Tag: writing

After the Headlines Disappear

What happens to the people behind the headlines after the headlines themselves fade away?

Last weekend I read a background story on the BBC app about a mother whose son had been stabbed to death. The article was published in the wake of a report on the rising number of teenagers in Britain carrying knives and the alarming increase in stabbings among young people. In response to her loss, she created a space where children can gather, play games, and leave behind their phones—and the hostility of the outside world. It was a story that offered a spark of hope amid the shocking realities of teenage life.

But mostly, stories are not followed up. Even this article was written because of a headline, not as a continuation of the story. I often wonder what is happening now, after the headlines have disappeared. What is the current situation in Sudan? Are governments truly following through on promises to combat femicide? Are the inhabitants of the Amazon still losing their battle against “progress”—progress demanded in the name of economic growth? How are the families of those slain coping? And what of the baby penguins I once saw in a documentary—are they still alive, or have the effects of global warming already claimed them?

We live in a world where crises unfold daily. News agencies deliver information, but it is often diluted, packaged into bite-sized morsels for easy consumption. Once digested, the public is fed a new flavor the next day, lest attention waver and audiences drift elsewhere.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one who thinks about these things. When I ask friends if they know how certain stories have developed, I am often met with blank stares or vague recollections: “Oh yes, I remember that—it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

Is the world simply too much for us to take on? Are we programming ourselves to delete not only information but also curiosity and empathy, because we lack the space to hold on to past events? Have we become addicted to the shock and awe of novelty, riding the adrenaline of fresh headlines, moving as a collective from one high to the next?

Psychology offers explanations. Cognitive Load Theory, developed by John Sweller, describes how our working memory is limited in capacity. When overwhelmed by too much information, we struggle to retain it in long-term memory. In the context of news, the sheer volume of daily crises makes it difficult to hold on to older stories. (https://practicalpie.com/cognitive-load-theory/) Meanwhile, Habituation—a basic form of learning—explains how repeated exposure to a stimulus diminishes our response. Applied to news, this means that as a story is repeated, our emotional and behavioral reactions weaken, reducing urgency and making it easier to forget.(https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-habituation-2795233)

In our age of rapid news cycles, this collective forgetting is almost inevitable. Highly emotional events may linger briefly, but each new crisis lessens the impact of the last.

And yet, forgetting does not absolve us. The inhabitants of the Amazon still face displacement from hydropower projects. More than 150,000 people have died in Sudan, with 12 million forced from their homes—the UN calls it the world’s largest humanitarian crisis. Families of victims continue to live with their grief long after the headlines fade.

Perhaps the challenge is not to remember everything, but to resist the pull of forgetting. If we take a step back and reflect on the news that has passed in recent months, we remind ourselves that while headlines are fleeting, the lives they represent are not. Atrocities remain, and attention is still needed.

We cannot save the entire world, but we can choose not to forget. By practicing sustained attention—by asking what happened next?—we honor the humanity behind the headlines. In doing so, we make space for empathy, and perhaps, for change.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

18 November 2025

current affairs, empathy, history, life, mental-health, news, philosophy, society, writing
A Season for Words

You know summer’s truly over when the rain begins — and doesn’t let up. Not a passing drizzle, but the kind that settles in, soaking the streets and dimming the sky for days on end. That’s when I feel the shift: not just in weather, but in mood, in energy, in the way my body moves through the world.

Autumn, for many, is a season of comfort. Fires lit. Wool sweaters pulled from the back of the closet. The slow build toward Christmas, then the hopeful pause of New Year’s Day. I understand the appeal — truly. But for me, those brief flickers of joy are swallowed by the long stretch of cold months that follow. I’m simply not built for sleet and snow, for the damp that clings to everything, including my bones.

Fatigue deepens. Sunshine becomes a memory. And yet — something else stirs.

Writing returns to me in the rain.

