‘I WANT MY DAUGHTERS TO RUN IN THE DARK’
By Amy Molloy
I’ve recently started running in the dark, right on the brink of sunrise. No, this isn’t a smug article about my new workout regime; it’s a conversation about emotional and physical safety.
Last week, I had a debate with my husband about running in the dark as a man versus a woman.
At 5am, my husband runs down to a quarry that is 10 minutes from our front door; an old, open-cut mine that backs onto the ocean. On either side of the track is sky-high cliffs and, once you enter the quarry, there isn’t really an exit until you double back on yourself.
He asked me why I don’t run there. In the dark. At 5.30am. On my own. He couldn’t really understand, why I wouldn’t take this running route. The only advice he gave me was, “Just bring a headlamp”.
In many ways, I love my husband’s confidence in my capabilities. He has never thought me less capable because of my gender or my stature. When I was heavily pregnant, we’d climb mountains. It never crossed his mind to wrap me in cotton wool or to question our unborn child’s safety.
He is a man. A white man. A tall man. He was raised in an upper-class neighbourhood. Feeling unsafe just going about your day hasn’t really occurred to him.
But it has occurred to me…
ARE WE ALL JUST CHASING SAFETY?
Of course, this is where we have to say: women can also hurt women. And men are also in danger of being hurt themselves.
The World Health Organisation, however, has called violence against women—particularly intimate partner violence and sexual violence—a major public health problem.
It permeates our culture. It impacts the way we raise girls to take the responsibility for protecting themselves. We are the problem. Even if we’re not told it, we subconsciously own it.
When I lived in the UK, 15 years ago, there was a spate of attacks on female joggers. In my running club, it was drummed into the female community: don’t wear headphones when you’re jogging, don’t run the same running route, run in a group if you can.
When I Googled, ‘advice for female joggers today,’ the narrative hasn’t changed. As this website, advises:
‘Don't wilfully put yourself in situations where the deck is stacked against you.’
The problem is this fear—our self-protecting mentality—bleeds beyond the way we exercise. It has, and does, create a generation of female-identifying people who feel scared. ALL THE TIME. And would do anything not to let their guard down.
FEELING SAFE IN YOUR BODY
After a lifetime in eating disorder recovery, I had an ‘aha moment’ during the pandemic. ‘I don’t feel safe in my own body.’
Oh, I’d tried my best to take control. I’d spent a decade restricting my food intake and pushing myself through exercise. I’d run countless marathons. I’d starved myself and purged myself. I’d had a lot of sex. I’d proved I could hold my own in the bedroom.
But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that my body is a threat to me; that if I leave it to its own devices, it could go rogue and put myself, and everyone around, me in danger.
In the past (and I am making progress), I have felt terrified of my untamed body. I have channelled all my feelings of un-safety into controlling it, rather than facing the collective fear of the world around me — and how risky it feels to be a woman.
What I’m learning to do, through therapy and outside it, is gently rewire my brain to see my body as my safe space (my safest space, if I’m honest). To be able to turn towards my body for a feeling of stability and comfort; to use my body to soothe myself, rather than seeing my body as a burden.
And that is my invitation to you, too…
SMALL ACTS OF TRUST
Now, the answer to all this is not to take unnecessary risks. I’m still not going running down that dark quarry. But I also refuse to hide myself or shrink myself (emotionally or physically) any longer.
As a journalist, this means writing about the topics I really care about (regardless of any potential backlash). In my relationship, this means exploring sensuality rather than just sexuality (a far more vulnerable concept). With my children, this means opening my heart to love them deeply with no protective barrier between us.
On a practical level, it means leaving my laptop on a café table when I go to the toilet. A small act of strategic trust in a world that can feel out to get us.
To feel safe in a world that wants us to feel unsafe is an act of rebellion, and I’m here for it.
Last night, as we drove home from a movie, my oldest two children fell asleep in the car. This left me, driving, and my husband and four-year-daughter awake, singing.
They started singing a duet of the song At All Costs from the Disney movie, Wish. The chorus goes like this:
And promise as one does
I, I will protect you at all costs
Keep you safe here in my arms
I, I will protect you at all costs
At all costs
My husband, who was a little tipsy from a few beers in the sunshine, was looking back at my daughter with a look of total adoration. It was she—this spirited little four-year-old—who was telling him: ‘I will protect you.’
And I could see him falling more in love in that moment.
All of us are chasing safety. The women who don’t want to feel at risk. The men who want to feel loved. Both constantly wanting to be seen for who we are but also scared that, if we are seen, it will make us vulnerable.
I hope I can raise my daughters to manoeuvre through the world with their eyes open and their hearts open, to acknowledge the risk they face as a woman, but to not become their own enemy.
THE WOMAN BEHIND THE WORDS
Amy Molloy is an award-winning journalist and book editor, and the author of Wise Child: A Practical Guide to Raising Kids with Sensitive Hearts and Smart Souls in a World They Were Reborn to Save. Connect with her @amy_molloy.
MUSE PAPER
ISSUE 06