My partner and I often find ourselves in heated discussions on this topic. I tend to envision the worst-case scenarios and prepare for them, while he advocates for giving others the benefit of the doubt. He believes that the likelihood of something terrible happening is minimal—he might even pull out some random statistics claiming that you’re more likely to be struck by lightning than for a child to be kidnapped. Supposedly, the odds are around 1 in 300,000 for a child abduction, not including custody disputes.
But here’s the thing: I have three daughters. Am I supposed to just shrug it off? Absolutely not. I won’t let my 6-year-old run to the car alone to grab my wallet, even if it’s “just for a second.” I understand that most people are good, but I refuse to risk my child’s safety. I acknowledge that no amount of preparation guarantees protection, but that won’t stop me from trying.
So why should I encourage my daughters to trust men without question? I know this is a provocative stance, and it might not reflect a progressive viewpoint. After all, isn’t that how we foster mistrust towards men? But I’ve given this a lot of thought. As a child, I was taught a playful saying by my mother: “What do I always tell you about men?” and in my innocent voice, I would respond, “All men are pigs, all they want is sex.” It drew laughter, but in my twenties, I began to resent that stereotype. I recognized that men are individuals, and it’s troubling to generalize them negatively.
However, I’m not willing to overlook the grim statistics. The reality is, one in six women will face sexual assault in their lifetime—far more alarming than that 1 in 300,000 figure. I don’t want my daughters to live in fear or shy away from meaningful connections with men, but I also don’t want them to blindly trust. This discernment could potentially shield them from harm.
If a well-meaning man feels offended by my caution, I honestly don’t care. The responsibility lies not with me, but with the very real issue of sexual assault. If we want to change how I, and other mothers, raise our children to navigate interactions with men, we need to address the root problem—sexual assault itself. We need to teach kids about consent, ensure they understand the impact of such violations, and advocate for stricter consequences for offenders. When we witness inappropriate behavior and remain silent, we allow that line to be pushed further, normalizing unacceptable actions.
I am committed to educating my children about consent and empowering them to say no. My goal is for them to recognize and reject rape culture when they encounter it. I will discuss these issues openly, regardless of discomfort.
To the good men who take offense at my stance: What are you doing to change the narrative?
(P.S. Simply stating “I’m not part of rape culture” doesn’t earn you any accolades. Not participating in harm should be the standard, not a badge of honor.)
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In summary, while not all men are predators, it’s essential to equip our daughters with the knowledge and tools to navigate their interactions with men wisely. We must focus on fostering understanding around consent and the importance of cautious trust, all while addressing the broader societal issues that contribute to such fears.