In summer, I’m pulled outward. The garden calls, the sun insists, and I answer. I bask, I breathe, I forget the discipline that writing demands. Inspiration scatters like pollen in the wind. But when the skies darken and the chill sets in, I retreat. Indoors. Inward. Back to the quiet companionship of my computer — a relationship that, despite everything, brings me joy.

There’s something about the rhythm of rain on the windows, the hush of grey mornings, that makes space for words. I write more. I write better. I write with a kind of honesty that only autumn seems to allow.

So here’s to the season of stillness. Of stories. Of showing up at the page, even when the world feels heavy.

This autumn I’ll be writing more often — both here on rosieglobal.com and on my newer blog, theunseenme.com, where I explore the realities of invisible disabilities. It’s a space I’ve long wanted to create: honest, reflective, and rooted in lived experience.

And if all goes well, I’ll be stretching even further — toward something that feels both thrilling and terrifying: writing a book. I don’t know if I’ll manage it, but I do know I want to try.

So thank you for being here. I hope these words offer you warmth, recognition, or simply a moment of quiet. Let’s see where this season takes us.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

27 October 2025

autumn, current affairs, health, life, mental-health, seasons, society, writing
Disconnected: A Reflection on Empathy, Ethics, and the World We’re Becoming

As a child, I struggled to understand how adults could be so out of touch with the latest music hits, fashion trends, or the evolving societal landscape. I vowed never to become like them, those older individuals seemingly disconnected from reality.

Now, by my childhood definition, I am one of those older people. I find myself unfamiliar with most of the artists in the top 20 music charts, and I honestly cannot even put a name to an influencer. In my defense, I do make an effort to stay informed about fashion trends, although many are simply not suitable for someone my age. I have to admit: I’ve lost touch with certain aspects of modern culture.

What I find most disconcerting, however, is the sense that humankind has lost touch with itself and the world around us. I’m not just speaking of music or fashion, but rather the fundamental connections we share with other people, with nature, and with the ethical standards that distinguish us from other species.

Since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, the world has shifted dramatically. The virus has caused millions of deaths globally—over 6.9 million confirmed as of October 2023—along with widespread indirect impacts, including mental health crises. Reports indicate that the prevalence of depression and anxiety disorders has skyrocketed during and after the pandemic, with studies from the World Health Organization showing a 25% increase in anxiety and depression worldwide. Moreover, the incidence of autoimmune diseases has risen substantially, reflecting the complex interplay between stress, immunity, and physical health.

We’re witnessing war in Europe, genocide in Israel, and the rise of extreme political and societal divisions. Our planet’s environment is deteriorating, with the World Wildlife Fund estimating that nearly 1 million species are at risk of extinction due to habitat loss, climate change, and pollution. The frequency and intensity of natural disasters, from hurricanes to wildfires, continue to escalate as climate change progresses- the UN reporting that climate-related disasters have increased fivefold over the past 50 years.

What we once considered ethical conduct, whether in politics, the workplace, or interpersonal relationships, has been tested and, frankly, has often failed. Social media has become a treacherous landscape, rife with misinformation, fake imagery, and polarizing narratives. The once free-spirited Western world seems to be succumbing to a climate of fear that stifles self-expression and meaningful dialogue about the issues that shape our lives. Instead of coming together, we find ourselves divided, manipulated by those who thrive on chaos and discord. In short, we are on a path toward de-civilization, drifting away from what it means to be human.

When did human interaction become transactional? Why do we expect something in return when we extend a helping hand? Why does my friend, who preaches humility and compassion in church, justify removing homeless people from public spaces because they make her “uncomfortable”? When did we start labeling those unable to work due to illness as ‘sloths’? When did social media influencers start shaping how boys view girls? Why are so many young people—especially women—struggling with depression? Why do we find ourselves in a culture of hate against those with opposing views? When did I become hesitant to read the news, fearing exposure to more tragedies or witnessing politicians prioritize money over empathy and ethics?

