Growing up, protection looked like restriction.

We weren’t allowed to go anywhere because we were girls. The world was painted as dangerous, and the solution was to keep us small, keep us close, keep us inside. The idea was love. The intention was safety. But the result was silence.

Because even with all the rules, all the limits, all the “stay home, stay covered, stay guarded,” I was still raped—at school, and later at work. That’s when I realized something that shook me to my core: control is not the same as protection.

To me, real protection would have been conversation. Education. Truth.

No one sat me down and talked about consent. About boundaries. About the fact that my body was mine, not something I had to defend, but something others were obligated to respect. Instead, the message felt flipped—like women were responsible for managing men’s behavior. Like men “couldn’t help it,” and women had to carry the burden of prevention.

But why is the weight always placed on the one who gets hurt?

I think about how often girls are taught how to avoid harm instead of how the world should avoid harming them. Don’t go out. Don’t wear that. Don’t be alone. Don’t tempt. Don’t exist too loudly. Meanwhile, the conversation about accountability, empathy, and respect gets pushed aside.

Protection isn’t locking a door and throwing away the key.

Protection is teaching a child they have the right to say no—and that their no is powerful.
Protection is teaching everyone else that no is sacred.
Protection is teaching boys and men that desire does not override another person’s humanity.

What I needed wasn’t a smaller world.
I needed a clearer one.

One where my parents, my teachers, my community had told me: You are not responsible for someone else’s violence. You are not to blame for someone else’s lack of self-control. Your body is not a lesson for someone else to learn the hard way.

Now, as a woman and as a writer, I carry this truth with me. I write because silence didn’t protect me. Maybe words can protect someone else.

Because safety doesn’t grow in the dark.
It grows in the light—where consent, boundaries, and respect are spoken out loud.