“Bleeding but Leading”
Written by: Lorraine Thandiwe Matshazi
In the hidden corners of our nation, the horror is not a stranger; it is a houseguest. It sleeps in the same room as the child it preys upon. It wears the face of a father, the laugh of an uncle, the authority of a caregiver.
This is not the stranger in the dark alley. This is the man who once taught her to ride a bicycle. The one who carried her on his shoulders at family gatherings. The one whose voice she once ran to for safety. The betrayal is not just in the act, it is in the dismantling of trust.
A little girl’s home becomes her crime scene. Her body becomes a battleground. Her childhood, stolen in moments, leaves behind years of haunting.
Imagine her. She is seven, sitting in a small rural classroom, her mind drifting away from the teacher’s voice. The other children are reading aloud, but she is stuck in last night’s terror. The smell of his sweat. The muffled voice telling her to “keep quiet.” The sound of the door closing.
Imagine her, she is nine, in the city, dressed for Sunday service. The preacher says, “Children are blessings from God,” and she wonders why God would bless her with pain. She wonders if God saw. She wonders if He looked away. She wonders, what even is faith?
Some of these girls try to speak. They tell a mother who begs them not to “destroy the family.” They whisper to a teacher, who calls for a meeting, but the case never sees court. They go to the police, but the file is “lost,” or the evidence is “inconclusive.” And so the cycle swallows them whole.
She tries to speak. She tells a mother who begs her not to “destroy the family.” She whispers to a teacher, who calls for a meeting, but the case never sees court. They go to the police, but the file is “lost,” or the evidence is “inconclusive.” And so the cycle swallows them whole. Drenched in guilt, she chooses to drown in her sorrow, her faith completely flooded by her tears. Injustice has always been the norm.
The impact is generational.
A girl violated at eight grows into a woman mistrustful of men, wary of love, often trapped in cycles of abuse because her boundaries were broken before she knew how to defend them. She struggles to raise her children without fear shadowing every interaction. Her voice may be strong in boardrooms or activism spaces, but it carries an undertone of pain, a painful society forced her to normalise.
Yet still, we praise her “resilience.” We call her strong. We say, look at her, bleeding but leading. And yes, she indeed leads. She rises to positions of power, she becomes a teacher, nurse, lawyer, activist. She has embodied trauma, she is seen as a survivor, in a romantic relationship, married to her lived experience, and society claps in awe.
Yet still, we praise their “resilience.” We call them strong. We say, look at her, bleeding but leading. And yes, they indeed lead. They rise to positions of power, they become teachers, nurses, lawyers, activists. But we must stop romanticizing survival. We must stop turning trauma into a prerequisite for leadership.
Because the cost is too high.
When a girl is silenced to “protect the family name,” and years later becomes a community leader advocating for women’s rights, we must ask: How many others are we forcing into the same silent suffering, hoping they too will ‘turn it into purpose’? How many minors are rape survivors who must bear the title of “strong”? What strength are we glorifying amidst growing numbers of violence against girls and women?
We live in a bleeding society.
The bleeding is in our schools,
where girls fear going home
It’s in our clinics, where nurses whisper about the “family matter” instead of recording the assault.
It’s in our police stations, where dockets vanish….
It’s in our courts, where perpetrators walk free
because “she is too young to testify.
These are not isolated tragedies. They are a pattern, a national stain. And until we rip away the silence and confront the predators hiding behind respectability, the bleeding will not stop.
The question is whether our girls will survive. They will because they have no other choice. But must we keep forcing them to survive instead of letting them live?
When will we stop demanding strength from children and start giving them safety?