Empowering Spaces: Reflections on Women’s Bathrooms and Belonging
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Ugh, no hand soap. Again.
Living in Spain has taught me that hand hygiene is often not a top priority in public places.
Fortunately, growing up here means I’m accustomed to this reality. As Gang Starr famously noted, “I’m not new to this, I’m true to this.”
Thus, I carry soap sheets with me wherever I venture.
While at the sink in a shopping mall bathroom last week, preparing to wash my hands, I noticed the door creak open and a head peek inside.
Bright brown eyes, accented with bold blue eyeshadow, appeared beneath a blunt-cut fringe. A sprinkle of adolescent acne adorned her soft cheeks, and metallic braces gleamed between her pink, glossy lips.
Retro makeup may have made a comeback, or perhaps my hand-washing ritual had transported me back to the mid-80s.
We exchanged glances for a brief moment.
“¿Puedo pasar?” May I come in?
Her gentle, youthful voice broke the silence of the empty restroom.
“Sí, claro.” Of course.
I smiled and gestured toward the vacant stalls and the rows of mirrors behind me.
I wondered if she mistakenly thought this was a single-person restroom or if she assumed I was a janitor, which wouldn’t be the first time someone had made that assumption based on my appearance.
Yet, I was curious as to why she felt the need to ask.
She hesitated slightly as she stepped through the doorway.
“Bueno, es que… soy trans.” Well, it’s just that… I’m trans.
What I’m about to express may seem unusual to some, but here it is:
The women’s restroom holds an unexpectedly vital role in the experience of girlhood.
I’m not referring to Grandma’s bathroom with its peach tiles and clam shell soap dish, where first periods and awkward attempts at shaving legs took place.
Nor am I speaking of the glamorous restrooms in upscale restaurants that are eerily empty when you check your appearance on a date.
I’m talking about public restrooms that serve as impromptu community hubs for women—those dingy social nooks you find in nightclubs, bars, and airports that offer a fleeting moment of calm as the chaos fades behind the closing door.
Restrooms with precarious toilet seats, malfunctioning flushes, and affirmations like “love urself babe ur perfect” scribbled in eyeliner on the stall walls.
I’d wager that anyone who has used a public ladies' room has encountered at least one memorable, uplifting moment with another patron.
What’s so special about it? I hear you exclaim. Men have bathrooms too, and no one seems to mind.
On a functional level, there’s little distinction.
In fact, the ladies' restroom often pales in comparison to the men’s, plagued by long lines, sparse toilet paper, and the harshest lighting imaginable.
However, this discussion isn’t about practicality. If it were, we wouldn’t have much of a case. What I’m referring to is something much deeper and visceral.
I once helped a drunken stranger unfasten her bodysuit in a nightclub restroom so she could relieve herself before returning to the dancefloor. Anyone familiar with bodysuits understands the challenge of that task.
Countless times, I’ve seen girls bring their drinks into the restroom, leaving them unattended without a second thought about being roofied.
There’s almost always someone offering an uplifting pep talk to a heartbroken friend in need of encouragement.
Blister plasters, boob tape, and tampons are shared like treats at a Women’s Institute gathering. Friendly banter fills the air. Strangers often become fast friends.
Outfits are adjusted, hair is styled, perfume is shared, and those guarding faulty locks prevent accidental intrusions. Those in urgent need are allowed to cut in line.
It’s a space where the strength of sisterhood shines through—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically powerful.
The women’s restroom is one of the few environments where female vulnerability is nurtured rather than exploited. It’s a sanctuary where women can feel safe without needing to justify their existence.
Sure, it serves its primary function when nature calls, but it also acts as a cocoon—a refuge where one can seek solace.
Why the Focus on Bathrooms?
This recent encounter led me to a profound realization as a conventional woman with a straightforward identity comfortably fitting within societal norms.
I recognized that the girl peeking around the door wasn’t merely asking for permission to enter;
She was seeking permission to belong.
In that moment, she granted me the power to accept or reject her desire to exist freely in a space that many like me find comforting, while for many like her, it is often associated with hostility and discomfort.
