There is something deeply uncomfortable about looking directly at the reality of sexual violence against women.
I think that is part of why people spend so much time trying not to look at it.
We know rape happens. We know sexual assault happens. We know women are sexually harassed in workplaces, on streets, at parties, in schools, in relationships, in marriages, by strangers, by acquaintances, by friends, and by men they trusted. We know that women can be assaulted while intoxicated, while unconscious, while frightened, while confused, while trying to survive the situation they are already in. We know that children can be sexually abused. We know that men can be victims of sexual violence from other men too. We know that the person who hurts you is not necessarily going to look like a monster standing outside a dark alley.
And still, there is an enormous social appetite for pretending that the person who commits sexual violence must somehow be fundamentally different from everyone else.
That fantasy is comforting.
Because if the rapist is a monster, then ordinary men can remain ordinary men. If the rapist is a stranger, then the boyfriend is safe. If the rapist is visibly violent, then the nice guy at the party is safe. If the rapist is socially isolated, then the popular guy, the athlete, the fraternity member, the successful man, the husband, the father, the coworker, the friend, the man everyone loves can remain outside the category.
But sexual violence does not become less real because the perpetrator is familiar.
The CDC's current national data make the scale of the problem difficult to dismiss. Nearly half of women in the United States have experienced some form of contact sexual violence during their lifetimes, and more than one in five have experienced completed or attempted rape. Almost one in three women have experienced verbal sexual harassment in a workplace or public place. These are not stories confined to some distant category of woman who made different choices. They describe a reality that exists throughout women's lives.
And yet women are still taught to behave as though the primary responsibility for avoiding sexual violence belongs to us.
Watch your drink. Don't walk alone. Text me when you get home. Don't get too drunk. Don't wear that. Carry your keys between your fingers. Park underneath a light. Check the back seat. Don't go upstairs. Don't go into his apartment. Don't invite him over. Don't be too friendly. Don't be too cold. Don't make him angry. Don't ruin your reputation.
Don't put yourself in that position.
Women learn these rules so early that many of us stop recognizing them as rules. They become background noise. They become the architecture of girlhood.
Before many girls understand what sexual violence actually is, they have already begun learning how to organize their lives around the possibility of it.
And then, when something happens, the scrutiny begins.
What were you wearing? How much did you drink? Why did you go home with him? Why didn't you leave? Why didn't you scream? Why did you keep talking to him afterward? Why didn't you report it? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why did you wait? Why did you change your story?
Why were you there?
The woman is automatically placed under suspicion. Her behavior becomes evidence against her. Her memory becomes something to interrogate. Her sexuality and character become relevant. Her decisions before the violence and afterward become relevant.
The man can disappear into the background while the woman becomes the subject of investigation.
I hate that I even have to write the word allegation.
I understand why the legal system uses legal terminology. I am talking about something much larger than courtroom procedure.
I hate that women have to describe what happened to them and then immediately enter a linguistic world where the central concern becomes whether everyone else feels comfortable believing them.
A woman says a man raped her, and somehow the conversation can become an investigation into whether she is trustworthy enough to deserve belief.
That suspicion is NOT accidental. It is part of a culture that has spent generations teaching us that women lie about sex, regret consensual sex, exaggerate, seek attention, want revenge, misunderstand men, misunderstand themselves, or somehow create the circumstances in which they are harmed.
That is often what suspicion does. It moves the burden. Suddenly the woman is defending herself and has to reconstruct every minute of the night. Suddenly her drinking matters. Her previous sexual history and relationship with the man matter. Her texts, clothing, and her decision to stay or leave are relevant. Her decision to speak or to remain silent plays a role.
There is always another question waiting for her.
And the deeper problem is that this does not only happen in courtrooms. It happens socially. It happens in families, friendships, workplaces, schools, online communities, and private conversations. A woman can tell the truth about what happened to her and still find herself being asked to make everyone else comfortable with the truth. This doesn't only apply to sexual assault. It applies to women who are the punching bag, the family scapegoat and black sheep, the survivors of parental abuse. The innumerable ways women are reminded that we are less than human.
That is one of the most effective forms of social control imaginable.
If women learn that speaking will cost them relationships, reputations, employment, friendships, family support, romantic opportunities, or peace, many women will calculate the cost before they ever open their mouths.
That silence protects people. And sometimes the people being protected are men, or the woman's family, who hold their reputation in higher regard than a loved one's physical and mental well-being.
The Man Who Is Supposed To Be Different
One of the most disturbing things about sexual violence is how badly people want the perpetrator to be exceptional.
We want him to be obviously evil, to have a history. We want warning signs and photographs of a monster. We want something that allows us to say, Well, obviously he was different.
Because if he is different, then we do not have to examine the ordinary social environment around him. We do not have to ask what his friends knew or ask what jokes were normalized. We do not have to ask what women had already complained about or how many people saw something and decided it was not their business.
We do not have to ask how often men are taught to recognize women's boundaries only when those boundaries are expressed in a way that makes male discomfort impossible to ignore. We do not have to ask how often women are expected to manage men's behavior instead of men being expected to manage their own.
