The Threat to Female Freedom: Processing Fear and Anger and Finding Agency
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from being a woman in 2026. It is not just the tiredness of daily life. It is the cumulative weight of watching rights erode, violence go unpunished, and women's pain be dismissed or debated. It is the anger that rises when you realise, again and again, that your body, your safety, and your future are treated as negotiable.
This is the first post in our October series, The Scaries: Tackling the Things That Keep Us Up at Night. This week, we turn our attention to the fears that many women are carrying: the threat to reproductive freedom, the judgment of mothers in crisis, and the trauma of sexual violence that reverberates even when the cases are far from home.
We will not offer toxic positivity. We will not tell you to "just stay positive" or "focus on what you can control" without first acknowledging the very real grief, rage, and fear that accompany these threats. Instead, we will validate what you are feeling, explore the mental health impact, and offer strategies for processing fear and finding agency.
The Reality in Canada: Gender-Based Violence is a National Crisis
Before we turn to the specific fears that dominate the news cycle, it is essential to ground ourselves in the reality here at home. Gender-based violence is not a distant problem. It is a Canadian crisis.
According to the Canadian Femicide Observatory for Justice and Accountability, in 2020, 160 women and girls were killed by violence in Canada. That is an average of one woman or girl killed every 2.3 days (Canadian Women's Foundation, Out of Violence).
Sexual assault, one of the most under-reported crimes in Canada, is also the only violent crime not on the decline (Statistics Canada, 2017, cited by the Canadian Women's Foundation).
The House of Commons Standing Committee on the Status of Women (FEWO) released a landmark report on gender-based violence and femicides in Canada, describing femicide as a "crisis." The Committee heard that one woman or girl is killed in Canada every other day, and that one woman is killed by her male partner once a week (FEWO Report, 45-1).
The report also highlighted that some groups are at even greater risk. Indigenous women make up 21% of all gender-related homicides of women and girls in Canada, despite comprising only 5% of the female population. In other words, Indigenous women are killed at nearly seven times the rate of non-Indigenous women (FEWO Report, 45-1).
The mental health implications are profound. The FEWO Committee heard that survivors of gender-based violence "often experience higher rates of mental health issues, including anxiety, depression, and PTSD." The risk of becoming suicidal is three to five times higher for women who have experienced gender-based violence than for women who have not (FEWO Report, 45-1).
These are not abstract statistics. They are the context in which Canadian women live, work, and raise their children. And they are the backdrop against which the following fears must be understood.
Reproductive Rights and Mental Health - Coping with Anxiety About the Future
The rollback of abortion rights in the United States has sent shockwaves far beyond its borders. For Canadian women, the fear is not abstract. It is the fear that what happens south of the border could happen here. It is the fear that hard-won rights are never permanent. It is the fear that our daughters will have fewer freedoms than we did.
Globally, the situation is dire. As Canada's own Foundations for Peace: Canada's National Action Plan on Women, Peace and Security notes, the world is witnessing what the United Nations Secretary General has described as "the reversal of generational gains" of women's and girls' human rights. Anti-gender and anti-feminist movements are growing, and backlash against human rights is gaining traction within Canada and around the world (Global Affairs Canada, 2023-2029).
The Mental Health Impact:
When bodily autonomy is threatened, the psychological toll is profound. The anxiety is not just about an unplanned pregnancy—it is about the loss of control over one's own body and future. The grief is for the rights that have been lost and for the women who will suffer because of restrictive laws.
For Canadian women, this fear is compounded by the knowledge that our own rights are not guaranteed. The Foundations for Peace report acknowledges that "gender equality does not exist anywhere," and that the women, peace and security agenda is relevant everywhere, including in Canada (Global Affairs Canada, 2023-2029).
Strategies for Coping:
Validate your feelings. Anxiety and grief are appropriate responses to genuine threats. You are not overreacting.
