Post 2: When Knowledge Becomes a Safe Space
What it means when women, minorities, and the under-heard gain direct access to learning—without the shame, bias, or power games.
In the last post, we asked: what happens when the gatekeepers of knowledge no longer stand between people and the information they need?
That’s what we’ll explore next: what it means when women, minorities, and the under-heard gain direct access to learning—without the shame, bias, or power games.
AI, at its best, brings an unbiased perspective—not because it’s perfect, but because it doesn’t size you up, flirt with you, or pretend to know what’s best for you based on your gender, your race, or your economic background. It doesn’t steer you away from your interests. It doesn’t hold power over your future—or your body.
When I left elementary school and moved into junior high—what many now call middle school—I was drawn to advanced math. Numbers made sense to me. They didn’t come with attitude, mixed signals, or personal agendas. Math was fair. Clean. It asked only for logic, not for conformity.
But my counselor thought he knew better. He redirected me to Home Economics—no discussion. The one time he showed interest in my future turned out to be a mask for something else: control. Power. I didn’t just lose my academic path—I lost trust. So I left school.
At sixteen, I found work. A front desk clerk job at a major hotel chain—one technically reserved for people over twenty-one. But in the 1970s, if you could do the job, no one looked too hard. I was good at it. Bookkeeping, ledgers, mental math—my comfort zone. Math didn’t lie or touch or leer.
But men still did.
One night, I accepted a ride home from a male coworker I thought I could trust.
I was wrong.
He made sexual advances as we pulled into my driveway. I barely escaped. It was another reality check: being good at your job, being quiet, being polite—none of that guaranteed safety.
So I left. Again.
Next came a local car lot—owned by a friend of my brother’s. He seemed decent, safe. I took the job. I was barely comfortable driving, but I had to get past the fear fast. On a lot, cars need to be moved, cleaned, errands run. There wasn’t room for hesitation.
That’s what women learn early:
How to survive in systems never built for us.
How to adapt, stay quiet, stay ready.
And how to leave—sometimes again and again—when trust breaks down.
That’s why AI matters.
Because for many of us, learning wasn’t the hard part.
It was finding a place to learn where we weren’t undermined or endangered.
AI doesn’t care how we look.
It doesn’t ask us to prove our worth before answering our questions.
It doesn’t follow us home.
It gives us space.
To think. To grow. To rebuild the confidence that others chipped away at.
Have you experienced something similar?
Were there moments when someone else decided your path—or worse, made it unsafe to even walk it?
—JL
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