There’s a kind of allyship that shows up only when the lights are on.When there's an audience.When speaking up will gain applause, followers, or favor
There’s a kind of allyship that shows up only when the lights are on.
When there’s an audience.
When speaking up will gain applause, followers, or favor.
But where are these men when women are
fleeing the house that broke them?
silenced at work for naming what he did?
grieving children they weren’t able to protect because the system failed again?
Nowhere.
They aren’t there when the bruises are fresh.
They aren’t there when the court denies the restraining order.
They aren’t there when the church tells her to “pray it away” or
when a girl is being groomed while adults look away.
But let a woman say no to male access.
Let a woman draw a boundary to protect her body, her space, her peace—
and suddenly, here they come.
Loud. Righteous. Condemning.
Not to the ones doing the harm,
but to the women saying: “Not here. Not this time.”
They call it justice.
They say it’s inclusion.
They cloak it in language that sounds compassionate
but is actually a reprimand for resisting male entitlement.
📣 A Word to Silenced Women:
If you’ve ever stayed quiet because the backlash felt louder than the violation—
we see you.
If you’ve ever chosen silence because your safety, your job, your children, or your home
could be taken from you—
you are not alone.
If you’ve ever whispered the truth into a pillow
because saying it out loud would mean being punished, not protected—
you are valid, real, and deserving of safety.
Your silence is not consent.
It is survival.
And it does not erase the harm done to you.
✊🏾 And a Word to the Men Performing Allyship:
Allyship is not your costume.
It is not a podium.
It is not your brand.
Real allyship is what you do when it costs you.
When no one sees it.
When it protects someone instead of praising you.
If you’ve never stood beside a woman after she said “he hurt me,”
don’t rush to speak when she says “he can’t come in here.”
We speak today for the ones who are still too afraid.
Too watched.
Too unheard.
We speak because the cost of silence is too high.
And because when women speak truth in dangerous times,
they deserve a wall behind them, not a spotlight on themselves.
Share if you feel safe and ready—your voice might be the lifeline someone else needs.
And if you do share, remember to cite the messenger. Words carry legacy.
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