Focus on what you can control. In Canada, you can vote, advocate, donate to organizations that protect reproductive rights, and have conversations that normalize the importance of bodily autonomy.
Limit exposure to triggering news. You do not need to read every article about abortion restrictions. Set boundaries around your consumption.
Seek community. Connect with others who share your concerns. Isolation amplifies fear.
Seek professional support. If anxiety is interfering with your daily life, consider speaking with a therapist who understands the intersection of reproductive politics and mental health.
Emma’s Story
Emma is a 32-year-old marketing coordinator living in Hamilton, Ontario. She is married, has a four-year-old daughter, and recently decided with her partner that they would like to try for a second child. But when she opened her news app last month and saw the latest headlines about abortion restrictions expanding across the United States, something shifted inside her.
"I know I live in Canada," she says. "I know my rights are technically protected here. But watching what's happening down there—the bans, the prosecutions, the women who can't get care even when their lives are at risk—it terrifies me. It feels like the ground is shifting under my feet."
Emma is not pregnant yet, and she is not seeking an abortion. But the political climate has triggered a deep, gnawing anxiety that she cannot seem to shake. She finds herself lying awake at night, imagining worst-case scenarios. She has started avoiding the news, but then feels guilty for being uninformed. She snapped at her husband last week when he casually suggested she "stop worrying about things she can't control."
"I know he meant well," she says. "But it felt dismissive. Like my fear isn't valid. Like I'm overreacting. But I'm not. I'm paying attention."
The Mental Health Impact:
Emma is experiencing what psychologists call anticipatory anxiety—a persistent, future-oriented worry about threats that feel both real and uncontrollable. Her sleep is disrupted, her patience is thin, and she is caught in a cycle of hypervigilance and emotional exhaustion.
She is also grieving. She grieves for the women in the United States who have lost access to care. She grieves for the future she imagined—one in which her daughter would grow up with more freedom, not less. And she grieves for the sense of safety she used to take for granted.
This grief is not pathological. It is a normal response to a genuine loss—the loss of certainty, the loss of the assumption that rights, once won, stay won.
What Emma Found Helpful:
She named her fear. Instead of pushing it away, Emma acknowledged it. She wrote in her journal: "I am afraid that the rights I have today may not be there for my daughter tomorrow." Naming the fear made it feel more manageable.
She set boundaries around news consumption. Emma now checks the news once in the morning and once in the evening—not before bed. She unfollowed several accounts that were flooding her feed with outrage-driven content.
She found her people. Emma joined a local women's group where she could talk openly about her fears without judgment. "For the first time, I felt like I wasn't alone in this," she says. "Other women felt the same way. We weren't catastrophizing. We were processing."
She channeled her anxiety into action. Emma started donating monthly to a Canadian organization that advocates for reproductive rights. She also began volunteering with a local women's shelter. "It doesn't fix everything," she says. "But it reminds me that I'm not powerless. I'm doing something."
She sought professional support. Emma started seeing a therapist who specialises in anxiety and women's issues. "My therapist didn't try to talk me out of my feelings. She validated them. And then she helped me build tools to cope. That made all the difference."
A Note on Validation:
If you see yourself in Emma's story, know this: your anxiety is not irrational. Your grief is not excessive. Your anger is not misplaced. You are responding to a real threat with a normal, human emotional response. You do not need to be talked out of your feelings. You need to be heard, supported, and equipped with tools to move through them.
The Lindsay Clancy Case - A Mother’s Mental Health and the Weight of Judgment
The trial of Lindsay Clancy, a Massachusetts mother accused of killing her three children while suffering from postpartum psychosis, has become a flashpoint for conversations about maternal mental health, the legal system, and the judgment women face when they struggle.
Clancy's defence team argued that she was experiencing postpartum psychosis—a rare but severe condition characterized by hallucinations, delusions, and a loss of contact with reality—when she strangled her children and then jumped from a second-floor window, leaving her paralyzed. The prosecution alleged the killings were intentional. The trial ended in a mistrial after jurors deliberated for 40 hours without reaching a unanimous decision (BBC, September 2026).