My alignment with traditional gender norms gives me the confidence to occupy space in social settings where those with more complex identities may feel hesitant.
Of course, adolescence is a period filled with uncertainty—young people are constantly trying to navigate their identities and find their place in a world dominated by adults. This girl, likely around 14 or 15 years old, is no exception.
However, this situation was unique because it transcended the typical social hierarchy related to age. This wasn’t merely a child seeking permission from an adult.
Instead, our positions along the spectrum of womanhood prompted a consideration of each other’s existence.
It felt as if she believed that within this shared space, her identity could somehow encroach upon mine; by revealing that she was trans and acknowledging our differences, she was seeking validation for her humanity from me.
She asked if she could enter because there was a possibility I might not want her to.
And that realization is profoundly saddening to me.
“Bueno, hija, ¿qué más da? Pasa, pasa.” So what, kiddo? Come on in.
I moved towards the hand dryer.
“¡Ay, muchas gracias!” Oh, thank you so much!
She smiled brightly and walked past me in her fishnet tights and glossy Dr. Martens.
Transphobia is not unfamiliar in countries that uphold organized religion or traditional social values, such as Spain.
Vox, a prominent far-right political party, has consistently expressed disdain for transgender individuals and their basic human rights. Transgender people face bullying, vilification, and persecution from conservative factions throughout the nation.
While adults attacking other adults is one issue, what happens when this toxic behavior trickles down to children?
Children are Sacred
“Los niños son sagrados” (children are sacred) is a phrase often invoked in response to the mistreatment of children in any form.
Children hold a revered status in Hispanic culture, so why was this particular child so acutely aware of the controversies surrounding her identity? Shouldn’t the innocence we strive to preserve in children also extend to transgender youth?
Shouldn’t she have the right to exist as comfortably as her peers?
If I had expressed discomfort with her entering the restroom, I am certain she would have turned away and left. That thought deeply unsettles me. It troubles me that she felt compelled to mention it.
Because who am I? I hold no importance or authority over public spaces or gender identity.
I have no concern for what people do within the privacy of a bathroom stall. I don’t seek to intimidate or judge them.
I’m merely a stranger washing my hands at the sink. Luckily for this girl, I’m a kind stranger—someone whose cup of compassion and understanding overflows.
Yet, the fact that she felt the need to ask stirred a mix of pity and anger within me.
I felt outraged that this innocent individual has likely faced—and will continue to face—social rejection from narrow-minded individuals who are more concerned with others' lives than their own.
As if growing up wasn’t already laden with insecurities and an acute awareness of differences. As if being a teenager today isn’t akin to navigating the seventh circle of hell in gasoline shorts.
The world can indeed be a daunting place. However, the women’s restroom represents something entirely different, and it should remain that way.
I felt an overwhelming surge of maternal instinct as I considered how she must feel on a daily basis. Physically, she was tall and slender, yet she appeared so small and vulnerable.
A child.
Just trying to figure herself out, one day at a time.
When she entered the sink area, she complimented my outfit—I shared that I have my own clothing line and was sporting one of my latest designs. I offered her a soap sheet and asked about her makeup—her parents had recently gifted her a KIKO eyeshadow palette for her birthday. I’ve never been good with eyeshadow, but she wears it every day.
And there we were.
Just two girls chatting in the women’s restroom, sharing pleasant conversation we’d likely recount to our mothers before returning to our mundane daily routines.
These are the moments we need more of—witnessing humans being simply human and engaging in everyday interactions.
Often, bigots act as if those they harbor prejudice against are subhuman beings that must be eradicated to restore a sense of order to the world.
In truth, we’re all just people trying to get by, living our lives until our time runs out.
Coexisting peacefully is not as complicated as it’s made out to be. Kindness towards others is not difficult. We’re all different, and that’s perfectly fine—no need for chaos or conflict.
So, when you encounter someone who is different from you, just share the soap.
Don’t get worked up about it.
Natalie S. Ohio is a British-Nigerian LGBTQ writer passionate about sharing the queer experience. For more writings like this, check out her other LGBTQ+ articles here!
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