Perhaps I’ve lost touch with the world more than I realized. Maybe I’m still clinging to the mindset I had as a child—believing the world was beautiful, full of possibility, and waiting to be discovered. Is it outdated to advocate for human rights and gender equality? Is trying to save even a small piece of the world futile, because people fear drama and retaliation? Maybe I should step back and stop trying to understand a world I increasingly find baffling.

As a child, I would gaze up at the night sky, contemplating what lay beyond the stars. I watched fireflies dance in the dark, creating a magical display for those who took the time to notice. I felt the earth beneath me—its weight, its history, its power. The world was something to admire, to explore, to be in awe of. It pulsed with life, and I could feel it in every fiber of my being.

Even though the stars are less visible and firefly populations are dwindling due to environmental changes, I can still relive those cherished moments from my childhood, reawakening the same feelings I experienced lying on the ground decades ago. Perhaps that’s what we all need to do—lie on the earth, look up at the stars, and reconnect with who we once were. Maybe, just maybe, in doing so, we can feel the earth beneath us and remember what it means to be human again.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

17 September 2025

current-events, empathy, global-issues, life, love, mental-health, society, writing
From Tragedy to Transformation: The Fight for Women’s Safety

Last week, in the Netherlands, a 17-year-old girl was murdered on her way home after a night out with friends. Aware that she was being followed, she called the emergency number and provided her exact location. Although a police car was dispatched immediately, it was too late. She was found in the bushes, violently murdered with numerous stab wounds.

This incident unleashed a tremendous wave of shock and outrage within Dutch society. Politicians pledged to create new policies aimed at improving the safety of women and girls. A movement called “We Claim the Night”, based on the international movement “Reclaim the Night”, emerged, raising substantial funds through crowdfunding for a campaign to ensure women’s safety during the evenings and nights. Remembrance gatherings were held, and a moment of tribute was observed during soccer matches at the 17th minute, accompanied by applause to honor Lisa, the young victim.

While I commend those who advocate for the safety of women and girls, I approach these initiatives with a degree of cynicism. The shock and outrage are genuine, yet the reality is that the safety of women and girls has been compromised for centuries. In modern times, the situation has not improved; if anything, women are just as vulnerable to violence as they were in 1610—perhaps even more so.

I recently read The New Age of Sexism by Laura Bates, which I believe is essential reading for everyone. She provides a detailed account of how misogyny and violence against women have taken on new, dangerous dimensions in the digital age. Issues like gang rapes in the metaverse, deepfake pornography of women and children, and online sexual abuse in schools are on the rise. Tech companies are aware of these problems yet choose to remain inactive, allowing boys and men to believe that it’s acceptable to torment women. The behavior tolerated in the digital world is just as harmful to women and girls in the real world and, even worse, it serves as a learning curve for predators. Research shows that violent behavior towards women in the digital realm often foreshadows real-world violence.

When publicly accessible sites allow revenge porn to flourish, where bitter men can share not just explicit photos of their ex-partners but also their addresses and personal information, it’s clear something is wrong in our society. When 13-year-old boys create and distribute deepfake nude images of their classmates, we must acknowledge fundamental issues in how boys are raised. Furthermore, the idea that it’s acceptable to mutilate sex doll robots to prevent violence against real women ignores the underlying aggressive tendencies these men exhibit, which may one day escalate to real-world violence.

According to Laura Bates, major tech developers—often wealthy white men—are hesitant to implement safeguards for protecting women and girls from abhorrent behavior. They shift the responsibility onto women, expecting them to protect themselves. If something goes wrong, they are told to go to the police. Yet proactive measures to prevent bad behavior are not prioritized, as that would impact their revenue. Billions of dollars are generated from apps that facilitate deepfakes and AI-driven games where (predominantly male) users act without consequence, creating virtual worlds where women and minorities are mistreated.

As we speak, a major tech company is building a metaverse, an alternate virtual world where we go to work, shop, go to school, and create social communities. If tech companies indeed continue on this path, we may soon find ourselves living much of our lives in the metaverse, a rapidly expanding realm that lacks the foundation of equality and safety for its users. What kind of world will it be when we are forced to engage with it? It is not a world I want to inhabit.

