You Can’t Heal in the Same Patriarchy That Hurt You

On Rage, Realisations, and Refusing to Shrink

The older I get, the louder the rage simmers. Not the chaos-goblin kind (although she makes frequent appearances), but the bone-deep fury that comes from realising just how rigged the system is. I used to think I could out-logic it. I thought if I was smart enough, worked hard enough, achieved enough, healed enough, then somehow I’d find safety. Peace. But babe, you can’t manifest your way out of systemic misogyny. And you sure as hell can’t heal in the same patriarchy that benefits from your pain.

Take South Korea’s 4B movement. Women are opting out entirely – refusing to date, marry, birth, or serve men. It’s not a quirky internet trend. It’s a radical act of survival. They’re choosing not to birth their oppressors. Not to raise sons who might grow up to treat them like furniture. Not to participate in a system that only values them for their reproductive labour and aesthetic appeal. That’s not misandry. That’s clarity.

And here in the West? We’re still being told to smile more. To exfoliate our trauma. To shrink ourselves (figuratively and literally) in the name of femininity. They sell us ‘self-care’ in the form of rose quartz rollers and overpriced mascara, all while gutting our access to reproductive rights and basic medical care. It’s giving delusion. It’s giving distraction. It’s giving “be pretty and quiet while the world burns.”

The Medicine Was Never Meant For Us

Let’s talk about medicine. Specifically, how it hates us. Or more accurately, how it ignores us. Viagra was originally trialled for women. That’s right. It was supposed to be for angina. Women in the trials reported increased blood flow and better sexual satisfaction, and the medical community responded with a resounding “meh.” The moment it helped men get it up? Billions in research and development. And all we got was crystals and Goop.

Endometriosis affects one in nine women. It takes an average of seven years to diagnose. Not because it’s rare or subtle, but because we’re not believed. Because our pain is inconvenient. Because studies still frame it around how it impacts male pleasure. Not our health. Not our quality of life. Their orgasms. You couldn’t script this level of dystopia.

Women’s medicine has been sidelined for centuries. Hysteria. Wandering wombs. Periods as a personality flaw. If a man bled out of his genitals every month he’d have a nationwide public holiday, a special desk chair, and a federal allowance for snacks. But us? We’re expected to take a Panadol and power through. And if we complain too loudly? We’re hormonal. Difficult. Angry. (And we are. And rightly so.)

The Fashion of Control

One year they want us to disappear, the next they want us big and juicy like a Kardashian spin-off. From heroin chic to Brazilian butt lifts to Ozempic. Our bodies are treated like trends. Like outfits. And if we don’t conform? We’re shamed. Invisible. Made to feel like we’re failing.

Ozempic is the new patriarchy-in-a-pen. Let’s be clear: people deserve access to medical support. But it’s no coincidence that this wave of weight loss is happening just as women started embracing body positivity. As soon as we began to love ourselves in whatever size we were, the goalposts moved again. They always do. That’s the point. Keep us chasing. Keep us small.

And if it’s not our bodies, it’s our faces. One minute we’re meant to look like pre-teens, the next we’re getting buccal fat removed so we look like gaunt socialites. There is no winning. Only endless reinvention for male approval. And here’s the kicker: even when we do the thing, we’re still mocked. Still dismissed. Still too much or not enough. So we may as well do whatever the hell we want*.

*Look, I absolutely get Botox and dabble in lip filler when my bank account gives me the green light. My skincare routine could bring a grown woman to tears – ten minutes in the morning, longer at night, and every single step is intentional, obsessive, and joyful. I’ve been in love with skincare since I was a teenager. Back in the pre-Covid days, I was even a skinfluencer. These days, most people in my life suspect I’m autistic, which makes perfect sense because skincare (and astrology, obviously) is my forever-fixation.

The Patriarchy Is Lonely, Not Broken

Men are falling behind. In education. In careers. In emotional development. And instead of asking why, or doing something about it, they’re calling it an epidemic of loneliness. They want us to pause our growth to make them feel better about stagnating. Sorry lads. We’re not hitting the brakes.

Women are outpacing men in almost every area of modern life. We’re getting degrees. We’re earning more. We’re starting businesses. We’re healing. We’re building lives that don’t revolve around being chosen. And instead of celebrating that, the narrative is shifting to panic. Think-pieces titled “Where Have All the Good Men Gone?” as if we’re meant to feel bad for outgrowing the bare minimum.

It’s not our job to rescue them from their emotional illiteracy. We can’t heal them out of a system they refuse to question. You can’t date your way into their growth. And you sure as hell can’t build a future with someone who sees your ambition as a threat. Healing means letting go of the fantasy that love will save them. That we will.

Healing Doesn’t Happen in the Cage

You can’t heal in a system designed to benefit from your disempowerment. You can bandage yourself up. You can build rituals. You can create micro-freedoms. But true healing? The kind where your nervous system isn’t bracing every time you speak your truth? That happens outside the cage.

That doesn’t mean we all have to move to the forest and start a commune (although tempting). It means questioning the systems we’ve been told are normal. It means rejecting beauty standards that change like weather patterns. It means calling out medical neglect. It means opting out, when we can. Not birthing oppressors. Not dating red flags. Not building our lives around men who wouldn’t do the same for us.

Healing in the patriarchy is like trying to meditate during a fire alarm. You can breathe all you want, but the sirens don’t stop. So maybe we stop trying to find peace within it. Maybe we build something louder. Braver. We name the fire. We refuse to shrink. We choose ourselves. Every damn time.

So light the damn match. Throw glitter on the wreckage. This time, we’re not asking for permission – we’re taking the whole system down in heels, honey.

We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking why we need to stop clapping for basic decency. You know the script. A man texts back within twenty-four hours and we're screenshotting it to the group chat. A man plans a date more than three hours in advance and we call him a unicorn. A man manages to listen, pay attention, and behave like a fully formed adult, and our nervous systems short-circuit because we genuinely don't know how to receive it.Here's the truth nobody is saying out loud. The bar has been dragged so low that Satan himself needs a chiropractor after a competitive round of limbo. We've been culturally trained to be grateful for behaviour that should not require gratitude. We've been told these things are bonuses when they're actually the entry requirement. And in the meantime, women have been quietly doing the basic decency thing forever, without applause, while men get standing ovations for outputs we generated for them.Today we're talking about why a great man is genuinely just an average woman, who benefits when the bar stays low, the invisible labour women have been performing for free for centuries, and the friend-test that cuts straight through every excuse we've ever made for mediocre men. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @BryJaimea

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