’t care about nationality, economic status, race, age, or location. Victims are everywhere. And yet—why isn’t there any real change?

Why don’t we protest more? Have people convinced themselves that harsher punishment would somehow make future victims more vulnerable? Or maybe they’re just too busy—so safety becomes optional.

Some people seem to cope by blaming the victim. Maybe it helps them feel mentally safer—"It couldn’t happen to me." They need to believe they’re different. That illusion of control. Victim-blaming, shaming—it becomes society’s way of managing fear.

And then there’s the media. So many films teach women to silence their feelings, encouraging the twisted belief that a girl’s “no” might mean “yes.” These narratives do nothing but romanticize consent and contribute to a culture that’s dangerously misinformed.

Parents telling their daughters to be silent for the sake of reputation do more harm than they know. It plants poisonous questions in their minds:
“Was it my fault?”
“Am I a bad woman?”
“Have I stained my family’s name?”

We talk so little about the courage it takes to survive such trauma. Where is the appreciation for the superhuman strength of women who rise after falling victim to the worst of humanity? Instead, we place impossible standards on them—and rarely offer praise, even when they exceed those expectations.

If there were an interview or a show dedicated to hearing the stories of these women, I would listen with awe. Not from anxiety—but from inspiration. These women are like water: calm, sensitive, but strong enough to break rocks.

But why must we wait until a woman becomes a victim to see her strength?

When was the last time you asked the women in your life how they really feel? What they’re going through? When did you last tell them they carry themselves with courage and grace? Even as I write this, I find my lips stretching into a smile at the thought: If someone had told me that I was strong, graceful, and courageous—if someone had really listened—I believe I could have done ten times more every day.

So listen. Let the women in your life be heard. What a different world it would be if, like water, our grace flowed freely—instead of getting blocked by fear, silence, or shame.

Or at the very least, I hope there isn’t a little girl out there who, when offered a wish by a genie, would ask for safety instead of a chocolate island.

Image source: Photo by Mehmut Guzel on pexels