The feminine tax of existing

Why Threat Assessment Isn’t Paranoia, It’s Survival

Every time a woman steps out the front door, an invisible protocol kicks in. It happens in the grocery store aisle. It happens walking across an uneven, dimly lit parking lot. It happens when a stranger approaches on the sidewalk.

A man walks to his car, unlocks it, gets in, and drives away. His attention stays on where he is going, what he has to do next, or what is playing through his headphones.
For women and female-presenting people, that same walk involves a continuous, unconscious calculation: evaluate the distance, scan the periphery, identify exits, and determine whether the man walking thirty feet behind poses an immediate danger.

To people who have never had to run that calculus, it sounds like paranoia. To those who must run it daily, it is simply the tax of existing.

The Absurdity of “Not All Men”

Whenever women name this reality publicly, the defensive reflex is swift and predictable: “Not all men.”
Of course it isn’t all men. Everyone understands that most men are not predators. But the fundamental disconnect lies in a very simple fact: perpetrators do not wear labels. They do not wear shirts announcing that they assault, exploit, or abuse.
Because there is no way to know who is safe and who is dangerous, every single stranger must be evaluated as a potential threat until proven otherwise.

Calling this assumption unfair ignores the baseline reality: the cost of being wrong for a man is feeling momentarily judged; the cost of being wrong for a woman may have catastrophic violent results.

Relying on “not all men” redirects the entire conversation. It turns attention away from the violence itself and forces women to manage the hurt feelings of people who prioritize being perceived as “good” over acknowledging the culture that enables the bad.

Inverting Responsibility

Society spends an extraordinary amount of time training potential victims to navigate an unsafe world: don’t walk alone, watch your drink, park under the streetlight, don’t dress provocatively, don’t be too friendly, don’t be too cold.
Yet almost no effort is spent confronting the entitlement that drives assault in the first place.

When an incident occurs, the first instinct of the public is still to put the victim under a microscope – scrutinizing her history, her sobriety, her choices, and her credibility – all to protect the future and reputation of the perpetrator.
The message is clear: a woman’s safety and autonomy are negotiable, while a man’s future is sacred.

This is the bedrock of rape culture.
It is not merely the act of physical violence; it is the entire infrastructure of excuses, deflections, and institutional silence that follows.
It is the doctor who denies a woman autonomy over her own reproductive choices out of deference to a hypothetical future husband.
It is the peer group that stays silent in group chats when boundaries are crossed.

It is the reflex to call a woman’s justified rage an “overreaction.”

Power, Not Sex

Sexual assault is never about sex. It has always been about power, dominance, and the normalization of coercion.
When society minimizes assault as an unfortunate, inevitable byproduct of human nature – something to be accepted like bad weather – it absolves itself of the responsibility to change.
It demands that survivors swallow their anger, bury their trauma, and maintain a pleasant exterior so everyone else can feel comfortable.

Women do not need reminders of how to stay safe.

They need a culture that stops tolerating the entitlement that makes the world unsafe. Until the culture shifts from teaching people how to survive violence to ensuring people stop committing it, vigilance will remain the only shield available.

Cloth Worth Weaving

We brought our screaming demons to heel

Our human bonds illuminate our immortal shields

Our roots run deep in Appalachian dead

Earned by laughter,

tears,

and broken bread

The Fates have granted the brightest path left

Deeply, clearly woven, in waft and weft

Intricate dances of prismatic threads

Bedecked in a wardrobe from deep riverbeds

Created with magic from circles of trust

The sacred chalice untarnished by rust

The Living Altar of each human’s being

Covenant together a future farseeing

Confidential

For the first time in my adult life, I am wearing a tankini with a big fluffy skirt over it and my belly is hanging out. I didn’t go swimming, but I am wearing my swimsuit. At first, I was a little nervous, but then I trust myself in the confidence of a balding, middle-aged man who is talking about his Jesus and how women need to be submissive. And I’ve walked around town, not giving a fuck.

Born to Shine ✨
Inner Joy turned on high!

BTW: Today is my Bestie’s birthday. I’m celebrating her in all her wonder. She is so very human and so authentic to her spirit it would be the biggest challenge not to admire her.

Every bit as real in person

Estella-TAMP

Tragedy marked her life

Grief visited often for wine

Patience held her hand

History lived in deep companionship 

Her spirit permeated the room

With elegant; lady-like perfume.

Every greeting warmed fresh with loving heart, 

delivered with compassionate hands.

Adventure called her naivety which she answered joyfully.

Even if she glimpsed her rear view mirror,

Her vision always focused on the road in front of her.

With resilient strength she held her line as long as she could

Con todo mi corazón, me muevo con mayor suavidad gracias a Estella Gomez del Campo.

with my whole heart, I move more gently because of Estella Gomez del Campo

Witness

I will be your witness.

I, but a casual name to your kin,

will hold you truly and dearly,

cherish deeply the breaths

Between ideas, ideology, and emotions

That I have been honored to share with you.

With the reverence afforded a blessing

I will weep for the absence

of your knowledge

severed by inevitable occasion

Master to servant

Teacher to student

Friendship entertained

with portions communal

A time of Kairos inspected.

The right, critical, or opportune moment

To bring witness and testimony of you

To the level of intimacy you’ve granted.

