There’s a moment when you read something and your body knows before your brain catches up.
Your stomach drops. Your jaw tightens. You scroll past it because you have to get through the day. You make dinner. You answer emails. You pretend you didn’t just absorb something that should have stopped the world.
But it didn’t stop. And neither did you.
Because that’s what we do now. We metabolize the unthinkable between meetings.
The Headlines We’re Expected to Scroll Past
Gisèle Pelicot. A woman drugged by her own husband for nearly a decade so he could invite strangers to rape her unconscious body. Over 70 men. She had no idea until police discovered the evidence on his computer during an unrelated investigation.
She chose to waive her anonymity. She chose to make the trial public. She chose to let the world see exactly what was done to her - not for herself, but so other women would know they’re not alone.
And we read about it. And then we checked our email.
Virginia Giuffre. The files. The names we’re finally seeing attached to acts we always suspected but couldn’t prove.
Children. Exposed. Trafficked. Passed around by people with enough power to make it disappear for decades.
And it’s coming out now. Piece by piece. Name by name.
And we’re supposed to just... keep going?
The Desensitization Is the Point
What’s fucked: we’re not shocked anymore.
We should be. Every single one of these revelations should stop us cold. Should have us in the streets. Should make normal life feel impossible.
But we’ve been trained to absorb. To scroll. To compartmentalize. To file it under “that’s awful” and move on to the next thing.
That’s not resilience. That’s a survival mechanism we developed because the alternative - actually sitting with the weight of what’s been done to women and girls - would make functioning impossible.
And maybe that’s by design.
Because if we ever stopped long enough to truly feel the collective rage of half the population? If we stopped minimizing, stopped rationalizing, stopped pretending this is just “how things are”?
The systems that enabled all of this wouldn’t survive it.
Half the Population
Let that sink in for a second.
50.4% vs 49.6%. We are half the world’s population.
And yet, we still think about what we’re wearing when we go out at night. We still share our location with friends. We still hold our keys between our fingers.
We still watch men in power assault, traffic, drug, rape - and face no consequences. Or minimal consequences. Or consequences so delayed that the damage is generational.
We still read the files and then decide what’s for dinner.
How is any of this okay?
It isn’t. And if you’ve been feeling like you’re going crazy because everyone around you seems to be functioning normally while you’re quietly screaming inside - you’re not crazy.
You’re awake.
Permission to Not Be Okay
So here’s your permission slip, if you need one:
You don’t have to be okay with any of this.
You don’t have to perform calm. You don’t have to “stay positive.” You don’t have to protect anyone’s comfort by pretending the world isn’t on fire.
You’re allowed to be angry. Deeply, viscerally, inconveniently angry.
You’re allowed to not know what to do with that anger yet.
You’re allowed to feel grief for the victims and survivors.
You’re allowed to sit with it instead of scrolling past it.
And you’re allowed to ask the question that’s been building in your chest:
What the fuck are we going to do about this?
...And maybe that’s the first thing worth sitting with: we’ve been asked to absorb the unabsorbable and keep moving. To read the files and then check our inbox. To learn what was done and then decide what’s for dinner.
That’s not strength. That’s survival mode.
The question is: what happens when we stop pretending that’s okay?
And the harder question: why do we keep protecting systems that were never designed to protect us?
Share if this hit. Comment if you’re in it too. Check out Part 2.