02/03/2026
When Fear Is Mistaken for Weakness https://www.lizaboubari.com/when-fear-is-mistaken-for-weakness
There is a quiet distinction many women feel — but rarely pause to name.
Last week, I came across an article on social media that stopped me in my tracks.
I truly was not looking for it. But once I read it, something inside me said: I cannot stay silent. Not as a woman, nor as a human being.
Restassured, this is not a statement about all women being innocent, nor is it an attempt to decide who is right or wrong.
It is a reflection on fear... how it silences, how it lives in the body, and how difficult it can be to find one’s voice when power is involved.
At first, it was about the story of one woman.
One voice is being questioned, dissected, and doubted.
The article in question was about Brooke Nevils, who described the bloody aftermath of what she says was a r**e by Matt Lauer in 2014. I kept reading, wondering what had happened to her and curious as to where he is now.
And then I made the mistake of scrolling down and reading the comments. That is when something heavier settled in my body. It was no longer about whether something happened.
It was about how quickly fear is dismissed and how easily silence is judged.
And how often are they expected to prove their pain before they are allowed compassion?
Hear me out...
Fear Lives Beneath More Than We Realize
As I sat with that feeling, I realized how familiar it felt.
So many women come to me for what they believe are other issues: stress, anxiety, weight struggles, relationship patterns, and self-doubt.
And over time, as trust builds and the mind softens, do we begin to notice something deeper beneath it all? A core fear held quietly in the subconscious. Not always named or remembered - but carried within.
- Fear that once served a purpose.
- Fear that was learned to keep others safe.
- Fear that stayed long after the danger passed.
Many never label what they experienced as trauma. They learn to live around it.
They carry the weight of it, the emotional, mental, and even physical burden, which follows them quietly for years.
I found myself thinking how, as a society, we often make more noise about animal cruelty than we do about human suffering—especially when that suffering belongs to us women. That realization alone broke my heart a little.
From One Woman to Many
And as I stayed with that ache, my thoughts went beyond one story, one moment, one country. They went to Iran, the land where I was born.
Tens of thousands of lives lost and sadly, the majority of women and children for wanting something as basic as freedom.
Believe me, these were women who did not suddenly become fearless. They walked through fear. They overcame the fear of losing their safety, their families, their futures, just to have a voice.
Whether it is one woman facing a powerful individual or thousands of women facing a powerful regime, the pattern is hauntingly familiar.
Fear is used to silence. Power is used to erase.
And when voices finally rise, they are questioned instead of protected.
The Questions We Ask—and the Ones We Don’t
What rattled me most, especially reading comments that came from women, were the same familiar questions:
Why didn’t she leave?
What is she after now?
Why did she wait?
Why speak now?
Rarely do we pause to ask a different question:
What strength did she gather to stay?
What fear did she have to overcome just to breathe again?
What did it take for her body to finally feel safe enough to speak?
This Is Not About Sides
Please know, this reflection is not about comparing pain nor about politics. It is about recognizing a universal truth: Silencing thrives where fear is misunderstood.
Until we learn to see fear not as weakness but as something women have learned to live with every day, we will continue to repeat the harm.
If any part of this resonated with you, you know of someone holding it together only to survive day by day, or you came here for one reason and recognized yourself in another, please know this:
I am here.
I am willing to sit with you.
And I am open to hearing your story—at your pace, in your time.
With gratitude,
Liza
