💜Survival Is Expected, Safety Is Optional

Maybe if these people would police our cities way they police our bodies

Then maybe, fucking h*ll

Maybe every woman that I know wouldn't be stuck as well

Growing up as a girl feels like being groomed for gender-based violence. From the first signs of puberty, the world begins whispering its lessons in your ear. “Be careful now,” they say. “Cover up. Don’t provoke. Walk this way, not that way. Keep your voice soft.” You nod, learning that every movement, every word, every gesture could trigger someone else’s violence. You are taught that your body is a risk, your presence a provocation, your very existence a potential problem to be managed.

Society plays a massive role in this grooming. From families to schools, media to institutions, girls are conditioned to anticipate danger and to tolerate abuse. Institutions that enforce bizarre dress codes, policing outfits as if clothing has stopped violence. Families warn girls against men’s impulses rather than teaching boys to control themselves. Popular culture normalizes harassment and objectification. Even the law, meant to protect, often shifts blame to the survivor: “She provoked him,” “She asked for it,” “She should have endured.” Every rule, every warning, every norm communicates the same lesson: your body is not yours; it exists for others to judge, fear, and sometimes harm.

We are groomed for GBV in countless ways. Workplaces often excuse harassment, making women feel uncomfortable in spaces where they should feel at home. Girls are married off at nine. FGM continues. Pedophiles are protected by the very institutions that should keep children safe. And every warning we receive about matatus, streets, or strangers is a lesson in survival, not empowerment. Society conditions us from childhood to shrink, to endure, and to fear, while abusers are taught impunity and men are excused. That is grooming. That is GBV.

I listened to Dave Fairchild’s new song Fairchild, and this verse explains the struggles perfectly:

“At Archway, I got out of the car
It's quiet, and I'm walking up this long hill
Faint sound, cold chills
I swear I just heard a familiar voice
Inside the club, outside the club
Was it that first cab? I swear I know the voice
Think fast, that's my only choice
He's coming up, I hear him running up
I ran, and I trip, I fell and I buckle
My belt in a buckle, my keys in my knuckles
He's grabbing my hair, I'm screaming to stop
I'm hitting him hard, it's turning him on
The burning is gone, my body is so cold and frozen in fear
Accepting my fate, his hands on my waist
I think that I threw my keys in his face
I ran and he chased
I stumbled on a group of three that were leaving
I ran towards them, didn't notice that my feet, they were bleeding
And that's when I called, praying that you'd be there recording
The only person that I know who's up at three in the morning
I sound mad
But if you ain't a girl, I guess you don't know the feeling
Of watching what you wear because you're worried 'bout making it home
Walking with your phone to your ear, and you ain't on the phone
Can't walk on the same side of the pavement alone
Everyone's a fucking good guy and they're making it known
But I'm just making it known that if you ain't a girl, I guess you don't know the feeling
Of checking the child lock, or seeing the AirTag
A five-minute walk home feeling like five miles
Maybe if these people would police our cities way they police our bodies
Then maybe, fucking hell
Maybe every woman that I know wouldn't be stuck as well”

Every line mirrors reality. That “familiar voice,” the sprint, the stumble, the frozen panic, this is what women live every day. Five minutes home can feel like five miles. We walk with our phones, pretending to call someone, checking locks, anticipating danger that may or may not come but exists in every shadow, every alley, every step.

Being a woman means carrying fear as a second skin, from the first moment your body begins to grow. Eleven, twelve, thirteen years old, and already you learn that your voice, your body, and your very existence are a risk. And society reinforces it, telling us to endure, to tolerate, to accept abuse as a part of life. That is grooming for GBV.

So, if speaking up for being a woman makes me bitter, then let me reintroduce myself: Hello, my name is Bitter. Bitter because surviving in this world shouldn’t be a requirement. Bitter because our bodies are policed, our movements scrutinized, our voices silenced. Bitter because speaking out against GBV is treated like an inconvenience rather than a demand for justice. Bitter because every girl is taught from childhood to endure, to cover up, to survive rather than thrive. And yes, I will be loud about it, I will remind you about it every single time, and I will not apologize for it.

We refuse to be silent. We refuse to shrink. We refuse to accept that surviving should be the measure of life. Our bodies are not provocations. Our voices are not threats. Our lives are not negotiable. Every girl deserves to walk home safely. Every woman deserves to live without fear.

Being a woman is not a crime. Being alive should not be a risk. Surviving should never be the goal. We deserve freedom. We deserve safety. We deserve justice. And we will fight until every girl, every woman, can exist without fear. We are not free until all of us are free.

To every survivor and victim of gender-based violence💜💜💜: We see you. We hear you. Your pain is real, your courage is undeniable, and your voice matters even when the world tries to silence it. You are not alone. Every story, every scar, every moment of fear is valid, and every step you take toward safety, justice, and healing is a triumph. This is for you, and this fight is for you.

Disclaimer: GBV does not only happen to women, but men also experience it. My heart goes out to all men experiencing GBV. Your pain is real, and you deserve justice, safety, and support as well.