As I settled into the backseat of my friend Mia’s blue sedan, I leaned in to share a story that felt like a shadow looming over me. Her mom was driving us home, and it felt like a much-needed escape after weeks of silence. I had missed her terribly.
That spring, after the whirlwind of puberty, I visited a family member who crossed a line that was all too familiar.
This wasn’t an isolated incident; it was a pattern that started when I was just a toddler. I can vividly recall being two years old and potty training, and he was there in the bathroom with me. The trauma of sexual abuse became a dark companion throughout my childhood, but this time felt different. After years of burying the pain deep within, I reached a breaking point where silence was no longer an option.
I’d only spoken about my abuse once before, to my older sister during a rare moment of safety. I felt a surge of courage as I revealed my secret, only to be gripped by the fear of her telling anyone. “Please don’t tell Mom or Dad,” I pleaded. And just like that, we never discussed it again.
The haunting words of my abuser echoed in my mind: “Don’t tell anyone. This is our little secret.” I felt paralyzed, believing I was a favorite of his, and the fear of being punished for speaking out kept me silent. But the weight of that silence grew unbearable. It invaded my dreams, colored my play, and twisted my understanding of love and affection.
As I matured, the need to speak about my experiences became urgent. I realized that a part of me was gradually dying, and the only way to save it was to share my truth. Many young girls found solace in my words because they too had faced similar horrors, often hidden away until it felt safe to finally emerge. Yet, we faced limited spaces to express our truths.
Countless women, whether they experienced abuse as children or adults, have had their lives scarred by men who failed to respect boundaries. These men, cowards in their own right, chose to project their issues onto us, leaving us feeling trapped in the darkness they created.
When we hear the phrase “Not all men,” it feels like a slap in the face. We don’t care who says it. That phrase misses the point entirely. Instead, we should be questioning why so many women have suffered. The focus should be on our anguish, not on defending the reputation of men.
With more women bravely stepping forward to share their stories of harassment and abuse, the “Not all men” response becomes irrelevant. It’s dismissive and degrading. This conversation isn’t about protecting male feelings; it’s about confronting a painful reality that many have faced.
It’s hard not to feel conflicted—on one hand, we wonder how such a widespread issue could exist, and on the other, we’re not surprised at all. I refuse to accept that this should be normalized. I will not raise my children in a world where we downplay these experiences by reminding everyone that not all men are guilty.
Let’s not dilute this conversation. The moment we stop sharing our stories is the moment we allow shame to win. Women have been silenced for far too long, afraid that no one would listen or care. And when met with “Not all men” instead of compassion, it only solidifies our fears.
We owe it to ourselves and to those who came before us to speak out loud and clear. We owe it to the women who suffered in silence—those who couldn’t afford to lose their jobs or who feared for their safety. We owe it to the young girls we see playing innocently on the playground. This is the legacy we need to change.
When someone bravely shares their horrifying experience, they are not maligning all men. It’s time to get over that misconception. They are sharing their truth. We’re done minimizing these life-altering traumas that so many women have faced.
Sure, maybe not all men are the problem, but if you’ve stood by and watched this happen without taking action, you are part of the issue. Instead of dismissing our pain, do some soul-searching.
We know our mission now, and we will not be silenced. We are not required to temper our stories with “Not all men” to soothe anyone’s discomfort. We need to demonstrate to our children that things are going to change starting now. So, are you with me?
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Summary
Women have long endured hidden trauma caused by men, and the dismissive phrase “Not all men” does a disservice to those who have suffered. It’s essential to focus on the widespread nature of these experiences and to support women in sharing their truths without minimizing their pain.