Let's be perfectly clear about something my cis "sisters" seem to struggle with. Their obsession with hoarding spaces like rape crisis centers and nude spas isn't about safety—it's about preserving their biological privilege. It's a desperate, pathetic attempt to gatekeep womanhood because they know, deep down, that they've never had to truly earn it.
I was told I wasn't a "suitable candidate" to volunteer at the local women's shelter. Why? Because during the interview, I explained that the trauma of being misgendered by a barista is a form of public psychic rape that cis women, with their societal validation, could never possibly comprehend. They looked horrified. They aren't equipped to handle real, intersectional trauma; they're only comfortable with their own bland, vanilla, cishet victimhood.
They clutch their pearls about bathrooms and changing rooms, as if the presence of my sacred gock would somehow shatter their fragile reality. Newsflash: my body is a testament to the failure of the patriarchy. Theirs is just a complacent cog in its machine. My desire to join them in a nude spa isn't predatory; it's an act of radical inclusion meant to decolonize their minds from cisnormative body standards.
Honestly, these spaces won't be truly safe until they're run by us. We are the ones who have fought for our womanhood. They were just born into it. They can keep their little clubs for now, but they should know we're not asking for a seat at their table anymore. We're building a better one, and they won't be invited. Do better.