Let Them Be Afraid

Women will never be safe until men carry fear the way we always have—in silence, in survival, in our skin.

Not afraid of rejection.
Not afraid of getting called out.
Not afraid of getting caught.

Afraid the way we are.
In our bones. In our breath. In our cells.

Men must learn to fear the way we flinch when a door clicks shut behind us.
They must fear the way we scan a room for exits, for eyes, for hands.
They must fear the way we measure every word, every inch, every laugh.

They must fear the way we say, “I have a boyfriend,” instead of, “I’m not interested,”
because lying feels safer than dying for saying no.

We’ve been called too emotional.
Too angry. Too loud. Too much.

But let’s be honest.
What they really mean is: too dangerous—if we ever stop apologizing.

And they are not wrong.

We are dangerous.
Not because we want to be feared,
but because we have learned that being admired does not keep us alive.

Being respected does not stop the hands.
Being believed in does not stop the threats.

The only thing that deters a predator is power.
Not the illusion of it. Not the polite version.
Real power.
Lived-in. Embodied. Weaponized if necessary.

Until they are afraid to harm us—
afraid of the consequences,
afraid of the uprising,
afraid of our solidarity,
afraid of the ancient magic we remember when we rise together—
we will not be safe.

Safety will not come through softness.
It will not be born from silence or from making ourselves smaller to survive.
It will come when our rage is undomesticated.
When our power is non-negotiable.
When our boundaries are no longer suggestions.

They must taste the silence we have swallowed.
They must carry the dread we have lived with like a second skin.
They must feel the fear that shaped our footsteps, our speech, our joy.

Let them feel the quake.
Let them learn to flinch.
Let them sit in the same fire that followed us through hallways, train cars, bedrooms, courtrooms.

This is not vengeance.
This is balance.

We do not want domination.
We want equilibrium.
And if they must feel what we have endured just to stay alive—
let it come.

Let it shake them.
Let it change them.

Because safety—real safety—
will only be born from fear

that finally understands its place.