That is the part I find impossible to ignore.
A man claiming, "I don't rape women," should not be treated as some extraordinary moral achievement. Of course you outwardly say you don't rape women. That is basic human decency and understanding of another's agency.
The standard cannot be that a man deserves social credit simply because he personally did not commit the most extreme form of violence against a woman. There is a much larger question about what men do when other men behave badly.
What happens when a friend makes a rape joke? When a woman says a man crossed a boundary? What happens when a man is known for getting women drunk? What happens when everyone knows somebody has a reputation for ignoring the word no? What happens when the group chat is full of sexual humiliation? What happens when a woman is being targeted, and everyone decides it is safer, funnier, easier, or more socially convenient to look away?
Plausible deniability is powerful.
It allows people to say they did not personally commit the violence while benefiting from a culture that makes the violence easier to dismiss. That is where I believe the conversation about male privilege becomes especially uncomfortable.
Men can benefit from a social system even when they are not personally committing every act that keeps the system functioning. A man can benefit from being presumed innocent while a woman is presumed suspicious. He can benefit from the cultural expectation that a woman will keep quiet. He can benefit when other men protect one another's reputations. He can benefit when women are taught to avoid certain men rather than men being collectively expected to challenge predatory behavior.
The benefit does not require every man to consciously sit down and decide that he wants women harmed. Systems do not require that kind of coordination.
They survive through habits, silence, excuses, disbelief, and through people deciding that something is uncomfortable enough that they would rather not know.
The Cornell Story Is Not The Whole Story
This is part of why the recent Cornell case is worth paying attention to.
In September 2026, prosecutors in New York reopened a criminal investigation into a reported 2024 sexual assault involving seven Chi Phi fraternity members after renewed public attention surrounding a civil lawsuit. The district attorney said the matter would be presented to a grand jury. The accused have denied the allegations, and Cornell has separately taken disciplinary action against students involved.
Whatever ultimately happens in that particular case, the larger cultural reaction is familiar. People immediately begin arguing about credibility.
Who said what? When did she say it? What did she say that night? What did he say? What happened before? What happened afterward? Was she drunk? Was he drunk? Did someone text someone? Did someone remember something differently? Was there enough evidence? Did the university respond correctly? Did the police respond correctly? Did the woman tell the story perfectly?
And underneath all of those questions is the same cultural anxiety: What if this is true?
I think that question scares people more than they want to admit. Because if it is true, then the world becomes more complicated.
The person you thought you knew might not be who you thought he was. The friend group might have failed someone. The institution might have failed someone. The people who laughed might have been participating in something darker than they wanted to acknowledge.
The people who said, "That's just how men are," might have been normalizing behavior they should have challenged. And the woman who everyone wanted to dismiss might have been telling the truth.
That possibility is uncomfortable. So people look for reasons not to believe her.
Women Have the Right To Be Angry
There is a particular discomfort that appears when women stop asking to be palatable.
A woman can be hurt. She can cry and be traumatized. She can be frightened. But there is still an expectation that eventually she should become calm enough for everyone else.
She should explain herself rationally, speak politely, and avoid sounding bitter. She should not generalize. She should remember that not all men are like that. She should make room for the feelings of the people who are uncomfortable hearing what happened to her.
She should be careful with her language. She should make sure nobody feels unfairly accused. She needs to be gracious and reasonable.
I reject that expectation.
Women have the right to be angry. And quite frankly, I believe in women taking whatever action that will bring them their own sense of justice.
We have the right to look at what has happened to women collectively and feel rage. We have the capability to recognize patterns. We have the right to ask why women are still being taught survival strategies for violence that men are committing.
We have the right to stop organizing our lives around placating men so that they stop harming us. And we need to get rid of the notion of believing that being a "good woman" will protect us. Being a "good woman" will only decrease your life expectancy.
Because there is no perfect performance that guarantees safety.
A woman can dress conservatively, provocatively, be sexually experienced, be a virgin, be married, be single, be loud, be quiet, drink, smoke, be sober, friendly, or distant. None of those identities creates a moral contract in which someone else becomes entitled to her body.
Women have spent enough time trying to find the exact combination of behaviors that will make us safe from other people's choices. It's time you realize that none of that matters; we will still be a Madonna-whore complex from the day we are born.
Become Ungovernable
This is where my feminism becomes personal.
As the founder of Nessa Samantha, I think constantly about what it means to build a life that belongs to you. That question is bigger than clothing, beauty, or aesthetics.
A woman should be able to look at her life and know that she has somewhere to go. She needs to have money that is hers. She should understand her finances and know what resources are available to her. She should build relationships that benefit her outside of a romantic partnership. She needs to cultivate skills. She needs to develop confidence in her own judgment. A woman needs to have the ability to leave a situation when it's integral to her safety.
Remember that justice we were talking about just a few moments ago? Yeah unless you have money, social capital, or you’re willing to personally take things into your own hands for closure, you can forget about the legal system doing that for you.
