Unmuting Medusa: A Story of Survival, Strength, and the Silence Black Women Know Too Well
Let’s talk about a story you think you know: Medusa, the snake-haired villain who could turn you to stone with one glance. Terrifying, right? But dig deeper, and you’ll see Medusa wasn’t the monster—she was the victim.
Medusa’s story isn’t just mythology. For many women, especially Black women, her tale feels like a mirror. It’s a reminder of how society punishes survivors, silences voices, and turns pain into spectacle.
Medusa’s Pain, Our Pain
Here’s the truth behind the myth: Medusa was a mortal beauty who caught the eye of Poseidon. He violated her in Athena’s temple—a sacred space meant to protect. But instead of defending Medusa, Athena punished her. Medusa’s hair twisted into snakes, and her gaze became so powerful it turned anyone who looked at her to stone.
She was exiled, blamed, and feared for a crime committed against her. Sound familiar? Black women, in particular, have been forced to carry this same kind of weight for generations. Our trauma is often ignored or punished, and when we try to speak, we’re labeled angry, difficult, or dangerous.
The Athena Effect: Judged, Not Protected
Athena’s betrayal feels all too real when we think about the way society treats Black women. We’re expected to be strong no matter what, to bear pain without complaint, and to keep moving forward even when the world is against us.
When survivors of sexual violence speak up, the judgment is swift:
Why were you there?
What were you wearing?
Are you sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?
For Black women, these questions are often tinged with racism, rooted in harmful stereotypes that paint us as hypersexual, aggressive, or less deserving of protection. Like Medusa, we’re turned into the villain in our own stories.
The Truth About Power and Control
Let’s set the record straight: rape and sexual violence aren’t about attraction—they’re about power. And power doesn’t discriminate—it hurts everyone it touches. Black women, children, the elderly, and even nuns have been victims. The blame lies solely with the abuser, never the survivor.
Unmuting Medusa
Medusa’s story reminds us that survival doesn’t mean silence. Her myth has been twisted into a cautionary tale about beauty and danger, but we know better. Her resilience in the face of betrayal and violence is a story Black women know too well.
For too long, Black women’s pain has been erased, dismissed, or sensationalized. But here’s what I want you to know: your story matters. Your voice matters. Your healing matters.
How We Break the Cycle
Here’s how we can start rewriting this narrative for ourselves and each other:
Believe Survivors: When someone shares their story, listen without judgment or doubt.
Challenge Victim-Blaming: Shut down questions and comments that place blame on the survivor.
Protect Our Sisters: Advocate for policies, resources, and spaces that support and uplift Black women and survivors of all kinds.
Reclaim Our Stories: Medusa wasn’t a monster, and neither are we. Let’s own our truth and tell it boldly.
Reflection Prompt
What’s one way you can support Black women in your life who are carrying untold stories of survival and strength?
Medusa’s myth has survived for centuries, but we have the power to reshape its message. Let’s honor her story—and our own—by creating a world where Black women are protected, respected, and heard.
Rooting for your healing and truth,
Dr. Brooklyn Chick 🌱✨
