Why Women Still Need Spaces of Their Own

Women aren’t asking for permission to exclude. They’re asking for the choice to feel safe, supported and heard.

Women-only spaces are not about hating men, suggesting that every man is dangerous, or saying that women cannot exist alongside men. They are about recognising that women can experience the world differently because of the risks they disproportionately face, and acknowledging that sometimes having a choice of environment matters.

The statistics behind that conversation are difficult to ignore. In England and Wales, an estimated 2.2 million women experienced domestic abuse in the year ending March 2025. An estimated 739,000 women experienced sexual assault during the same period. Previous ONS research into personal safety also found that 58% of women aged 16–34 had experienced at least one form of harassment in the previous 12 months, while 82% of women reported feeling unsafe walking alone in a park or open space after dark.

These aren't simply numbers on a government website. They represent women we know, work with, train alongside and love. They are our friends, sisters, daughters, colleagues and clients. They also provide important context for understanding why some women experience environments differently from men.

Women have become incredibly accustomed to compromise. We share our locations with friends, text each other when we get home, watch our drinks, avoid certain streets, think twice about wearing headphones and assess situations before entering them. Sometimes we consider what we're wearing, whether we're being too friendly, whether somebody could mistake politeness for interest or whether rejecting unwanted attention could make a situation worse.

These behaviours have become so normal that we rarely stop to consider what they represent.

Then, when something does happen, the questions can turn towards the woman. What was she wearing? How much had she drunk? Why did she go there? Was she flirting? Why didn't she leave? Why didn't she report it immediately? Why did she continue speaking to him afterwards?

There is an important difference between establishing facts and placing responsibility on the person reporting harm. Yet culturally, we still encounter an expectation that women should somehow have anticipated, prevented or escaped another person's behaviour.

What does this have to do with a gym?

More than we might initially think.

A woman trains in a sports bra and somebody assumes she's looking for attention. She wears tight leggings and hears that she must know people are going to look. She posts a photograph celebrating her progress and is told she shouldn't complain about unwanted comments because of what she chooses to post online. She speaks warmly to somebody and friendliness is interpreted as flirting.

These might appear insignificant compared with the statistics surrounding violence against women, and I'm not suggesting they're equivalent. What concerns me is the underlying attitude: the idea that the way a woman presents herself somehow determines what behaviour towards her she should expect or tolerate.

It doesn't.

A sports bra isn't consent. Leggings aren't consent. Posting photographs of your body isn't consent. Confidence isn't consent. Being friendly isn't consent. Even flirting isn't automatic consent to anything beyond that interaction. The Crown Prosecution Service specifically addresses myths around consent and makes clear that consent cannot simply be assumed from clothing or flirtatious behaviour. Consent requires agreement by choice, with the freedom and capacity to make that choice.

A woman's body existing visibly is not an invitation to it.

The conversation happening right now

The ongoing allegations commonly referred to online as the “Cornell 7” have brought discussions around sexual violence, consent and victim-blaming into public conversation again. A former Cornell University student has filed a civil lawsuit alleging that she was drugged and sexually assaulted by multiple fraternity members in 2024. Those allegations are contested, and the legal and investigative processes surrounding the case remain ongoing.

That distinction matters. Individual allegations should be treated responsibly, and social media should not determine guilt or innocence.

But we can still talk about the wider cultural conversation the case has generated. Once again, discussions have focused heavily on alcohol, drugs, decisions made beforehand, previous interactions and how an alleged victim behaved afterwards.

Whatever the eventual outcome of an individual case, these conversations expose the assumptions we continue to hold about how women are expected to behave before, during and after sexual violence.

It makes me question why conversations about women's safety so frequently become conversations about what women should have done differently. Why do we still ask what she wore before questioning why somebody might believe her clothing gave them permission? Why do we scrutinise whether she was friendly, flirtatious or intoxicated as though these things somehow determine whether her boundaries deserve respect?

Then I tried to create a women's space

This wider conversation became particularly real for me when I publicly shared my ambition to create a women-only gym.