The Mental Health Impact:
For many women, the Clancy case has triggered profound fear and anger. Fear that if they seek help for postpartum mental health struggles, they will be judged, dismissed, or punished. Anger that a woman who repeatedly sought care—visiting emergency rooms, calling suicide hotlines, checking herself into a psychiatric hospital—was failed by a system that should have protected her.
Hundreds of women rallied outside the courthouse wearing pink, carrying signs that read "She Needed Help" and "Believe." As one supporter told Global News: "Women are being dismissed, neglected and ignored when we speak up. We're scared because nobody takes us seriously" (Global News, August 2026).
Researchers estimate that postpartum psychosis afflicts 1 to 2 per 1,000 women after delivery. It is more serious and less common than postpartum depression (Global News, August 2026).
The case has also divided women. Some argue that Clancy's actions cannot be excused. Others argue that postpartum psychosis is a medical emergency that removes culpability. The debate has played out on social media, in families, and across dinner tables.
What This Case Reveals:
The Clancy case has exposed the deep stigma surrounding maternal mental illness. It has shown that postpartum psychosis is still poorly understood, even by medical professionals. It has revealed that women who seek help are often dismissed or not taken seriously. And it has demonstrated that when a mother harms her children, the world is quick to judge—but slow to ask what could have been done to prevent it.
Strategies for Processing:
Acknowledge the complexity. You do not have to have a simple opinion about this case. You can hold grief for the children and compassion for the mother at the same time.
Advocate for better maternal mental health care. The system failed Lindsay Clancy. It fails many women. Advocating for better screening, treatment, and support is a way to channel anger into action.
Seek support if you are struggling. If you are experiencing postpartum depression, anxiety, or psychosis, you are not alone and you are not a bad mother. Help is available.
Talk about it. The silence around maternal mental illness perpetuates stigma. Sharing your own experiences—or simply speaking up about the need for better care—can make a difference.
Sarah’s Story
Sarah is a 34-year-old mother of two living in Burlington, Ontario. Her youngest, a daughter, is now eight months old—the same age as Callan Clancy, the youngest child killed in the case that has dominated headlines and social media feeds for weeks.
Sarah has been following the Lindsay Clancy trial closely. She wishes she could stop. She cannot.
"I see myself in her," Sarah admits, her voice quiet. "Not in what she did—God, no. But in the desperation. In the feeling that you're drowning and no one is throwing you a rope. In the fear that if you admit how dark it gets, they'll take your children away."
After her first child was born, Sarah experienced severe postpartum anxiety. She had intrusive thoughts—terrifying, unwanted images of harm coming to her baby. She was ashamed to tell anyone. When she finally mentioned it to her family doctor, she was told it was "just hormones" and that she would "feel better soon."
She did not feel better soon.
It was only after her second child was born, when the intrusive thoughts returned with a vengeance, that Sarah found a therapist who specialized in perinatal mental health. Through therapy, she learned that intrusive thoughts are a common symptom of postpartum anxiety and OCD—not a sign that she was a danger to her children.
"The relief I felt when my therapist said, 'This is a symptom, not a prophecy'—I can't even describe it," Sarah says. "For the first time, I felt like I wasn't a monster. I was a mother who needed help."
The Impact of the Clancy Case:
For Sarah, the Lindsay Clancy trial has been both triggering and validating. Triggering because it reminds her of her darkest moments. Validating because it has brought postpartum psychosis into the public conversation—a condition that afflicts 1 to 2 in 1,000 women after delivery but is rarely discussed.
But the public discourse has also been painful. Sarah has read comments calling Clancy a "monster" and a "murderer." She has seen posts claiming that postpartum psychosis is "an excuse" and that "real mothers don't hurt their children."
