mynamesearn

I think we as women should be picky. Like actually picky. I mean real picky. 

Why are we so scared of that now? Why does being picky feel like we’re asking for too much, like it’s a bad thing, like we’re gonna end up alone if we don’t settle? 

Why wouldn’t we want the best for ourselves? 

We do it for everyone else. We show up, we understand, we forgive, we give people chances they don’t even deserve. But when it comes to us? Suddenly we’re too much.

Suddenly we should “be realistic.” 

No. I’ll be picky. 

Because I don’t want to wake up one day next to a man who doesn’t know how to handle his emotions.

Someone who comes home angry from somewhere else and instead of dealing with it like a fucking human being, he takes it out on me.

I don’t want to live with someone who feels entitled to my body just because I’m there. I don’t want to find out one day that my husband is someone else’s rapist.

Or maybe he’s not the one doing it, but he’s friends with someone who is.

Because I feel like this is something we have to call out, not just avoid because “he’s my bro. How can you sit there and act normal knowing what that person did?

You still laugh with him? You still call him your boy? Knowing they put themselves in someone’s body without consent like it’s nothing?

I can’t stand that. I won’t stand that.

When you don’t speak up, you’re just as bad as them. You don’t have to be the one doing it to be part of it. If you’re there, witnessing it, knowing it, and still choosing to stay silent like it’s normal? That’s crazy to me.

In my mind, that’s not neutral. That says something about you.

And I’ve thought about this a lot, rape is one of the only things I genuinely cannot justify in any context. People can argue about violence, about survival, about self-defense.

But rape? There is no explanation that makes sense. There is no version of that story where it becomes okay. It’s a violation, full stop. 

That’s why I’ll be picky. And if that means I end up alone, then so be it. 

Because I don’t want to be with anyone who makes me feel gross about myself. I don’t want to ever go back to that feeling, where something is taken from you, and somehow you’re the one carrying the shame for it.

Waking up every day thinking maybe it was your fault. Maybe you allowed it. Maybe you should’ve known better.

I think getting raped in those subtle situations is one of the worst feelings. Because you can’t fully say it’s not your fault. You start thinking, I was there. I went to see him. Maybe that’s on me too.

That’s always the thought that comes up. And it happened more than once, I lost count. But now, after going through all of that mentally, I realize it was never my fault. They still had no right to do any of that.

And still… sometimes I think back to those moments. Even though it’s been years, I remember every detail.

I thought I would be fine by now. And I am, in a lot of ways. I don’t carry the same shame anymore.

But I’m still human. Sometimes I talk about it, or it just comes up in my mind, and it still makes me tear up. Not because I blame myself anymore but because I feel for her. I think about my younger self, and I cry for her.

Because she carried all of that alone for so long. Without anyone really seeing it.

Honestly, she deserves a medal for surviving that, not shame. It was never hers to carry. It was his, his insecurity, his ego, his fucked-up behavior, his fucked-up mind. It was never mine.

That’s exactly why I’ll be picky. Because I refuse to ever feel that way again. 

I want control over my own life. My body, my choices. And I want someone who respects that, supports that, not someone who slowly takes it away from me and calls it love.

People think I’m funny, light, easygoing and I am. But if you actually know me, you know I talk about sexual assault and rape a lot. And there’s a reason for that. 

Why wouldn’t we talk about it? 

It’s uncomfortable, yeah. It’s disturbing. But it’s also happening all the time. And the fact that people still treat it like a taboo topic instead of a real, everyday issue is exactly why it keeps happening. 

Some people have even started normalizing it in small ways, jokes, excuses, “it wasn’t that bad,” “he didn’t mean it like that.” 

No. That’s how it grows. 

Sometimes it’s not even aggressive in the way people expect. Sometimes it’s subtle. Confusing. You don’t even realize what happened until later. But that doesn’t make it any less real. 

And honestly? If you’re someone who makes excuses for rape, I don’t respect your opinion. At all. Because if you don’t understand consent, then what are we even talking about? 

It’s like saying, “Oh, it’s just a joke,” after doing something harmful. Okay then, by that logic, if I punch you and laugh, it’s fine, right? Everyone’s laughing. Nothing’s wrong.

See how stupid that sounds? That’s how you sound.

And honestly, from now on, I’m not staying quiet about it anymore. I’m ready to call it out every single time, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if it hurts me too.

Because some people really do need to be confronted with the reality of what they’re saying.

And don’t even get me started on grown men dating girls who are barely out of their teens. A 37-year-old man with a 20-year-old girl? That’s not romantic.

That’s not “she’s mature for her age.”

That’s a power imbalance. And people normalize it like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing. 

That man is not looking for an equal. He’s looking for control. He’s looking for someone easier to influence, easier to shape, easier to leave when she starts growing into herself. 

And we just… accept that? No. 

At some point, we have to stop pretending everything is fine just because it’s common. 

And then there’s this obsession with staying young forever. Looking young, dating younger, avoiding aging like it’s some kind of disease.

Why are we so scared of getting older? 

We’re not supposed to stay the same forever. That’s literally the most natural thing in the world, and somehow we treat it like a failure. 

We’re going to age. We’re going to change. We’re going to die. And maybe that’s not something to fear.

Maybe that’s the reason we should actually live. Because when you really understand that you don’t have forever, you stop waiting.

You stop settling. You stop choosing things that don’t feel right just because you’re scared of being alone. You start asking yourself 

What do I actually want? What feels safe? What feels like me? 

And maybe the point isn’t to have everything figured out. Maybe the point is to choose yourself, again and again, while you’re here. 

So yeah. I’ll be picky. With people. With love. With who gets access to me. Because I’d rather be alone than feel unsafe in my own life.