Someone had to say it

This week, I have a lot to say. The kind of week where everything feels connected, but trying to write about all of it would dilute the point. So I’m sticking to one topic, because it kept resurfacing in conversations, in news cycles, in comment sections, and in that familiar feeling of watching the same pattern play out again and again.

On Women, Blame, and Carrying Too Much

It started as a casual chat with a friend. Just one of those conversations you have mid-day, half distracted, until something lands harder than expected. She said women are always attacked more. And women are always expected to be perfect. Not perfect in the moment something happens. Perfect, full stop. Perfect in how they behave, how they speak, how they respond, how they carry themselves. And the moment a woman slips, even slightly, that imperfection becomes the entire story.

That sentence stayed with me because it explains so much of what we keep seeing but rarely name properly. Women are allowed very little margin for error. A poorly worded comment. A public reaction that isn’t graceful enough. A decision made under pressure. Suddenly, that moment isn’t treated as a moment. It’s treated as evidence of bad character, of moral failure, and of not being the right kind of woman.

Men make mistakes and we argue about judgement. Women make mistakes and we question worth.

In Sri Lanka, this plays out with uncomfortable consistency. Women in public life are scrutinised in ways that go far beyond performance or policy. Their tone is analysed. Their clothes are debated. Their personal lives are dragged into conversations that have nothing to do with the issue at hand.

A man can be incompetent, aggressive, even openly unethical and still be discussed as an individual actor who failed at a specific task. A woman becomes a symbol the moment she steps into visibility. Her behaviour is expected to represent her gender, her upbringing, her family, and her values. One misstep becomes proof of something larger.

And this isn’t limited to politics. It shows up in workplaces where women are expected to be endlessly composed, agreeable, and emotionally intelligent, even while carrying disproportionate responsibility. It shows up in social spaces where women’s choices are constantly open to commentary. It shows up online, where criticism rarely stays focused on an issue and almost always finds its way to a woman’s body, behaviour, sexuality, or perceived morality.

Sexual orientation sharpens this pressure even further. Women who are queer, gender non-conforming, or simply uninterested in fitting neatly into acceptable boxes face a different kind of scrutiny. Their lives are treated as statements. Their existence as provocation. Their visibility as something that needs to be corrected, mocked, or contained. This isn’t accidental. It’s reinforced by culture, by law, and by the everyday language used to describe what is appropriate or respectable.

What makes this harder to talk about is that the policing doesn’t come from one direction. Some of the sharpest judgments come from other women. Not because women are inherently harsher, but because many have learned that survival often means enforcing the same rules that constrain them. Don’t attract attention. Don’t embarrass us. Don’t make it harder for the rest of us. When a woman slips, there is often another woman ready to say she should have handled it better, been calmer, been quieter, been smarter. It’s said softly, sometimes even kindly, but it still carries the same message. You failed the standard.

At some point, it becomes clear that this isn’t really about standards or morality at all. It’s about control. Perfection is demanded not because anyone expects women to achieve it, but because failing at it keeps them busy explaining themselves. Defending their tone. Softening their anger. Apologising for taking up space. The punishment is never just about one woman. It’s a message to all the others watching. This is what happens when you don’t behave.

This is why the pressure feels constant rather than situational. Women aren’t just responding to individual incidents. They’re navigating an environment where any moment could become a referendum. The emotional labour of that is immense. The self-monitoring. The calculations before speaking. The effort it takes to manage not just your own reactions, but everyone else’s comfort, too. Be calm so things don’t escalate. Be polite so you’re taken seriously. Be composed so no one can dismiss you as emotional. Be strong so no one has to step in.

Strength, in this context, stops being a compliment and starts feeling like an obligation. Women are praised for resilience, not because anyone wants life to be easier for them, but because endurance allows everything else to remain unchanged. If you can take it, why would anyone bother to lighten the load?

The tiredness that comes from this doesn’t always look dramatic. It often looks like withdrawal. Like hesitation. Like choosing silence because the cost of speaking feels higher than the cost of swallowing it. It’s the pause before hitting send. The decision to let something slide for peace. The slow erosion of patience that no one notices until it’s gone.

And when a woman finally reacts honestly, when the restraint breaks and the anger shows, the response is almost always the same. Why couldn’t she handle it better? Why didn’t she rise above it? As if rising above everything is a reasonable or sustainable expectation.

This isn’t about women wanting special treatment. It’s about noticing how blame moves, and how easily it settles on women. How quickly imperfection becomes a crime. How minor mistakes are blown out of proportion because the standard was never human to begin with.

Women aren’t carrying too much because they’re bad at letting go. They’re carrying too much because it keeps getting placed there, again and again, by systems and attitudes that rely on their endurance.

And maybe the real question isn’t why women are tired, angry, or outspoken. Maybe it’s why everyone else has become so comfortable expecting them to absorb everything quietly and call it strength.

Until next week, it’s worth asking why some people are allowed to be human, and others are expected to be perfect.

- Rihaab