"Those comments make me afraid," she says. "Afraid that if I ever hit that level of crisis, I won't be seen as a person who needs help. I'll be seen as a monster. And that fear—it keeps women silent. It kept me silent for years."
What Sarah Wants You to Know:
Postpartum psychosis is real. It is not a character flaw or a moral failing. It is a medical emergency that requires immediate treatment. Women who experience it need compassion, not judgment.
Women who seek help are often dismissed. Sarah was told her symptoms were "just hormones." She was lucky to eventually find a therapist who understood. Many women are not so fortunate.
Silence is dangerous. The stigma surrounding maternal mental illness keeps women from speaking up. It keeps them from seeking help. It puts them and their children at risk.
Judgment is not prevention. Shaming women who struggle does not make them safer. It makes them more isolated. It makes them less likely to reach out.
What Helped Sarah:
Finding a therapist who specialised in perinatal mental health. "My therapist didn't flinch when I told her my thoughts. She normalised them. She gave me tools. She saved my life."
Joining a support group for mothers. "Hearing other women share their experiences—the intrusive thoughts, the shame, the fear—it made me feel less alone. It made me feel human."
Talking openly with her partner. "For a long time, I hid my struggles because I didn't want to scare him. When I finally told him, he said, 'I love you. We'll get through this together.' That changed everything."
Setting boundaries around the news. "I had to stop reading about the trial for a while. It was too much. I needed to protect my mental health. That's not avoidance. That's self-care."
A Note for Mothers Who Are Struggling:
If you see yourself in Sarah's story, please hear this: You are not broken. You are not a bad mother. You are a person who needs support—and there is no shame in that. Postpartum mental illness is common, treatable, and not your fault.
You deserve care that is compassionate, informed, and free from judgment. And you do not have to wait until you are in crisis to seek it.
Speaking Out and Staying Safe - The Mental Health Toll of Sexual Violence
In September 2026, a former Cornell University student filed a lawsuit alleging that she was drugged and gang-raped by seven fraternity members at the Chi Phi house in October 2024. According to the lawsuit, she was pressured into snorting what she was told was ketamine before being sexually assaulted for hours. One of the men allegedly sent a message to a fraternity Snapchat group suggesting a woman was available for sex (CBS News, September 2026).
The university conducted an internal investigation. Of the seven accused, only two were expelled. Others received lesser sanctions, including workshops and essays. No one was arrested. The woman dropped out of school (CBS News, September 2026).
The Mental Health Impact:
For women, reading about cases like this—even when they are far away—can be deeply triggering. The details evoke fear, anger, and a profound sense of injustice. This is a form of vicarious trauma: the emotional and psychological impact of witnessing or learning about the suffering of others.
The Cornell case is not isolated. It joins a long list of cases - including the infamous Epstein files - that have shown women, again and again, that their pain matters less than the potential or power of the men who harm them. As Vogue writer Rebecca Reid put it: "The futures and reputations of promising young men matter more than the shattering of a young woman's life" (Vogue, September 2026).
The statistics bear this out. In the US, fewer than four percent of violent sex crimes result in convictions. In England and Wales, fewer than three in 1,000 reported rapes result in a basic charge or summons (Vogue, September 2026). In Canada, the FEWO Committee heard that technology-facilitated gender-based violence is on the rise, with digital harms disproportionately impacting women, girls, Two Spirit, trans, and nonbinary people, particularly from Black, Indigenous, racialized, and 2SLGBTQIA+ communities (FEWO Report, 45-1).
This reality—that justice is often denied, that perpetrators are protected, that victims are blamed—creates a profound sense of helplessness and rage. For many women, it is not just about one case. It is about the pattern. It is about the message that is sent, over and over, that women's bodies are not safe and their voices do not matter.
Strategies for Coping:
Validate your anger. Anger is a legitimate response to injustice. You do not need to suppress it or apologize for it.
Channel anger into advocacy. Support organizations that work to end sexual violence. Donate, volunteer, speak out. Action can transform helplessness into agency.
