Do Women Truly Have Autonomy?

Do women truly have autonomy over their own bodies?

Do we really choose us when making decisions?

If you’re asking me... the answer is no. Not really. Not consistently. Not like we should.

I could spiral into a thousand directions with this thought. But it came to me as I listened to the women around me. Women I love. Women I respect. Watching them choose things—people, jobs, dynamics—that are doing nothing but draining them. And I thought of myself too. The choices I made while pretending they were for me. Saying I was rising above a circumstance when I was actually sinking right into it.

It’s the same woman who’ll say all day, “I love me.” She’ll shout it from every mountaintop, post it, wear it, tattoo it across her chest. But when you look at the actual choices? The way she moves? It’s not love—it’s performance. It’s defense. It’s hope dressed up like empowerment.

And the thing is—you can’t argue with someone about how much they claim to love themselves. If she says she does, then that’s her truth. You have to let her have it.

But you can ask the question.

Because self-love isn’t just saying it. It’s choosing your boundaries and honoring them. It’s setting your own pace, not racing to keep up with someone else’s expectations. It’s making decisions that look selfish to others because you know the long-term cost of choosing anyone but you.

Does that make for a fulfilled life? Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t met many people who’ve fully figured that out. But I did meet someone recently—this woman who was magnetic. Powerful. A gifted speaker with the kind of presence that makes a room lean in. Married, accomplished, goal-driven. Carried her titles with intention.

I was in a class with her—won’t use her name. I try not to name people in these entries, even the ones I admire. Especially the ones I admire. If she ever reads this, I hope she knows it's her. Because I found her interesting.

She had that rare balance—smart, engaging, funny. Made the class fly by when it could’ve dragged. She didn’t just teach, she connected. That’s a gift.

And over lunch, somehow—like always—the conversation drifted toward relationships. I don’t know why that happens with women. We could be discussing financial literacy, real estate, hair care, anything —and somehow, love still sneaks into the room.

She said something that stuck with me. She loves her life. She loves her husband. But he’s not thrilled about where her career is heading. Not because she’s failing—but because she’s flourishing. And the more she grows, the more she learns, the more she becomes—the less access he has to her.

She didn’t say it in those exact words, but that’s what I heard.

And I thought—wow. Even in love, even in a marriage, that kind of autonomy—the kind that comes from personal evolution—costs you something. Especially if the people closest to you haven’t evolved with you.

And what struck me most—what shook me a little—was that you could tell she wasn’t saying she loved him just because it was convenient or expected. This wasn’t one of those “I love him because we have history” kind of loves. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t survival. It was real.

You could feel it in her voice. In the way she paused before she spoke. In the way she carried both pride and pain in the same sentence.

She talked about how happy she is with her life right now. How much she loves what she’s building. She’s learning constantly, growing in her career, traveling, making money—not for applause, but because she’s choosing her own life with intention. She’s gaining autonomy—not just over her body, but over her time, her path, her worth.

But even in that joy, there was this quiet war she acknowledged.

Because as she grows, her husband is losing access. Not because she’s withholding—but because her expansion is no longer orbiting around his schedule, his needs, his comfort. Their rhythms don’t align anymore. She’s away. He’s home. She’s evolving. He’s...not sure how to sit with it.

And then she said something that landed in me like a full sermon:
"I love him with all my heart, but he does not have to accept this for his truth. He doesn’t have to stay. And if he decides he no longer wants to do this—I’m okay with that."

And I just sat there like—wow.

Because women don’t usually say that. Not out loud. Not without a wobble in their voice or a loophole in their logic. But she meant it.

That, to me, is real autonomy. Not just over your body. Not just over your time. But over your love. Your outcomes. Your peace.

And she said, “It’s true. I made peace with that a long time ago.”

He told her he wasn’t happy. Not with her success, but with what it was doing to them. Of course he’s proud of her. Of course he sees her shine. But it’s costing them connection. Time. Intimacy. Access. And she didn’t brush it off. She didn’t villainize him for feeling that.

She said, “He may decide to leave me. And I had to accept that as my truth. Because this isn’t what he signed up for.”

She wasn’t saying it to sound strong. She was strong. She wasn’t preparing for pain, she was simply... aware of it. She knew it could come. And if it did? She’d already built a life that could hold her. She’d earned her degrees. Stacked her credentials. Made money. Traveled. Learned. Grown. And most importantly—she seemed internally whole.

If she was lying, she fooled me. But I don’t think she was.

Nobody’s 100% happy all the time. That’s not real life. But she looked like a woman who was okay with where she planted her seeds.

And that’s the kind of peace I’m learning to define for myself.

As I listened to her, she didn’t get too deep into the details. She just said, “Our directions are strict. The party’s not happy. I’m always away. But I love what I do.”

And I said—wow.

Because most of us don’t say that. Not when we know the man might leave. We fold. We dim. We panic. We negotiate with parts of ourselves that should never be on the table. And when it all goes left, we hold up our pain like a trophy. A receipt. Proof that we tried.

But she wasn’t about that.

She wasn’t waiting for him to stay. She was simply okay if he didn’t. And that level of internal peace? That’s what real autonomy looks like.

So again, I ask:

Do women truly have autonomy over their own bodies, the way they "think" they do?

Because when it all falls apart—and we start tallying up every sacrifice made—we need to be honest about something:

Were we ever truly choosing ourselves?

Authors note: 

This reflection was inspired by a recent conversation with someone I love very, very much—and by my own path, my own choices. When I really take the time to look back at where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and how things unfolded, I have to admit where it went wrong. I have to take responsibility for the suffering I could’ve avoided if I had been more honest with myself.

Of course, this is a subjective take. But I believe that when suffering isn’t necessary, we owe it to ourselves to pay attention. I’ve done myself a lot of disservices over the years. I’ll always own that. Not for pity, but for the sake of truth. Because even when others saw me as smart, I often chose the dumb route. That’s just the truth.

Even now, stepping into my gifts is hard—because I’ve spent so long shrinking, numbing, and molding myself to fit into spaces I was never meant to belong in. So when I ask this question about autonomy, I’m asking myself too. I’m not pointing fingers. I’m not judging anyone. I just want us, for once, to look inward. To be honest about what we’re really choosing when we make these decisions and tell ourselves certain stories.

Because most of the time, things don’t unfold the way our delusions said they would. And we know that. Deep down, we do.

This is just my reflection. My truth in this moment. I love these kinds of conversations, and I’ll always be open to having them—because the subject of women, our choices, our voices, our losses and gains… that will always matter. This isn’t a trend. This is a forever conversation.