I wish loving men was easier.

How it feels trying your best to keep your heart open in dangerous company.

Trigger warning: sexual assault

Right now, the world is dealing with some of the most disturbingly evil and abusive information we’ve ever seen or heard. This knowledge isn’t necessarily new for some of us. But this doesn’t take away from the fact that awful things happened, and hundreds of women’s lives have been affected forever.

It seems like we’re all waiting for something to happen. For these people to be held accountable and pay for their actions. And for a structure and society to be destroyed and rebuilt in a way that respects and protects everyone. It’s a huge ask. And I often wonder if it’s possible.

This isn’t me shitting on the progress we’ve seen in attitudes towards women and our rights. But things aren’t good. In fact, they’re getting worse – especially if you live as a marginalised woman. A system created by and for rich, white men isn’t going to be dismantled by them. And so, as with all revolutions, the responsibility falls to us – the people. The ones who read the headlines and spend the rest of their day dissociating. The ones who’ve dared to challenge the hierarchies and expectations they were born into. The ones whose declaration of “enough is enough” sounded long ago.

Again, it’s a huge ask. And it’ll require a monumental shift in the collective. But that’s not impossible. We’ve done it before. Maybe, right now, I’m more pessimistic than usual.

Let me explain why…

I was lucky enough to spend the first month of 2026 backpacking around Mexico. A wild series of events granted me a delicious taste of freedom I’d craved for so long. I couldn’t believe I was finally going to travel far away, all by myself.

Safety had crossed my mind while I planned my trip. Of course. I am a woman, after all. Our safety is never an afterthought. Countless Reddit threads and YouTube videos gave tips here and there. One post I read (stupidly, late at night) made my heart pound and sent nervous tingles down my toes. “What have I done? How am I going to protect myself?”

The lessons from other women’s stories are important and invaluable. But, in this instance, feeding my fear machine did more harm than good. I calmed down and thought about the chances of something happening, and convinced myself I’d be alright. It worked. But do we ever fully believe it?

Unfortunately, this is the disturbing reality of being a woman. You read about horrendous things happening to other women. And you know it could be you, because it’s already been you in some way or another.

That being said, I wasn’t going to let fear stop me. Bad things can and do happen everywhere and anywhere. A city in Mexico is no different to London, in my opinion. And why should our lives constantly be overshadowed by the threat of a man?

So, I went. I kept my mind and heart open and experienced the beauty, warmth, and magic of Mexico. And I had an amazing time. But, out of everything that could’ve gone wrong, the things that did were caused by a man.

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The guy who told me how much he’d masturbated over me after I told him our conversation was only friendly. I also told him I have a partner, but when has that ever stopped a man?

The guy who (amongst many other infuriating things) insisted he wants women and men to be equals, but how much he hates these “activist, feminist bitches who go to protests and are just trying to be men”. I’ve never been in a physical fight, but I came close that night.

The guy who started furiously masturbating over my friend and me as we hung out on a nudist beach.

The guy who forced my hand onto his dick and his onto my pussy while we were in the ocean. It doesn’t matter if I’d kissed him earlier in the night; I didn’t ask for that.

These men came from various places around the world, and they all behaved in the same way. The connection? A society and system that enables, protects and applauds men doing and taking whatever they want.

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Despite all of this, and with a slight tinge of unease, I admit – I love men. I’m in a relationship with a cis man, and I love the men in my circles. I don’t believe in hating men or wishing them dead, and I don’t want a world without them. But I completely understand why some women do.

For the most part, I live in a bubble. My male friends share similar, if not the same, values, political views and morals as I do. They treat women with respect and as equals – sometimes, as superior to them. And they thoroughly understand consent and wouldn’t dream of inflicting the type of harm I’ve endured. It’s a great bubble, and I wish it were the norm.

So, when this bubble bursts, it’s jarring and hard and sticky and uncomfortable and infuriating. And when I notice these feelings following me around like a second shadow, knowing the perpetrator walks unchanged, my blood boils. My joints feel like they’re melting. And, in that moment, I wish I could grow twenty feet tall and transform into a snarling, feral beast, baring my teeth, snatching and beheading these men in a fury-fuelled frenzy. I wish I could violate their vessel, punch a hole through their ribcage and torture their heart, the same way they’ve tortured mine.

But then I realise that would make me just as bad as them. And I’d never want to violate someone in that way. It’s a power no one should have access to.

See, I want to let men in – in various ways. But the boundary crossing, the lying, the looks, the grabbing, the comments, the objectifying – it’s wearing me down. It’s wearing us all down. This white supremacist, patriarchal system we live in, and the men who choose not to examine or adjust their behaviour, are driving us further and further apart. How can we love something that hates us?

Those of us attracted to cis-het men are spending an increasing amount of time cursing this desire. I get it, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I don’t want to curse any of my desires. I don’t want to put a leash on my pleasure because men don’t know how to ask before they touch. But my patience is running out, and my wall is growing higher.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Writing helps to process. And, sadly, I know the experiences and frustrations mentioned aren’t unique.

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This piece doesn’t come with a resolution. I believe we, as women, have done more than our fair share of talking, sharing and pleading. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been said. It’s down to men to listen, reflect, and change.

Hopefully, there’ll still be some of us left with love in our hearts when the dust settles.