suburban women

Women, why can’t we be safe? Why can’t we walk outside at night without clutching a key through our fingers like a weapon, speed walking to get to the car fast, always trying to get an escort or a group of other people to walk with?

Why can’t we get into an elevator in a strange building and not immediately tense up when men get in with us? Why do we always have to look over our shoulders, carry pepper spray, share our locations with loved ones on our iPhones when we drive anywhere alone?

We do this because we could get hurt. Still. After all this time. Nothing has changed.

As children, most of us were taught to turn to the police for help. To call 911. To use all the programming on our smartphones and in our smart cars to make that call for help just one touch away. But what happens when your name is Sarah Everard?

If you aren’t familiar with her, Sarah Everard was a young British woman who lived in London. She did all the things you’re supposed to do as a woman walking alone at night in a big city, and yet she went missing. Days later her body was found and a London police officer was soon charged with her murder. The situation, which occurred a few weeks ago has ignited London in protests against violence against women and frustration that in modern cities, women still aren’t safe.

The parent in many of us and the concerned human being in all of us may have a knee-jerk reaction of “just stay at home and don’t go out anywhere if you are alone.” If you have young girls or women in your household, it’s tempting to extoll the virtues of an early curfew or stay-in nights. But it’s not practical, nor would that idea ever take root.

Because we aren’t living in the chivalrous days of long ago where women had protectors of both reputation and body. We are our protectors—of those same two things. But all the Take Back the Night Marches (that originated in the 1870s), haven’t changed this familiar story. A woman is out alone. A woman is found raped or beaten, and/or murdered. It happens in busy cities, on well-lit college campuses, in small towns, and pretty country roads. We all have stories—of people we know, or people we’ve heard of. Of we have the first-hand experience, running the gamut from harassment to outright crimes being committed against us. There isn’t a woman anywhere who doesn’t have a story to tell.

Is it simply bad luck?

What would it take to make it safe for women to be out, doing whatever it is they are out of their homes to do and to know they can make it home without fear?

A male friend of mine suggested that men need to have curfews. A nice idea, but in all fairness, perhaps all of us need them, and it doesn’t solve the problem of violence against women that still occurs in broad daylight.

Why do the sick men who commit these acts view the night hours as an open season and the women they see in the streets as objects to be hunted? Their psychology is one forensics experts and mental health professionals have studied for years. But there is no winning formula for keeping women safe that any of us can apply. We do our best—and that is all we can do. The rest, sadly, seems up in the air.

The solution isn’t entirely in more lightbulbs in parking lots, buddy walking services on college campuses, women evacuating the streets at dusk, or even in curfews for men. But I think strides can be made in ways we collectively have not done the best in thus far.

It starts with the birth of baby boys and takes off from there. Teaching little boys about respect, consent, protectiveness out of empathy and compassion, not dominance; helping them to understand from a young age that the safety of others—especially women—is part of their responsibility as good human beings. Females and those identifying as females should not have to fear men when they are out at night by themselves.

What would the world look like if more men were raised in such a way and continued to raise their sons in that fashion? What if society and the media advocated for treating each other with kindness and care, that in looking out for one another, especially the more vulnerable, we were contributing to something greater than ourselves? That sounds like something akin to utopia, doesn’t it?

We may not get there in our lifetime, but we can certainly do what we can now. Keep the conversation going. As males, think about things you might unknowingly do that positions you as a threat and change that. How can we see our allies better and how can they be of more help to us?

In the meantime, ladies—pay attention to your God-given instincts. Don’t second guess yourself. If something seems off, or if you have strange feelings about a situation, listen to them. Try to protect yourselves all the ways you possibly can. For now, it’s all we can do.

Photo by lucia on Unsplash

This post and additional exclusive content is available on my podcast The WiloPod on Spotify.

A few months before November’s election, the current and more importantly OUTGOING president, seemed to think the vote of the American suburban woman was easily in his tiny, tiny hands. I think it’s safe to say the image of the American suburban woman blissfully ensconced in his muddled brain was that of June Cleaver or Donna Reed. You know, right back there in the good old days of America when white people ruled supreme, segregation was A-OK! and women did what their men told them to do… in pearls. Kids also roamed around outside unsupervised from dawn till dusk and no one had to worry, but we’ll get to that another time.

Except for Dear Leader, the times have a-changed—and since the country’s greatest stable genius doesn’t believe in reading, he likely missed the memos over the last 60+ years. Women are not unequivocally in the hands of anyone—especially these suburban ladies that do indeed, determine elections.

The suburban woman of 2020 and now 2021, is educated (in more ways than just a university degree, but we do have a lot of those), she works inside and outside of the home often juggling side-hustles to her main gigs, she is married, single, straight, and gay. She is young, old, and in-between. She has biological children, children born of surrogates, and children born in her heart through adoption. This woman approaches faith on her own terms or doesn’t. She is a friend, a daughter, a sister, a wife, even a hermit. She is no June Cleaver for she comes in all shapes, sizes and COLORS. And she has a voice she isn’t afraid to use.

I was among many suburban women these past several months who found ways to get involved in Anti-Trump activism during a pandemic. That’s right: I wrote postcards! I started with 100 cards, hand-written no less, to swing voters in Wisconsin. When it became apparent Wisconsin had flipped blue, I had to wonder if my cards had anything to do with it. Ha Ha! Maybe they helped just a couple souls find their way to the polls to vote in favor of someone who cared that they had good schools and access to clean water (among so many other issues). Maybe they wondered who this strange woman with a weird name was and decided to humor her.

But when Georgia called run-off elections for this month, I was at it again. One hundred cards went to voters in the Peach State signed by some woman named Wilo asking them to help Jon Ossoff and Rev. Warnock do better for Georgia than what they had. And as of this writing, there are two blue senators heading to Washington. Did we do that? (Steve Urkel voice, please).

Let’s be honest about Georgia for a minute. There is one name that will go down in history as synonymous with the greatness that occurs when people of color and their allies show up and show out. Stacey Abrams. Take a moment, please. This woman. Oh, my goodness, THIS WOMAN.

This woman and millions of women inspired by her, have embraced activism in earnest in these past four years since Donald Trump backed his considerable caboose into the Oval Office. We’ve stormed the gates of Michaels (hard no to Hobby Lobby, thank you) in hot pursuit of poster boards and giant sharpies for our multiple protest signs. We’ve written the post cards, got involved in text and call-banking, wrote and called elected officials. And talked to our children (no small emphasis can be placed on that). You see, we’ve gone above and beyond kvetching on social media, folks.

And somewhere along the line others have listened, thought hard, and made some different choices than before. We’ve finally spoken out to our racist and sexist relatives, refusing to just smile politely to keep the peace. Voices that were previously silent, have been unleashed.

And some red states went blue with a Jamaican/Indian American WOMAN as vice-president.

There is obviously so much more work to be done, but it’s clear that big things happen when we women dig in and get involved. And on that note: To the Black queens who brought Biden to victory. THANK YOU!

So, for those still hell bent on returning America to its “golden days” of the 1950s, please go watch your reruns of Leave it to Beaver. Because that’s as close as you are ever going to get to that again.

Especially as long as we suburban women keep doing what we’re doing.

_{*Photo by Christina @ wocintechchat.com on Unsplash}

Tag: suburban women

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Oh, Ye of Little Faith…In the Power of the Suburban Woman