Our future AI world will likely amplify issues from our ‘real’ world, potentially leading to more violence against women and other minorities. Can moderators effectively filter out criminals? Will there be consequences for their actions? Will they be able to intervene in time to protect a woman in distress?

Whether we inhabit our physical world or a virtual one, violence against women and minorities will not cease just because a few people pay attention during isolated incidents, like the tragic murder of a promising 17-year-old. We must care equally for the safety of nameless women in Sudan who face violent rape and murder, and for the 10-year-old girl in Spain whose fake nude photos circulate in her school. On a global scale, we need to teach boys and men that violence is unacceptable, that women possess rights, and that they deserve respect. Women with opinions or who stand up for themselves and others are not threats; they enrich our society. Women should be able to dress as they wish and walk through a park at night, confident that they will be valued and safe from harm.

Will we ever fully eradicate hatred and violence toward women? I fear the answer is no, but we can reduce it. We must punish those who disregard fundamental rights and create a safer world than the one we currently inhabit or are heading toward. Achieving this requires courage, determination, and collaboration among lawmakers, politicians, influencers, tech leaders, the judicial system, and individuals alike – on a global level. Only then, perhaps, can Lisa’s legacy inspire a future where all women feel safe.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

28 August 2025

current affairs, feminism, gender, history, news, politics, reclaim the night, society, women, women’s safety, writing
Waves of Goodbye: Honoring My Mother

Today is my mother’s birthday. Her first since her passing last year. For the first time in my life, there’s no phone call to be made, no present to be bought.

Losing a parent is one of life’s most difficult chapters. In my mother’s case, it happened more than once. She had Alzheimer’s disease, and so I lost her in waves—each wave pulling another piece of her back to the ocean.

In the final years of her life, she no longer knew who I was. Nor my children. She had forgotten her husband—my late father—her childhood, her dreams, her life. She became a kind, quiet woman in a wheelchair, smiling whenever someone greeted her or when the sing-alongs began in the care home’s rec room.

I can’t say her passing was a relief for me. I had adapted to her condition, found a way to still enjoy our time together. But for her, death was a release. She had developed cancer that had spread through her body, bringing her immense pain—especially in those final days. Her passing, quite literally, set her free.

Although this is my personal story, I know it’s not unique. According to the World Health Organization, 57 million people worldwide were living with dementia in 2021. That number is expected to rise to 152 million by 2050. Around 10 million new cases are reported every year.

Just imagine—millions of people who no longer remember their parents, their first love, their dreams. People who forget who they were, who their children are, who lose their ability to communicate. Their bodies remain, but their personalities and identities fade, leaving behind a shell inhabited by someone we no longer fully recognize.

When my mother passed, I kept thinking about the girl she once was. What had she dreamed of becoming as a teenager? What had she imagined for herself—and for us, her children? Many of those dreams didn’t come true. And I grieved that. I grieved not only her death, but the unlived life I felt she deserved.

On this first birthday since her passing, I still wish more had been possible for her. But over the past months, I’ve begun to release that sorrow. I’ve found comfort in the belief that she was at peace with her life as it unfolded. That the absence of some dreams made room for real happiness in unexpected places.

She never made it to France, no. But she did make memories with us on countless trips to the Wisconsin Dells—and I believe she cherished that even more.

It’s a shame she couldn’t remember those joyful moments. But just because she forgot them doesn’t mean they didn’t exist. She lived. She loved. She laughed, fought, reunited, cried. She was a beautiful woman—inside and out. And even when she couldn’t remember who she was, we did. She couldn’t preserve her identity, but we carried it for her. In all the times I said goodbye to parts of her, I didn’t yet realize that she wasn’t disappearing—she was taking up residence in my memory. She lived on in me.

Today I honor the woman who brought me into the world and raised me into the woman I am. The woman who shone her unique light into the world, a light that now lives on in those she touched.

