The Visitor
Knock, Knock...
The truth remains that, as a woman—no matter your education, your wealth or want, your faith, your humility, your perseverance, your defiance, your brilliance of mind or depth of feeling—there will come a time when misogyny knocks at your door. And you will rise to defend your dignity. For no matter how wide you open your home, no matter how generous your welcome, no matter how much dissonance you are willing to cradle in your chest to make room for this guest, it will never be enough.
One day you will understand: it never came bearing the arm of friendship, nor the cloak of protection, as you were taught to believe. It came only to conquer—again and again—until not only is your offering exhausted, but your very self eroded. And even in that hollowing, you will be asked to carry its creed to your children, and to stand against the women who dared bolt the door against it.
Some women will hear the knock and refuse to turn the latch. Some will let it cross the threshold, and then—through the ache of recognition and the fire of defiance—will drive it back out again. Some will surrender, handing it the keys in silence. But the most forsaken are those who first opened their eyes to find this visitor already enthroned at birth, knowing nothing but its presence. For them, the choice is cruel: to abandon the comfort of “home” in order to forge another, or to surrender to the lie that this, as it is, was ever meant to be.