I love you

I’m an Unitarian Universalist . My decision to fully support the values and vision of the faith have allowed me to explore wisdom from multiple perspectives, sources, beliefs, and experiences that I wouldn’t otherwise have come to comprehend, much less understand.

I found it necessary before I even knew about UU, to excavate my spirit from decades of teachings that told me I was not worthy of love, much less the love of God or a man, or another human for that matter.

Everything I relished or enjoyed was a punch-mark on my ticket to hell. I was convinced because I read a book about the rapture when I was in my early teens that told me exactly where I was headed.

I believed that for every sin I committed (or the heft of the sins committed against me) that I needed to make amends by attending the most churchy church I could find.

I threw myself into the world of a bake sale/ choir singing/ hands raised/ head bowed/ lunch with the pastor and his wife kind of church life.

My hands were busy, but my spirit was abandoned under the stairs. I sang loudest (not well either) but didn’t feel safe asking questions because that meant I doubted my faith, right?

Disillusioned by the God that never answered my prayers. The God who judged me for my father’s sins that never quite washed away during baptism. But instead replaced the S.A. at the hands of my father with the understanding that it was God’s will or that I was somehow was so irresistible that my purpose was solely to please others.

My voice got louder but I remained silent because it was MY job to protect others at all costs, even to my detriment. It was MY job to make daddy feel better after he fought with my mother. It was MY job to protect everyone but myself. I was well groomed and damned by default.

I concluded that there wasn’t a God at all. How could there be? And if there was, why would the horrors I witnessed even exist? Why did I exist? What purpose could that possibly serve?

Finding Unitarian Universalism quietly granted permission to ask big questions. It allowed me to have an eclectic understanding of love in every form throughout the rich history of my faith.

The main draw for me has been Love at the center. I learned to love myself because others showed me how. I learned to be vulnerable, ridiculous, compassionate, generous with time, and kind without ridicule or judgement from or for others.

My heart felt bursting with joy, love, and a peace that had been fleeting before. I brought my enthusiasm, my passions, my courage, and laughter. I brought welcomed willing hands. I found my people; I’d finally found my soul home.

I felt safe, comfortable, and finally living not just surviving. Sometimes I’d let myself into the sanctuary (perks of leadership in the church) and just sit in the quiet where my soul received comfort. I could feel what I felt but without shame. I felt love/d.

A catastrophic failure of healthy communication skills led to my removal from all positions of leadership which in turn caused my secession from my family and community.

Because of that, the trajectory that I’d been planning for, working towards, sacrificing things I loved for , went POOF! 💨

I am allowing myself space. I granted myself permission to exhibit my emotions when I feel them, not only in private. I’m allowing myself to be compassionate with myself, fiercely loyal to my peace, and to revel in the joy of not knowing everything.

Most importantly, I’m holding my people in my heart because my covenant remains steadfast to the UU values based on the Law of Love. My loyalty is given freely to those I’ve comforted, uplifted, broke bread with, cried with, created with, laughed with, celebrated, connected with and mourned beside. Love is always the answer. Love is always the right choice.

Being a Unitarian Universalist is the heart of my love. It is sacred and unwavering. Nobody has the power to erase me again for I am beloved.

Beyond the Veil

Beneath the willow’s weeping bough we stand,
Where shadows lengthen in the dying light,
Your memory carved deep within this land,
A beacon burning through eternal night.

Though death has claimed your mortal frame from me,
My heart remains forever bound to yours,
Like ancient oak roots drinking from the sea,
Our bond transcends these temporary shores.

The seasons turn, yet still I keep the flame
Of promises we whispered long ago,
No grave can hold the power of your name,
No winter wind can make my devotion slow.

In dreams you walk beside me through the years,
My loyalty flows deeper than these tears

Celebrate

The griefs are many

but find value in truth that:

Each breath

Each heartbeat 

Each moment celebrating

Each of those

Is a courtship of death.

By embracing 

THIS breath

THIS heartbeat 

THIS moment of joy

Is a nod of recognition 

To infinite mystery

Blazing celebration

Our age is known

By the buried bones

Of our bloodline

Reflected in chosen heritage

And the legacy of their love.

Survival Safety

It is safe to play with the darkness again.

To coax it out from underneath the basement stairs.

To enthrall the dust from the bone filled closet.

To embrace the shadow that lurks beneath pallet.

The darkness loves to cuddle with the little self

reassuring the little, that learning deep truth

creates a Tower, crumbling accommodated fears

Darkness births wisdom from soul insults and betrayal.

The little’s shadow begs grief for the heart song abducted

Begs sorrow for the wounds caused by caustic demolition

caused by atrocities witnessed, experienced, coerced

The Darkness beseeches with terrified shrieks

anxiously imploring for tenderness and compassion

among the surplus of debris once cherished

Sermon of lies

On the knees of submission 

Hard on the floor

The sin of omission 

A morality score

Prayer hands clasped tightly

Like folding chair pews

Hymns resound violently

Long-sleeved black and blue

Submit to your husband

Follow his lead

Open your thighs

to embrace his seed

If life springs forth

from your virgin womb

raised the red, white, and blue

over a gifted soldier’s tomb

If your life becomes sacrifice

respond to what you allow

remember your promise,

remember your vow

Obey all the rules

follow the commands

Do as your told

Do not give demands

You’re less than a fetus

but more than you should be

tone down your laments

while living hypocrisy