I See You

You’re Visible.

Dear Trailblazer,

Visibility (noun)
/viz-uh-bi-li-tee/

A radical act of presence; the courage to exist loudly in a world that tells you to shrink. To be visible is to take up space, to be recognized, and to be affirmed, especially when your truth is inconvenient, ignored, or erased.

Etymology: From the Latin vīsibilis, meaning "that which can be seen," derived from vidēre, "to see." The term has evolved beyond the literal to symbolize acknowledgment, representation, and the refusal to be erased.

It is power. It is a protest. It is survival.

Visibility means more than just being seen. It means being safe, being heard, being held, especially when the world tries to silence us.

This week, we celebrate Lesbian Visibility Week, a time to amplify the joy, power, and everyday existence of lesbian lives across the world. But this month, we also sit with another truth: April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.

Both moments ask something tender and honest of us, to tell the truth about who we are, what we’ve survived, and what we deserve.

Visibility is not just a hashtag. It is safety. It is dignity. It is the quiet hope of someone who no longer wants to whisper their name, their pain, or their story.

So what does it mean to be visible and vulnerable in a world that doesn’t always believe us?

Let me tell you about Bola. She’s 17. Her story? One you might already know. She met a 26-year-old woman. She called it love. Maybe even felt powerful, “I’m dating an older stud,” she said.

But the title Iyawo Pablo (/ee-yah-woh pah-bloh/ A Nigerian slang term for the girlfriend or partner of a someone known as "Pablo," often associated with wealth, lavish spending, and a flamboyant lifestyle. It highlights relationships where women receive extravagant gifts, popularized on social media) wasn’t a badge of pride. It was a trap.

Her phone, gone. Her family, cut off. Her body, no longer hers. She was hit, hurt, and held captive in a cycle we don’t talk about enough.

This is not love. This is abuse. This is assault.

And yet, Bola stayed silent. Because who do you tell when the harm doesn’t fit the script? When the abuser is a woman? When the world says, “God forbid”?

We need to talk about what it means to not be seen. To be queer, to be a girl, to be young, and to be hurt.

To be told, “It’s your fault.”
To be told, “No one will believe you.”
To be told, “Just move on.”

But not today.

Today, I see you, the lesbians who’ve had to stay quiet. The survivors. The ones still trying to find the words. The ones who don’t have them yet.

You are not alone. You are not dirty. You are not to blame.
You are visible. And I see you.

No matter who you are, where you are, what you feel, you're visible and I see you.

From your Favourite Queer Fairy,

Tori.