Access Is Not A Human Right
I didn’t lose my softness.
I found my backbone.
Somewhere along the way, people started confusing access with entitlement.
As if being close to me was something they were owed.
As if my time, my body, my emotional labor, my home, my peace
were public utilities instead of sacred ground.
Let me be very clear:
Access is not a human right.
Not to my body.
Not to my home.
Not to my nervous system.
Love, respect, proximity, availability —
those are not guaranteed by birth or history or how long you’ve known me.
They are earned.
They are maintained.
And yes — they are revocable.
I don’t owe explanations.
I don’t owe availability.
I don’t owe access.
I learned this the hard way.
I was kicked out of my home.
So I bought a camper.
And I rebuilt my life with my own two hands.
Alone.
On my own land.
Safe.
I went to school.
I worked.
I healed.
And then... somehow... control followed me there.
Men building outside while I tried to study.
Laughing.
Harassing.
Knocking on my door like my boundaries were a joke.
On my own property.
And when I said something?
When my nervous system screamed that something wasn’t right?
I was told to calm down.
To take it.
That it was my fault.
Funny how discomfort is only inconvenient
when it belongs to a woman who finally says no.
Here’s the part they don’t tell you:
Loss of access only feels like abuse to people who felt entitled to you.
Healthy people don’t rage when boundaries appear.
They don’t collapse when access is limited.
They don’t demand explanations like they’re cross examining you in a courtroom.
Some people confuse boundaries with abandonment
because they were never invited —
only tolerated.
You don’t lose access to me because you made a mistake.
You lose access to me because
you ignored the correction.
I used to explain myself constantly.
I explained my feelings.
My reactions.
My needs.
My “tone.”
My trauma.
My reasons.
I treated clarity like a peace offering -
as if being understood would keep me safe.
It didn’t.
Explaining kept me dysregulated.
Explaining kept me stuck.
Explaining kept me trying to earn space
-that was already mine.
Limiting access brought peace.
Silence used to mean danger.
Now it means discernment.
Here’s another truth people don’t like:
You don’t miss me.
You miss the version of me that didn’t say no.
You miss the woman who overextended.
Who apologized for having needs.
Who stayed quiet to keep the room calm
while her body burned.
That woman doesn’t live here anymore.
Access is earned.
Access is maintained.
Access is revocable.
And the people upset about that
have told on themselves loud and clear.
Because when someone respects you,
they don’t argue with your boundaries.
They adjust.
And if that costs me proximity to people
who only liked me when I was pliable?
So be it.
Nothing is burning tonight.
Except the bridges
that were never safe to stand on anyway.
🖤