Money is key because money creates options. It does half the work for you. The other half is people wanting to bend over backwards because now their livelihoods, depend on whether you decide to sign their checks.
Financial independence can mean being able to hire an attorney. It can mean being able to pay for transportation. It can mean getting a hotel room, moving apartments, relocating, replacing a broken phone, taking time away from an unsafe environment, paying for security, or simply being able to walk away from someone who believes your survival depends on staying with them.
Money cannot prevent every act of violence or make a woman completely invulnerable. But dependence can trap people.
I want women to have fewer traps, ideally none.
I want women to have societal capital. I want us to not only know people, but become those people in positions of power; build businesses, create things, own property, develop expertise, make money, maintain strategic friendships, cultivate reputations for our work, and become difficult to isolate.
And here is one of the hardest truths you will ever hear as a woman: Part of the reason why people deliberately invalidate you, is because the person who caused you harm had more money, power, and people depending on them. Which makes it a lot easier for enablers to stick their heads in the sand.
So it’s not whether others “believe” you or not. For example, if people knew you were a billionaire and you looked them straight in their face and proclaimed “The grass is purple.” They’re going to come up with the most wondrous theories of why you’re correct.
I want women to be shameless about wanting things.
Want money.
Want freedom.
Want a house.
Want your own apartment.
Want your own bank account.
Want the education.
Want the business.
Want the passport.
Want the emergency fund.
Want the peace you’re consistently being denied.
Want the life that does not collapse if a man leaves or if your family is no longer supporting you. Want the life that does not require a man or anyone else to approve of it. And if someone thinks that makes you difficult, let them.
Stop Building Your Life Around Being Chosen
There is an enormous amount of cultural energy dedicated to teaching women that the central achievement of our lives is being chosen.
Chosen by a man. Chosen as a wife, a girlfriend, a mother. Chosen by a family or an employer. Chosen by society as respectable. Chosen as attractive, as agreeable, as good.
News flash, if this realization hasn't hit you yet. You're not going to get a reward when you die for how much you deliberately chose to suffer in order to please others. You die with a life wasted and unfulfilled. I want women to become more interested in choosing themselves.
It means understanding that your life is yours.
You do not have to spend your entire existence trying to become the kind of woman nobody could possibly reject.
Someone will reject you, will misunderstand you, dislike you, call you difficult, think you are too loud. Someone will think you are too ambitious, selfish, and decide you are not what they wanted.
You can survive that. And sometimes surviving that is exactly how you become free.
Keep Going Anyway
The hardest part of becoming independent is that independence does not mean you stop getting hurt.
You will still cry. You will still lose. You will still be disappointed. You will encounter people who underestimate you. You will be thrown backward sometimes and have moments when you want to give up.
There will be days when you are furious and days when you are exhausted and days when you genuinely do not know how you are going to keep going.
Keep going anyway.
Not because suffering is noble or women should have to endure everything. Because your life is still yours and the version of you who exists after the setback deserves to exist. Because every time a woman builds something that belongs to her, she creates another place from which she cannot be so easily controlled.
That is why I want women to become louder.
Speak. Write. Report. Document. Tell your friends and your sisters. Tell the story when you are ready, then tell it again when someone tries to rewrite it.
Keep records and keep your money. Build your career, friendships, your business, reputation, knowledge, and your life.
Become shameless about taking up space. Because there is something that happens when women stop believing that male approval is the highest form of social currency.
We become harder to govern through shame. Harder to silence through embarrassment. We become harder to isolate through dependence and harder to manipulate through the promise of being chosen. And eventually, we become much more difficult to control.
Look At The Reality
I do not think women need another lesson in how to make ourselves smaller. We have been taught that lesson thoroughly.
We have been taught to anticipate danger before we are old enough to understand it. Taught to monitor our clothing, our voices, our drinking, our sexuality, our locations, friendships, bodies, reputations, our relationships, and our reactions.
We have been taught to ask what we could have done differently. I want us to ask different questions:
Why was he allowed to do that?
Who knew?
Who looked away?
Who benefited from looking away?
Why was she expected to carry the shame?
Why did everyone need her to be perfectly credible before they were willing to consider what happened to her?
Why is female anger more frightening to people than male violence?
Why are women still expected to manage the consequences of men's behavior?
Why are women expected to become smaller so men can remain comfortable?
And what happens when we stop?
Maybe that is the part people are actually afraid of. Because women who know the truth about what is happening around them are harder to control than women who have been convinced that everything is their fault.
Women who have money have options. Women who have friendships have witnesses. Women who own businesses and have careers have independence. Women who have knowledge have language. Women who speak have records. Women who refuse shame have fewer levers for other people to pull. And women who keep going after being hurt become very difficult to convince that they deserve to disappear.
Reality is uncomfortable.
Good! Look at it anyway. Because women deserve a world that can vocalize the truth about what happens to us. And until that world exists, I would rather women know exactly what they are born in to than spend another generation being taught to close their eyes.
I do have one final thought, just remember, never EVER make life easy for someone who’s already decided to make yours hard.
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