In recent months, cases of violence against women have once again occupied a place in the media. And every time this happens, we are surprised again by the degree of physical violence to which we are vulnerable simply because of who we are. It’s not about playing the victim, but about recognizing that there is a system that runs through us, is violent and, often, tries to silence us, without us even realizing it.
The striking cases, like Allane and Layse, waiters killed by the hands of someone who should have been a colleague, or the young Tainara, dragged by a car, shock and paralyze. We even avoid repeating details, because reliving it hurts. But we must not forget so that this does not happen again.
But there is something we talk about less: the violence that does not appear in the newspapers. This happens far from the cameras, the courts and the headlines. And when it doesn’t kill all at once, it kills little by little. Violence against women has cruel figures, but they are still very poorly counted. When we think of her, we think of femicide. And this must be said and fought for. But what about verbal abuse, which attempts to diminish us until we begin to believe? And the financial sector, which keeps so many women dependent, as if there was no life possible outside of a man’s pocket? And what about religious people, who use God as justification to put us below our ribs and our choices?
There are still those that we cannot always name: that relationship which is not good, but which we insist on because “it’s only a phase”, “God wanted it that way”, “every marriage has problems” or “at least it doesn’t hit me”. We naturalize ourselves so much that we start to think that we deserve it, that it’s normal or that it’s the price to pay for existing as a woman in the world.
And I refuse to call this “microviolence.” Microphone for who? For those who don’t live? For those who have never felt the weight of a cutting comment? Of an addiction that imprisons? Of a fear that remains silent? This violence is macro. It’s giant. It’s in everyday life. Lives in the gaps. And it often goes unnoticed, even by ourselves.
Writing about this subject is therefore an invitation to shed light. Illuminate what we experience and do not always name. See what we learn to swallow. Breaking with what they said was destiny, divine will, “a marriage matter”, “a woman’s affair”.
To give birth, here, is to give birth to consciousness. It’s allowing each of us to find a language for what hurts us, limits us, prevents us from existing fully. Because, when we name it, we remove the weight of silence. And when we remove the weight of silence, we open the way for others.
May the sanctions for cases of physical violence be firm, urgent and exemplary. But let’s not forget that the violence experienced on a daily basis, which almost never makes the news, also needs to be seen, said, treated and transformed.
That’s what giving birth is: lighting the beacon from within. Name what is going through us. And, from there, let’s build paths together where none of us need to live in invisibility, darkness and forced silence, disguised as shyness.
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