I didn't say that men were dangerous. I didn't say that women shouldn't exercise alongside men, and I certainly didn't suggest that mixed gyms should disappear. I simply said that I wanted to create another option for women.

The reaction to that alone has been incredibly telling. I've been called “sexist” and “entitled.” Men have publicly joked about identifying as women so that they could enter. I've been asked why there isn't a male-only equivalent. I've seen the entire concept reduced to women wanting somewhere they can “film themselves in peace”.

One response particularly stayed with me. I was told that if exercising next to a man prevents a woman from feeling comfortable enough to become physically stronger, perhaps she should “work on her mental strength” first.

That comment perfectly demonstrates why I believe this conversation matters. When a woman tells us that she feels uncomfortable somewhere, why is our instinct to question whether her discomfort is legitimate? Why are we telling her to become stronger rather than being curious about why she feels uncomfortable in the first place?

Women shouldn't have to disclose trauma before they're considered deserving of an alternative. A woman shouldn't have to tell somebody that she has experienced sexual assault, domestic abuse or harassment before her preference for a women-only environment becomes legitimate. She shouldn't have to prove that somebody has stared at her, photographed her, followed her or commented on her body while exercising.

In fact, she shouldn't need a traumatic reason at all. A woman saying, “I feel more comfortable exercising around women” should be enough.

Accessibility doesn't mean forcing everybody to learn to become comfortable in exactly the same environment. Sometimes accessibility means recognising that people experience environments differently and creating alternatives that allow more people to participate.

And strength isn't measured by how much discomfort you're willing to tolerate. Sometimes strength is recognising the environment in which you thrive and choosing it without feeling that you owe anybody an apology.

This isn't about vanity

A women-only gym isn't simply somewhere for women to take photographs or film themselves without men around. That interpretation completely misses the women these spaces can reach.

It's the woman who has paid for commercial gym memberships before but repeatedly stopped attending because she never felt comfortable. It's the beginner who wants to learn how to lift but feels intimidated entering a busy weights area. It's the woman returning to exercise after years away, the woman whose religion or culture influences where she feels comfortable exercising, the woman navigating menopause, the woman rebuilding her confidence following abuse, or the teenage girl discovering for the first time that strength training belongs to her too.

It's also for the woman with absolutely no traumatic history who simply prefers exercising around other women. Her choice is equally valid.

Women's spaces aren't only about physical safety either. When I talk about creating a safe environment, I also mean psychological safety: being able to ask questions without feeling stupid, talk about your body without embarrassment, establish boundaries without apologising and say that something made you uncomfortable without immediately being asked what you did to cause it.

I want women to have somewhere they can talk openly about their health, hormones, relationships, stress, mental wellbeing, physical health and confidence. Somewhere education is accessible and women's experiences aren't dismissed because somebody else doesn't personally understand them.

That is why Valkyr has never simply been about putting gym equipment into a building.

We are simply creating another choice

Mixed gyms already exist, and they will continue to exist. Millions of women happily train alongside men, and creating a women-only alternative does absolutely nothing to take that choice away from them.

I'm not trying to tell women where they should exercise. I want women to have more choice about where they can exercise.

A women-only gym will not solve violence against women. It won't eliminate harassment or change society overnight. But women's spaces can provide community, education, confidence and access to support. They can allow conversations to happen that might otherwise remain unspoken, and they can give women an environment in which they feel comfortable enough to participate in something they may previously have avoided.

Ultimately, we are simply creating another door. If you don't personally need that door, that's okay. It wasn't built for you.

But rather than mocking the women choosing to walk through it, perhaps we should listen when they tell us why they wanted it in the first place.

Women shouldn't have to become louder and louder before we decide their experiences are worth listening to. They shouldn't have to prove trauma before their boundaries deserve respect, and they shouldn't have to justify wanting a space in which they feel more comfortable.

Creating that choice isn't entitlement, and it isn't about teaching women to fear men.

It's about listening to women when they tell us what they need — and valuing their voices enough to actually create it.

Valkyr Vesta — Where women become powerful.