And I honor all those living with dementia—patients, family members, caregivers, friends. You are walking a path no one should have to face alone. I hope, wherever you are on it, you find peace.

Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. My gift to you is this: I remember.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

27 June 2025

birthday, children, death, dementia, family, grief, heaven, life, loss, mother, parenting, society, writing
Sunny Days Restored: The Fight to Keep Sesame Street Accessible

For the first time ever, I find myself saying: “Hurray for Netflix!”—because it just might have saved Sesame Street.

Like many American children, I grew up watching Sesame Street. As a first-generation viewer, I was captivated by Big Bird, learned to count with Count von Count, and happily sang along with Ernie to Rubber Ducky. My fondness for that little yellow duck runs so deep that I still have its birthday marked on my calendar—January 13th, for those who want to celebrate too! But beyond the songs and characters, Sesame Street gave me something even more valuable: the foundational knowledge, social skills, and essential tools I needed to prepare for kindergarten.

The Vision Behind Sesame Street

The idea for Sesame Street was born in 1966, when Joan Ganz Cooney, executive director of the Children’s Television Workshop, and Lloyd Morrisett, vice president of the Carnegie Foundation, envisioned a children’s television show that would harness the power of TV for education. As Cooney described it, they wanted to “master the addictive qualities of television and do something good with them” (Michael Davis, Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street).

At a press conference on May 6, 1969, Sesame Street was officially announced as an innovative program that would use commercial television techniques to teach young children. By blending live-action sketches, animated cartoons, and puppetry, the show would introduce preschoolers to essential concepts—letters, numbers, vocabulary, shapes, and reasoning skills. Repetition throughout each episode would ensure young audiences remained engaged while absorbing important lessons. The name Sesame Street itself was chosen to evoke the magic of discovery, inspired by the phrase “Open Sesame!”—suggesting a place where exciting things happen.

When the show premiered on November 10, 1969, its mission was clear: to prepare children for school, particularly those from low-income backgrounds who might not have access to early education. By 1996, a staggering 95% of American preschoolers had watched it by age three, and by 2018, it was estimated that 86 million Americans had grown up with Sesame Street.

The Fight for Accessibility

From its inception, Sesame Street aired on PBS, a public broadcasting network offering free programming. This accessibility was crucial for low-income families who depended on the show as an early education tool. However, when the Trump administration reduced funding for PBS, Sesame Street faced an uncertain future. The potential loss of free access meant that the very children who needed Sesame Street the most could lose their connection to its invaluable lessons.

The decision to slash funding for PBS was deeply distressing—not just because it affected educational programming, but because it signaled a fundamental misunderstanding of how critical early childhood education is for children who cannot afford preschool. These kids wouldn’t just miss out on learning letters and numbers—they’d lose the examples of kindness, diversity, self-worth, and the power of positive social interactions. For many, Sesame Street is their only exposure to these essential developmental values.

Why It Matters

In a world increasingly divided by socio-economic disparities, investing in early education is not optional—it is essential. Children need education, healthcare, and stable environments to thrive and grow into balanced, engaged citizens. These future generations will shape our society, and it is our responsibility to ensure they have the tools to do so.

And that’s where Netflix comes in. By stepping up and ensuring PBS can continue broadcasting Sesame Street, Netflix has done something truly meaningful. It has recognized the importance of preschool education for disadvantaged children and preserved a program that has enriched young minds for over five decades.

So yes, Netflix—you’ve found your way to Sesame Street, and in doing so, you’ve helped keep its doors open for those who need it most.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

21 May 2025

children, children’s education, current affairs, early education, education, empowerment, low-income families, news, Nexflix, parenting, preschool, Sesame Street, society, writing
Lost in the Blue Light: The Stories We Have Forgotten

Growing up, my paternal family would gather at my grandmother’s house for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and other special occasions. My uncles and father delighted in sharing amusing tales from their childhood—tales filled with harmless tricks played on my young, widowed grandmother. Eyes sparkling with laughter, tears sometimes streamed down their faces as they recalled the times they pretended to break the TV or staged accidents, lying ‘unconscious’ on the ground.

