When Safety Feels Like a Memory

I remember a time not long ago when walking into a women’s restroom felt like crossing into a quiet sanctuary. A place where privacy was sacred, where women and girls could be themselves without fear or worry. That sense of safety was so simple, so natural, it felt as if it had always been this way—and that it always would be.

But it isn’t.

It’s 2025, and the world I once knew is changing in ways I never thought I would witness. Not like this. Not so fast.

I’m a mother, a woman of faith, and a guardian of what I believe are timeless truths—truths given by God, who made us all with purpose and intention. I believe in the sacredness of identity, in the design of man and woman, in the boundaries God placed to protect us. Those boundaries, once respected by society, now feel fragile and threatened.

I hold these beliefs close, but the world around me seems to be rewriting the rules—rules that govern who I am, who my daughter is, and who should be allowed into spaces that were made just for women and children.

The Moment Fear Settled In

Last summer, my daughter Emma and I went to a community festival. The sun was warm, the music was light, and for a moment, it felt like the world was right. But then Emma tugged at my hand, whispering that she needed to use the restroom.

I nodded, expecting the usual moment of quiet separation. I waited outside, watching the entrance, when I saw him—a man—walk into the women’s restroom. He told me later that he identified differently, that he was “transgender” and that gave him the right to be there.

I wanted to trust the words. I wanted to believe in kindness and inclusion. But the fear in my chest was immediate and sharp.

Because Emma was in there.

Because there was no guarantee that “identification” alone was enough to keep her safe.

Because safety is not just about words or labels. It’s about reality. It’s about protection. It’s about trust that cannot be replaced by ideology or political correctness.

The Shifting Ground Beneath Us

We have seen policies change—some well-meaning, some confusing, and others that simply feel dangerous. Women’s shelters accepting anyone who “identifies” as female, no questions asked. Locker rooms, restrooms, and changing areas opening their doors to men claiming a female identity. The very places that were once refuges, now places where women and children hesitate to go.

In church, we learn about the natural order God created. We learn that He made us male and female, each with purpose and meaning. This isn’t a rejection of love or kindness; it’s a declaration of truth. It’s the foundation on which safety is built.

But our society is pushing us to redefine those truths, sometimes without recognizing the consequences.

I hear stories from other mothers—women who refuse to send their daughters to school when the bathrooms are shared. Women who avoid community centers, libraries, and even places of worship because their safety feels compromised. Children confused by messages that contradict what their parents believe and what their bodies tell them.

The pressure to accept all identities without question is often framed as compassion. But what happens when compassion erases protection? When kindness to one group endangers another? Who answers for that?

The Heart of the Matter

I don’t hate anyone. I pray for everyone. I pray that God opens hearts and minds, that He brings clarity to a world that feels darker each day.

But I also believe that the Creator’s design matters. That it’s not arbitrary or outdated. That men and women are not interchangeable in spaces designed for their unique vulnerabilities.

When a man is allowed into a women’s restroom or shelter simply because he claims a different identity, it puts women and children at risk. It opens doors for those who do not have pure intentions. It dissolves boundaries meant to protect us.

I think of the stories we don’t hear—the assaults, the invasions of privacy, the fear that silences women. These stories are real. They are heartbreaking. And they are often swept under the rug in the name of progress.

What progress is there in putting women and children in danger?

A Mother’s Vigilance

That night at the festival, after Emma came out of the restroom, her face was pale and confused.

“Mom, why was that man in there? It didn’t feel right.”

I didn’t have words that felt true. I could only hold her and whisper that we would always protect her.

Since then, I have watched Emma grow quieter about her feelings, more hesitant to go places alone. And I know she is not alone.

I try to teach her strength, resilience, and faith. I tell her that God made her wonderfully and that she deserves to be safe, loved, and respected. But I also want her to feel secure—that she has spaces in this world where she belongs, without fear.

Holding Onto Faith in a Changing World

There are days when I feel overwhelmed by the pressure to conform, to stay silent, to accept that the lines are blurred and that the safety I want for my daughter might never return.

But then I remember: faith calls us to stand firm. To speak truth with love. To protect the vulnerable, even when it’s difficult or unpopular.

This is why I speak up. This is why I pray harder. This is why I ask others to listen—not just to the voices demanding change, but to the voices crying out for safety.

Women and children are not asking for special treatment or exclusion out of cruelty. They are asking for the simple right to exist in spaces that honor their bodies and their dignity.

A Call for Clarity and Protection

I believe in kindness. I believe in love. But I also believe that love must protect.

God’s laws—natural laws—are not enemies of compassion. They are its foundation.

If we lose sight of that foundation, if we allow confusion to reign unchecked, we risk tearing apart the very fabric of community and safety.

My hope is that we find a way to respect everyone’s dignity while preserving the protections that women and children need.

Until then, I will hold my daughter’s hand tighter. I will raise my voice louder. And I will pray that truth and safety are never forgotten.

Closing

This is my story, not just as a woman, but as a mother—a woman of faith trying to navigate a world that feels less certain, less safe than the one I was raised to trust.

I share it because I know I am not alone. Because I believe that love, safety, and truth can coexist if we have the courage to insist on them.

And because I want every woman and every child to feel secure in the spaces meant to protect them—today, tomorrow, and always.