Adena M'lynn's Voice

For the men who say they love women.  by Adena M’lynn   You say you love women— like a hunter loves the mounted deer head. Like a landlord loves the rent check. Like a shepherd loves a flock that never wanders too far. You say you respect women— but only when they know their place, when they nod without volume, when they bleed without asking for towels or rights. You say you were raised right— to open doors, to pay for dinner, to lead the prayer while she stays quiet with her eyes lowered like the second coming of shame. But let me ask you this, What is love if it only blooms when you’re in control? What is respect if it evaporates the moment she disagrees? You loved her voice until she used it. You say women are sacred— but your idea of sacred comes with conditions: legs crossed, lips sealed, loyalty to your ego above her soul. And God help her if she has a boundary you didn’t approve in advance. You keep calling women “queens”  but treat them like unpaid maids  in ...

Before she even understands her anatomy, she  understands its power. Not as freedom—but as leverage. From an early age, many girls are taught that their bodies are not truly theirs. Long before they can name their parts, they know how the world reacts to them. Not with reverence—but with entitlement. With evaluation. With control. She learns that her body can be a tool. A trade. A weapon. A game. She picks it up subtly at first—in how grown men look too long, in how adults scold her for being “too grown” rather than asking why someone was looking. She notices how beauty is praised, while boundary-setting is labeled rude. She learns that a soft voice gets her further than a strong one, and that modesty i sn’t about dignity—it’s about safety. She watches as the women around her navigate the same system. Some play the game well, using their looks to gain access, affection, or approval. Others lose for refusing to play at all. The lesson sticks, her worth will be measured not by who sh...