Ashling was someone’s little girl too.
I’m crying writing this because my heart is broken for the parents of Ashling Murphy today, who have received the news that no parent wants to get.
Their bright, beautiful daughter is gone, taken from them for no rhyme or reason, jogging in broad daylight.
Since reading the news about Ashling I can’t look at my daughter without thinking that some day she’ll be woman in her twenties that wants to go out walking on her own and nothing terrifies me more.
No woman should have to fear walking in the park or making her way home from work or from a night out, but the reality is we do.
Ever since I had my daughter I was fully aware of the conversations that I’d have to have with her, the same conversations every woman gets.
Don’t wear headphones at night.
Take down the number of the taxi your in and send it to me.
Wear sensible shoes so you can run if you need to.
Have something in your bag you can use to protect yourself.
Cover your drink.
Call me when you get home.
I don’t know a single woman who hasn’t been told some or all of these things.
The burden of our safety is always placed on us, even though we have no choice in the matter if we make it home safely or not.
We are still attacked, we are still harmed, we are still murdered.
I know deep down I have no control over if I will ever make it home safely and I also know, when she’s an adult, out on her own, I will have no control over my daughter’s safety either and it enrages me.
She should have every right to go out for jog, walk home at night, get into a taxi, go to a club, go on a date without me worrying if I’ll ever hear from her again.
Even to this day I will talk to men who think women are exaggerating their fear and it infuriates me because they just don’t get it.
We are always on guard, not just for ourselves but for every woman around us.
Only last as I was walking to my bus stop I saw a young woman hesitate going down a dark road by herself and I told her I’d watch her until she got to the end of the road before continuing on my way.
This is our reality, for ourselves, for our sisters and for our daughters.
Ashling should have been able to go for a jog, go home and go to work today.
Her parents shouldn’t have had to worry that they wouldn’t see her again.
But here we are with another family without a daughter because no one will listen, truly listen, when we say we are in danger.
I cannot look at my daughter today without thinking about Ashling, because just like my daughter is my little girl, Ashling was someone’s little girl too.