Protect your mental health. Limit exposure to graphic details. Step away from social media when it becomes overwhelming. You do not owe anyone your constant outrage.
Seek support. If you are struggling with vicarious trauma or your own experiences of sexual violence, consider speaking with a therapist. You deserve support.
Believe survivors. The most powerful thing you can do is to believe women when they speak up. Create spaces where survivors feel safe to share their stories.
Josephine’s Story
Josephine is a 26-year-old graduate student in Toronto. She is smart, ambitious, and deeply engaged in her research on public health. She is also a survivor of sexual assault—a fact she has shared with only a handful of people.
When the news broke about the Cornell University case—a former student alleging she was drugged and gang-raped by seven fraternity members—Priya felt her chest tighten. She read the details: the Snapchat messages, the hours of assault, the fact that only two of the seven accused were expelled, the fact that no one was arrested. She read that the woman had dropped out of school. She read that she was "barely hanging on."
Josephine closed her laptop and wept.
"It brought everything back," she says. "My own assault. The way I was treated when I reported it. The way people asked what I was wearing, how much I had to drink, why I waited so long to come forward. It was like living it all over again."
Josephine was assaulted at a house party during her undergraduate years. She reported it to her university, which conducted an internal investigation. Her assailant was given a suspension—"time to reflect," she was told. He was back on campus the following semester. She transferred schools the year after.
"I didn't feel justice," she says. "I felt erased. Like my pain didn't matter. Like his future was more important than my safety. And reading about Cornell—it just confirmed everything I already knew. Nothing has changed."
The Mental Health Impact:
Josephine is experiencing vicarious trauma—the emotional and psychological impact of witnessing or learning about the suffering of others. For survivors of sexual violence, this can be especially acute. It reactivates their own trauma, triggering flashbacks, anxiety, and a profound sense of injustice.
She is also experiencing secondary grief—mourning for the woman at Cornell, for herself, and for all the women who have been failed by systems that were supposed to protect them.
"I don't know this woman," Josephine says. "But I feel like I do. I feel like we're connected by something terrible. And I feel like her pain is my pain. It's all of our pain."
The Broader Context:
The Cornell case is not isolated. It is part of a pattern that has been documented in Canada and around the world. They are the lived realities of millions of women—women like Josephine, who carry the weight of trauma long after the assault has ended.
What Josephine Found Helpful:
She named what she was feeling. Josephine acknowledged that the Cornell case had triggered her own trauma. She stopped minimising it. She stopped telling herself she was "overreacting." She allowed herself to feel the full weight of her grief and anger.
She limited her exposure. Josephine stepped away from social media for a few days. She stopped reading the graphic details of the case. She gave herself permission to not be constantly outraged.
She reached out to her therapist. Josephine reconnected with the therapist who had helped her after her assault. "I didn't want to go back," she says. "I felt like I should be over it by now. But my therapist reminded me that healing isn't linear. And that it's okay to need help again."
She channeled her anger into advocacy. Josephine joined a campus group that works to prevent sexual violence and support survivors. "I can't change what happened to me," she says. "But I can help create a world where it doesn't happen to someone else. That gives me purpose."
She found community. Josephine connected with other survivors through a peer support group. "For the first time, I didn't feel alone," she says. "I felt understood. I felt seen. And that made all the difference."
A Note for Survivors:
If you are a survivor of sexual violence, reading about cases like Cornell can be deeply triggering. Your feelings are valid. Your grief is valid. Your anger is valid. You are not alone.
You do not have to carry this weight in silence. You do not have to be "over it" by now. You do not have to be strong all the time. You are allowed to need help. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to feel.
And you are allowed to believe that you deserve justice—even when the world tells you otherwise.
Female Freedom Under Threat - A Guide to Processing Fear and Finding Agency
The threats to female freedom are not separate issues. They are interconnected. Reproductive rights, gender-based violence, the judgment of mothers, and the dismissal of women's pain are all part of the same system: one that devalues women's autonomy and well-being.
