How Society Teaches Girls to Be Silent

His phone screen lit up with the image of him in bed, wrapped around a naked woman. I watched as panic briefly flickered across his face before he drowned it with a long sip of beer.

I kept my mouth shut.

A parent once called me a "pathetic excuse for a coach" and took pleasure in reducing me to smallness. He seemed to revel in his power over a young teacher without support. Would he had done the same if I were a male coach?

I lowered my eyes.

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it seem, hun. If you hire a lawyer, you’ll lose,” I was told.

I never sent the paper trail of evidence.

These moments haunt me at night. Why didn’t I say something? Why didn’t I lash out with the venomous retort they deserved?

When did I learn that my voice was meant to be silenced, tucked away in the confines of a pink diary?

I don’t recall my parents or teachers sitting me down and saying, “Girls should stay quiet,” but the lesson was learned all the same.

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A woman’s silence is absorbed through the things not spoken. It seeps into our bones as we witness the treatment of women who dare to speak their minds. We see women in politics demand the spotlight, only to be called attention whores, man-haters, shrill, or bitchy. We don’t want those labels stuck to our backs, so we stay polite. We stay small. It’s safer than being mocked.

We tell our daughters their voices matter, but we cut them off when they try to explain what they need. We watch our mothers get interrupted at the dinner table, their thoughts slipping out the back door, unnoticed.

Our brothers discuss politics, their voices loud and impassioned, while we nod quietly, keeping the peace. When boys in the classroom act out, they’re called “hyper” and “energetic.” When girls do the same, they’re labeled “bossy,” “high maintenance,” or “condescending.”

The messages are subtle, but they’re absorbed deeply. How do we unlearn the silence that has been conditioned into us since the day we were wrapped in pink blankets? The same silence that our grandmothers carried in their pockets and our mothers swallowed with their morning coffee?

We unlearn through practice. Through trial, error, and repetition. Through communication, patience, and, above all, determination.

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It's womxn’s work.

That’s the mantra I repeat to myself every time I return home for the holidays and find myself slipping back into the old roles of my childhood. I’m the princess, there to keep the peace while the boys talk over each other. I neutralize opposition. I make sure everyone is comfortable.

It’s easier to let things go, but I’ve learned that letting things go is what allows these cycles of silence to continue.

We can break those cycles.

We can look to the trailblazers, the women who dared to speak even when the world tried to silence them. We can learn from their courage and stand on their shoulders, amplifying our voices.

One of these trailblazers is Deepa Narayan, an international advisor on poverty, gender, and development. In her TED Talk, Narayan describes the dangerous effects of muting women across the globe.

She explains:

“Every habit is a learned habit, so we can unlearn them and this personal change is extremely important...But this doesn’t change the system that crushes millions of other women. So we have to go to the roots. We must change what it means to be a good woman and a good man, because this is a foundation of every society. We don’t need elastic women, we need elastic definitions, for men too, and this big societal change cannot happen without men’s involvement.” (“7 Beliefs that Can Silence Women—and How to Unlearn Them”)

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Change is slow and often messy. It’s in the small shifts of the mind. It’s in the brave comment at Thanksgiving dinner. It’s in trying again and again until someone finally hears you.

We need to teach girls that if they’re interrupted mid-thought, it’s not only okay but necessary to reclaim their voice. More than okay—it’s vital.

However, this responsibility doesn’t fall on men to simply let women speak, nor on women to demand attention at every opportunity. The responsibility falls on all of us, as a community. If someone criticizes a woman for speaking her mind, we should challenge that criticism. Ask why it bothers them. If we praise male leaders for being outspoken, confident, and assertive, but call female leaders “unlikeable” or “rude,” we need to stop and question the roots of our thinking.

If we believe in equality, we must examine the subliminal messages we send when we stay silent, when we interrupt, when we let things slide.

It’s time to burn the idea that loud women are distasteful or disgraceful. As Kamala Harris famously said, “I’m speaking,” during the Vice Presidential debate. As Emma González demanded when she stood in front of a nation grieving yet another high school shooting, holding the country accountable for its inaction.

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At age 29, I’m still finding my strong voice, and I’ll keep trying, even when I fail. I still sometimes laugh at jokes that aren’t funny to avoid making a man uncomfortable. I still miss the moment to call out a sexist comment.

But I try again. I rehearse my words so that next time, I’ll be ready to respond with grounded truth instead of forced giggles.

Because it’s not just about my voice—it’s about all of our voices, rising together against the systems that have silenced us for generations.

The time for quiet is over.

It’s time to speak—loudly, boldly, and unapologetically.