Somewhere along the way, somebody got bold enough to say it out loud:"That makes me uncomfortable." She said it gently at first.A whisper in the lock
Somewhere along the way, somebody got bold enough to say it out loud:
“That makes me uncomfortable.”
She said it gently at first.
A whisper in the locker room.
A pause in the team meeting.
A glance exchanged with a teammate who understood all too well.
And then came the backlash.
“You’re being difficult.”
“You’re not inclusive.”
“Maybe you’re just not evolved enough.”
No.
No, fellow human.
Privacy is not prejudice.
It is protection.
It is discernment.
It is wisdom earned the hard way.
When a woman says, “I need a moment alone,”
When a girl says, “That space doesn’t feel safe,”
When a Survivor says, “I need boundaries around my body,”
That is not fear. That is not hate. That is holy clarity.
Let me say this plain:
Empathy is not political.
It’s human.
And safety isn’t selfish.
It’s sacred.
You see, Survivors—we know what it’s like to be asked to swallow our instincts.
To apologize for the fire in our gut that screams: “Not safe!”
To smile through someone else’s comfort while we tremble in our own skin.
We know. We remember.
That’s why we speak now.
Why we speak boldly.
Because we know how it feels to be talked over, corrected, “educated” into silence.
But we ain’t asking for permission anymore.
Not when it comes to our bodies.
Not when it comes to our boundaries.
Not when it comes to the spaces where we undress, pray, cry, or come back to life.
Privacy is not a luxury.
It’s a life-saving measure.
It is a trauma-informed choice.
It is a right.
And no institution, no policy, no trend, no peer pressure, no catchy hashtag, no guilt-trip parade of “progress” has the authority to rob us of that.
To the women and girls who’ve ever second-guessed your discomfort—
To the ones who’ve been told that your boundaries are bigotry—
To the Survivors still wondering if you’re “the problem” for needing space:
Hear this.
You’re not cold.
You’re not cruel.
You’re not closed-minded.
You’re conscious.
You’re clear.
You’re courageous.
You’re reclaiming what was taken: your right to say no, without a footnote.
So say it.
Say it again.
Say it louder.
Say it even if your voice shakes:
“I deserve to feel safe. I have a right to privacy. My boundaries are not up for debate.”
Because in this world?
That kind of truth-telling is a radical act of self-love.
And you, beloved, are worth every measure of it.
🛡️ Companion Affirmations: Privacy Is Not Prejudice
My need for privacy is rooted in wisdom and care.
I set boundaries with love and clarity.
I share space, time, and truth on my terms.
The comfort of others will never come before my safety.
My personal space is not a public forum—it is sacred ground.
I reserve the right to protect what matters to me.
I choose where I feel safe, whole, and at peace.
I extend grace without giving away my guard.
My body, my spirit, my energy—each one deserves respectful distance.
I do not explain protection. I embody it.
I move with discernment, not defensiveness.
I walk away when peace requires it.
My boundaries are built with intention, not rejection.
I am not here to prove my humanity to those who question it.
I honor my right to pause, to decline, to step back.
I carry myself like sacred ground—and I treat myself accordingly.
I choose how close someone gets to my heart, my thoughts, my presence.
I create space that nourishes, not depletes.
I trust the part of me that says: This is close enough.
I remain kind. I remain strong. I remain free.
A little something extra for the journey…..
✨ Privacy Is Not Prejudice: Companion Affirmations
There’s no need to explain why I prefer peace. I simply do.
Some spaces must remain closed to protect what is still healing.
The way I protect myself is not unkind. It’s sacred.
Privacy is not a wall—it’s a doorway I choose when I need rest.
I can step back without shame. I can step away without guilt.
When I ask for space, I’m making room to breathe, not to judge.
I am not a fortress. But I am not a free-for-all either.
My stillness is not an invitation for intrusion.
Choosing not to engage is an act of wisdom, not rejection.
Boundaries can be soft. Boundaries can be strong. Either way, they stand.
Some people won’t understand the silence—and that’s okay.
I do not push people away. I place myself where I feel most whole.
Let no one confuse my discernment with disdain.
A quiet “no” can carry the strength of a thousand revolutions.
There is protection in discretion, and freedom in choosing what remains mine.
I release the need to prove my kindness through discomfort.
My body remembers what safety feels like. I honor her message.
Even if the world says I should open up—I’ll listen to the part of me that knows when not to.
Sometimes, the most radical thing I can do is simply walk away.
I choose quiet over chaos, solitude over surveillance, and soul over spectacle.