When my grandmother remarried, her daughter, my aunt, became the target of the pranksters’ mischief. With the arrival of the grandchildren, the identity of my paternal family crystallized: we were the pranksters. We reveled in these stories, and I cherished watching my family relive their past, united in joy around the dining room table.

Stories come in countless forms, yet they all share one powerful trait: they shape our identity. Whether it’s a cherished book, a childhood poem, or a family anecdote, these stories resonate within us. They evoke emotions, transport us through time, and root us in our shared history.

In today’s society, we often observe a troubling detachment among people. I believe this stems from a profound loss of stories. Yes, we are inundated with stories on social media and television, but these are not the narratives I’m referring to.

Social media storytelling often represents mere snippets of information, crafted with the intent of selling something—whether it’s a product, a persona, or a curated experience. We ‘sell’ ourselves, seeking validation in the form of likes from like-minded individuals. Yet, these stories fail to unite us; they do not foster a connection to our historical or familial roots.

What I long for are the stories passed down through generations, narratives created not for likes but for fostering a sense of belonging. These stories weave us into the fabric of family, community, and culture. They elicit laughter and tears and reinforce our sense of heritage.

As I observe people on public transportation, at work, in restaurants, or even around family kitchen tables, I see them transfixed by their screens—the blue light captivating their attention. Families are often engrossed in their phones, virtually connected to fragments of information, while the opportunity to share real stories—about their past, about our neighborhoods, or about cultural events that shape our daily lives—slips away unnoticed. They could reminisce about loved ones who have departed but remain an integral part of our identities. They could tell tall tales of their younger years.

However, this is not the story of 2025. We are disconnected, relying on social media’s distorted version of reality. As I reflect on the growing hatred in society, the fear children face at school, the obsession with constructed beauty, and the pervasive loneliness afflicting many, I ponder whether what we truly miss is more than just stories. We are missing the narratives that define us—what unites us, what makes us unique, and what encapsulates the essence of being human.

We have become a culture distanced from our heritage, severing our ties with past generations. Without these connections, we lose our sense of belonging to a greater continuum—a tapestry of humanity. We have become distracted from what truly matters. We have become victims of the blue light.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

21 March 2025

blog, current affairs, family, generations, history, literature, poetry, social media, society, stories, writing
A Letter to My 100-Year-Old Self

Who doesn’t enjoy participating in a trend? Admittedly, I usually refrain, but this one has compelled me to join in.

The internet brims with messages from individuals reaching out to their 100-year-old selves. Some are more intriguing than others, but the endeavor of writing to one’s future self is thought-provoking, even if most of us won’t live long enough to actually read our letters.

So, what do I wish to convey to you, my future self? In truth, there’s likely nothing about me that you don’t already know. Thus, the essence of this letter is hope—hope for your happiness and health. Hope that your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren still carve out time to visit you and share in those moments of joy. And I sincerely hope you retain the capacity to savor their company.

I also hope that life has treated you kindly. Given the medical challenges you’ve faced, have you still been able to pursue the dreams you held dear? Have you written those books, wandered through the museums, cheered on the grandkids at their sports events, celebrated their graduations, learned to sew, or mastered French as though it were your mother tongue? Have you managed to embrace life fully, relishing its highs and lows alike?

It wouldn’t be a letter from me if it didn’t include a touch of curiosity about the future itself. Has humanity succeeded in creating a world without war? Did we, as women, manage to bridge the gender gap? Has the human race finally realized that the world thrives when everyone is allowed to live in peace, have access to education and healthcare, and understand that giving is far more fulfilling than demanding? Or have computers truly taken over, relegating humanity to a state of submission?