The Foundations for Peace report acknowledges this interconnectedness, noting that "the rise in technology-facilitated, gender-based violence, including attacks targeting women peacebuilders and human rights defenders living in Canada and abroad" is a growing concern (Global Affairs Canada, 2023-2029).
The FEWO Committee's report further emphasizes that gender-based violence stems from "social patterns of misogyny and patriarchy, reinforced by intersecting forms of oppression, such as racism, transphobia or ableism" (FEWO Report, 45-1).
For many women, the cumulative weight of these threats creates a sense of being under siege. It is exhausting to fight for rights that should never have been questioned. It is exhausting to watch women suffer and be blamed. It is exhausting to carry the fear that your daughter, your sister, your friend, or you yourself could be next.
Validation First:
Your fear is valid. Your anger is valid. Your grief is valid. You are not "too sensitive" or "overreacting." You are responding to real, ongoing threats to your safety and autonomy.
Finding Agency:
Agency does not mean fixing everything. It means reclaiming your power in the spaces you can influence. It means choosing how you respond, where you direct your energy, and how you care for yourself in the midst of it all.
Strategies for Finding Agency:
Connect with community. Isolation is a tool of oppression. Connecting with other women—in support groups, advocacy networks, or simply in friendship—can remind you that you are not alone.
Take action. Whether it is voting, volunteering, donating, or simply speaking up in conversations, action counteracts helplessness.
Protect your mental health. You cannot sustain activism or advocacy if you are burned out. Rest is resistance. Boundaries are necessary.
Seek professional support. A therapist who understands the intersection of gender, politics, and mental health can provide validation and practical tools.
Hold onto hope. Hope is not naive. It is a form of resistance. The world has changed before, and it can change again—but only if we keep fighting, and only if we keep caring for ourselves and each other along the way.
A Final Thought
The threat to female freedom is real. It is not a "women's issue"—it is a human issue. It affects everyone who believes in dignity, autonomy, and justice.
The Canadian Women's Foundation reminds us that "freedom from violence is essential for everyone" and that "gender equality will not be achieved if diverse women, girls, Two Spirit, trans, and non-binary people are not safe from gender-based violence and the threat and fear of violence at home, work, and in their neighbourhoods."
For women reading this: your feelings are valid. Your fears are grounded in reality. Your anger is righteous. And you are not alone.
For allies: this is not a time for silence. Speak up. Show up. Believe women. Support organisations that protect women's rights. And when you see injustice, do not look away.
We are living through a difficult chapter. But chapters end. And the fight for female freedom continues.
Whatever it is, we’re here for you.
Life is uncertain. Jobs are stressful. Parenting is hard. Relationships take work. Families can be dysfunctional. And sometimes, love hurts. When you’re confronted by feelings, events, or issues that are making your life challenging, it’s okay to ask for some help.
REFERENCE SOURCES:
Canadian Women’s Foundation Out of Violence
Canadian Women’s Foundation Freedom from Gender-based Violence is a Human Right
Global Affairs Canada Foundations for Peace: Canada’s National Action Plan on Women, Peace and Security - 2023 to 2029
House of Commons Canada FEWO Committee Report - Gender-based Violence and Femicides in Canada
Healthy Debate ‘Your body, my choice’: American politics and the looming threat to reproductive freedoms in Canada
CBC News CSIS warns that the ‘anti-gender movement’ poses a threat of ‘extreme violence’
PBS News Women rally in support of Lindsay Clancy at her trial
BBC Lindsay Clancy murder trial has divided US on whether she’s victim or criminal
Global News Hundreds of women in pink rally in support of Lindsay Clancy during trial
CBS News Former Cornell University student sues school, 7 fraternity members over rape allegations
Vogue Women Are Rightly Outraged By the Cornell Rape Allegations. Are Men?
The Cornell Daily Sun Cornell Won’t, We Will
