By Avery Corey, TIWP Student

There is a quiet expectation placed on a girl to be pleasing. Not powerful. Not loud. Pleasing.

It begins early. Sit nicely. Don’t interrupt. Don’t be bossy. Smile more. Share. Be kind. The lessons are subtle, but they settle deep. A girl learns that approval comes when she is agreeable, when she is easy to manage, when she takes up just a little less space than she naturally would.

Girls learn to measure the room before they measure themselves. Is he offended? Is he upset? Did that sound rude? Should I soften it? Should I apologize? The instinct becomes automatic, adjust, adjust, adjust.

Many girls grow up believing that saying yes is safer than saying no. Yes keeps the peace. Yes avoids tension. Yes prevents judgment. A yes can be given quickly, smoothly, without confrontation. A no lingers in the air.

And so yes becomes a reflex.

Yes to plans that feel exhausting.

Yes to laughter that isn’t genuine.

Yes to touch that feels wrong but “not wrong enough.”

Yes to shrinking opinions to make someone else feel larger.

We are told our bodies are beautiful, but only when they are available. Beautiful when they attract attention, when they are wanted, when they respond correctly to being watched. But if those same bodies pull away, stiffen, or say no, the narrative changes. Suddenly they are dramatic. Cold. Stuck-up. Overreacting. Beauty becomes conditional, and it exists only as long as it serves someone else.

We are told we are strong, but only when we endure quietly. Strong when we tolerate disrespect. Strong when we forgive too quickly. Strong when we swallow discomfort and call it maturity. Strength, in this version, looks a lot like silence. It looks like laughing at jokes that sting. It looks like nodding along to keep the peace. It looks like saying yes because saying no would make things awkward, and we are taught that awkwardness is worse than self-betrayal.

There is pressure in that silence. Pressure to be chosen. Pressure to be liked. Pressure to avoid being labeled difficult. A woman who sets boundaries is often judged more harshly than someone who crosses them. If she speaks up, she is emotional. If she refuses, she is selfish. If she protects her body, her time, her energy, she is accused of withholding something that was never owed in the first place.

So many learn to negotiate with themselves instead. It’s easier to bend than to be criticized. Easier to give in than to explain. Easier to sacrifice a little piece of comfort than to risk rejection. 

Defiance is not always loud. It doesn’t always look like shouting or rebellion in the streets. Sometimes it looks like discomfort. Like allowing someone to sit in the awkwardness of your no. Like choosing not to laugh. Like stepping back when someone expects you to lean in. It is the decision to value your internal voice more than external approval.

And that choice can feel wrong at first. Almost cruel. Because when you stop pleasing, people notice. The same qualities that once earned praise, compliance, flexibility, agreeableness, are no longer being offered. There may be confusion. Frustration. Judgment. But there is also something else: a reclaiming.

To say no when you mean no is to declare that your body is not a bargaining chip. That your comfort is not secondary. That your silence is not guaranteed. It is to reject the idea that your value lies in how well you serve others’ desires.

In a world that quietly rewards self-sacrifice, choosing yourself is a radical act. Not because it harms anyone, but because it disrupts expectation. It reminds others that access is not automatic. That kindness is not consent. That endurance is not obligation.

Defiance, in this sense, is not about becoming hard or unkind. It is about becoming whole. It is about refusing to fracture yourself into smaller, more acceptable pieces. It is about understanding that being judged is uncomfortable, but abandoning yourself is worse.

And perhaps the most powerful shift happens when the word “no” stops feeling like a weapon and starts feeling like protection. Not a rejection of others, but an affirmation of self.

There is nothing cruel about keeping ownership of your own body. There is nothing selfish about guarding your energy. There is nothing wrong with being difficult if “difficult” simply means unwilling to disappear.

The pressure may not vanish. The judgment may never stop. But each refusal to betray yourself redraws the boundary. Each boundary strengthens the voice. And slowly, the expectation to be pleasing loses its grip.

Because the most dangerous thing, in a world that profits from women shrinking, is a woman who refuses to fold.