Aging is a peculiar phenomenon. We all perceive it differently. Once, I asked a woman who had just celebrated her 100th birthday what her secret to longevity was. She replied, “There’s no secret. It just happens. You keep on living until you don’t anymore.” It’s quite a sober perspective, if you ask me. Perhaps you might echo this sentiment: “You simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.” That certainly sounds like me.

Reaching the milestone of 100 years is a remarkable achievement. If you’ve done so in good health and high spirits, you are luckier than many. I hope you find yourself among the fortunate, still enjoying life with family and, hopefully, a circle of friends who’ve journeyed with you this far. I hope the world has evolved into a better place and that you have discovered peace in knowing you did your best—and that your best was more than good enough.

Happy 100th birthday, dear self. I hope it has been a magnificent journey.

If you enjoy reading my insights and would like to stay updated on my latest posts, please subscribe to my blog for email notifications. Subscription is free!

Type your email…

10 March 2025

blog, letter 100 year old self, life, love, mental-health, writing
Echoes of Plath: A Reflection on Women’s Freedom and Choice

Currently, I am immersed in the unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath, one of America’s most gifted writers and poets. Tragically, she took her own life at the tender age of 30 after battling years of clinical depression. Plath possessed a remarkable ability to observe the intricate details of everyday life, translating her experiences into powerful prose and challenging societal norms. Though often associated with themes of depression and death, she adeptly illustrated the social constraints imposed on individuals in post-war America. One of her key themes was the stifling moral and societal expectations that constricted young women. She articulated female rage and grief in ways not done before.

I first read The Bell Jar in high school, and from that moment, I was captivated by Plath’s work. As I delved deeper into her reflections on the societal expectations and limitations she faced, I became increasingly aware of my own experience as a young woman in today’s world. I felt grateful that, as a young woman, I enjoyed greater freedoms in how I navigated my life, including the autonomy to make choices about education, work, sexuality, and what we now term reproductive rights. I could do things my mother was denied, like open my own bank account and work after marriage.

Plath’s portrayal of the era in which she came into her own as a woman encapsulates a crucial chapter in women’s history during the 20th century. This century sparked a movement for women’s rights that included the suffrage movement, employment rights, reproductive rights, and the quest for equal pay—a fight that continues today. Women began to define themselves on their own terms, free from societal dictates.

The 21st century promised a further evolution of women’s rights, alongside the rights of LGBTQIA+ individuals and other marginalized groups often overlooked by legislation shaped predominantly by straight white men. We saw significant progress with increasing acceptance of same-sex marriage, advancements in the legal recognition of transgender rights, and the right of same-sex couples to adopt. Women in the public eye—whether CEOs, entrepreneurs, or multimillionaire performers—became more visible and empowered, proudly owning their femininity while breaking barriers. Female leadership in politics gained momentum, with more women stepping into roles as ministers and prime ministers, and the contributions of female economists, environmentalists, and scientists gradually receiving the acknowledgment they deserve.

Yet, now it feels as though these hard-won rights are crumbling at an alarming pace. The overturning of Roe v. Wade marked a significant setback for women’s rights. Not only are our choices regarding reproduction at risk, but access to birth control is increasingly compromised in more states across the U.S. Under the Trump administration, the rights of women and members of the LGBTQIA+ community have been severely undermined, often with a literal stroke of a pen. Commentary on social media has begun to draw comparisons to a dystopian reality akin to The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood.

When people used to ask me how I felt about issues like affirmative action and women’s rights, I would reply, “As long as we’re still talking about it, we’re not there yet.” Now, not only are we still “not there yet,” but we seem to be regressing to the days of Sylvia Plath. It is my heartfelt hope that we collectively recognize the impending danger. Let us not raise our daughters to believe they lack the right to choose, to desire, or to aspire. May the world be their oyster, and let us embed those possibilities in robust legislation.

“When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.

‘Oh, sure you know,’ the photographer said.

‘She wants,’ said Jay Cee wittily, ‘to be everything.’”

— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

7 February 2025

books, current affairs, equal rights, history, literature, poetry, politics, sylvia-plath, women’s rights, writing