“When I was your age…”
That phrase, more often than not, is not the voice of wisdom—
but the echo of suppressed anger, denial, and quiet defeat.
I was shaped by women who tried to erase me.
Like a broken chain: you must break free from them,
and yet, you carry their history within you.

One day, my mother said,
“When I was your age, I had three children.”
She said it with pride.
And something inside me shattered.

Three children.
Twenty-two years old.
A poor village.
A patriarchal system.
A life enslaved by male dominance.
And to wear that as a badge of honor?
No.
To present it as an achievement?
Never.

That is the legacy of chains.
An invisible shackle passed from mother to daughter.

I despise the women who boast of it.
And the men who made it possible.
And all the systems that sanctify this cycle.

Sometimes, being at the center of hatred becomes an advantage.
Because in a world where no one loves you,
you no longer censor your words.
You speak without fear.
You stop seeking approval.
You are wounded, but free.
And freedom often wears the mask of solitude.

I’ve watched the films.
The documentaries.
Life was much darker than most assume.
Women were alone.
Women were sold.
Women were silent.

But this wasn’t universal.
150 years ago, skyscrapers rose in New York.
Meanwhile, in our lands,
girls were being married off.

And the Middle East?
My God…
It’s not just a place—
It is the name of abandonment, betrayal, and chains.

Today, I only want to talk about the wrong.
Because I no longer expect it to be corrected.
I just want it to be known.
To be written.
To never be forgotten.

I want you to hear the voice
of the woman who had three children at twenty-two,
and of her daughter,
and of another daughter who turned that silence into a scream