The Cost of Silence: How a Colonial Approach to Learning Harms Women

Why is it that when older women struggle, we are so easily overlooked? Why do our challenges seem to disappear into the background, seen as less urgent or important? As I faced eviction due to financial hardship, while grieving losses and navigating a global pandemic, I was left wondering why the University of Toronto—an institution I once trusted—saw my struggles as invisible. It felt as though I was expected to be endlessly resilient, pushing through obstacles without question.

In academia, this pressure is more than just a personal burden. It’s part of a broader, competitive mindset—a colonial approach to learning that rewards silence and suffering, while punishing those who dare to admit they need help. It dissuades women from seeing themselves as human, encouraging us instead to become self-sacrificing machines that can endure anything, no matter the cost.

This isn’t just about how inhuman we tend to treat ourselves, often overlooking our own needs to complete the many tasks demanded by our families, communities, and even ourselves. It’s also about how we allow this behavior to manifest in academic settings, as I did while attending the University of Toronto. Despite the financial hardships that affected me as a student—circumstances beyond my control like the pandemic and personal losses—I was still expected to perform like a one-size-fits-all academic, maintaining a vigilant stance in pursuit of stability to complete my degree. Like many students, I faced a choice: struggle to meet impossible standards or fail, despite the time, commitment, and effort invested, because the supports simply don’t exist for students like me.

This competitive spirit is rooted in a colonial approach to learning, one that emphasizes survival of the fittest over genuine support and care. It creates a system where vulnerability is punished rather than supported, and where struggling students, especially women, are pushed to the margins. We are taught that we must be strong, resilient, and self-sacrificing to succeed, but that message often comes at the cost of our well-being and sense of self-worth.

It is not just the University of Toronto that I am challenging here, but the very nature of how we approach education. Why is it that so many women—especially older women—are left feeling like they have to hide their struggles or be dismissed if they speak up? How many of us are suffering in silence, afraid to admit that we are struggling under the weight of expectations that do not fit our realities?

For me, the cost of silence has been homelessness and a profound sense of invisibility, dismissed by an institution that I once trusted. And I know I am not alone. There are countless others who have faced similar hardships, who have been told to “suck it up” or to keep pushing, even when there’s nothing left to push with. This needs to change. We need to recognize that the true strength lies not in suffering alone but in building systems of support that allow us all to thrive—not just those who fit a narrow mold.

We must shift away from a model of learning that values competition over care, and move toward one that sees students as whole people—people with stories, struggles, and different paths to success. Only then can we create a space where the next generation of women, and all marginalized students, can feel seen, heard, and valued for who they are, not just for what they can endure.