I'm the Single Cat Mom Charlie Kirk Warned You About

On Charlie Kirk's death, gun violence, and the impossible politics of speaking up

Charlie Kirk called me one of the biggest issues facing civilization. Yesterday, he was shot and killed. Today, I'm not allowed to have feelings about either.

Me, a single, childfree 30-something cat mom, am supposedly the problem with America today.

I am not seen as human, but as a statistic. A vessel of incompetence, reduced to an easily subjugated stereotype that becomes more predictable with each passing “you'll die single and alone” comment.

This is a taste of what Kirk actually said about women like me:

“We have more single women in their early 30’s that are the most depressed, suicidal, anxious, and lonely in America’s history because there’s a biological clock that’s going off and they realize that they’re not going to be able to have kids, that they’re not as desirable in the dating market or in the dating pool and so they start to lash out on the rest of society by voting democrat.”

Just this week Kirk posted a poll from NBC News about how Gen Z defines their personal success, claiming young liberal women are “so depressed” because they don’t value having children.

charliekirk1776

A post shared by @charliekirk1776

Charlie Kirk’s values aren’t substantiated by research or fact, but are shrouded in ego, privilege, masculinity, and–dare I say–fear.

Charlie Kirk thrived on reaction. And even in death, he got one. I’ve learned much more about him than I ever wanted or needed to in the past 24 hours following his death by gun violence.

He has garnered more attention on social media following his death than what feels like school shootings and other political acts of violence combined.

There’s a problem with that.

When Everything Collapses

The same ecosystem that amplified Kirk's rhetoric about women like me is the one that now dictates how I'm allowed to respond to his death. Some rebut with, “but he had a wife and kids,” as if having a family makes someone immune from criticism of their harmful rhetoric.

Many people hurt by the policies Kirk supported also have families, but the same people citing this justification for empathy remain silent as families are pulled apart by ICE.

Being married with children doesn't absolve you of the responsibility for your words and impact.

As soon as I saw the news of the shooting while on vacation, I paused. I pulled my hooded sweatshirt over my hair, sunk into the couch, and grew silent. I felt my anxiety bubbling. Even simple questions, like "What's for dinner?" felt unbearable. "I can't do this right now."

In the safety bubble of my sweatshirt, scrolling social media for more information (since it appears to be more effective than mainstream media these days), I saw the moment when our country changed again.

via Pinterest

I know this moment. I’ve been here before. More times than I’d like to admit. 9/11. COVID. The DC Sniper. Countless acts of gun violence across schools. Many of my Millennial friends have stood here beside me.

With the anniversary of 9/11 just one day later, the paralysis returned. Flight, fight, freeze. I instantly recognized this as another before and after moment in American history.

I didn’t want to watch the video. But when it inevitably appeared on my screen without warning, it felt like I was watching a video game.

Have I become so desensitized by the world as to not see what’s clearly before my eyes? Was my brain protecting me like it had time and time before?

While physically curling into myself waiting for the inevitable announcement of his death, I continued what we affectionately know as doom-scrolling. But in moments like this, when you know something has shifted, it’s hard to look away.

The Impossible Bind

I wanted to say something. I texted my friends. Encouraged them not to watch the video. Asked them what they were doing to take care of themselves. It’s one of those times when saying nothing feels wrong, but speaking up feels like you'll be crucified.

This morning I woke up and cancelled the content I scheduled for the day. I opened my notes app and I typed what I wanted to say about the current moment.

Each sentence I typed, I pressed backspace on.

The rules of engagement feel impossible to navigate. If I condemn the violence outright, someone will accuse me of tone-policing justified anger. If I don't condemn it strongly enough, I'm complicit in political violence. If I focus on how this affects women Kirk specifically targeted, I'm centering myself during collective trauma. If I mention other victims of violence to show solidarity, I'm deflecting from this specific tragedy.

I feel like society is in a Catch-22. I’m continually silenced between my thoughts, inner voice, and whatever the “right” thing is to do. While I don’t consider myself an influencer or A-list famous, I do have a social media presence. And I think it’s important to use my voice and express my opinions in moments like this.

The rules shift constantly, but the message is increasingly clear that there is no acceptable way for someone like me to respond. We're simultaneously expected to have opinions and punished for expressing them. The same voices that demand we "speak up" are the first to tear us down when we do.

It’s mind-numbing to me how someone like Kirk could spout off blatant lies, quote Bible verses as fact to support his sexist and racist claims while being cheered by society, and framed as a martyr, where people just finding the courage to use their voice for good and to create a culture of safety become villainized.

For me, it’s increasingly harder to show up in online spaces because of this polarization. I’m not new to online criticism and believe that feedback is an essential part of growth in every aspect of our lives. But we've lost the ability to engage with online commentary that has nuance and allows for reflection that leads to that growth.

There is no way for creators and public figures to simultaneously police misinformation, keep our spaces truly safe, protect our peace, grow, and continue this work if all we have are people brushing our opinions aside because one piece of the puzzle doesn’t align with their belief systems.

It’s this echo chamber of purity policing that has collectively accelerated our society to this very moment of violence. Yes, Kirk and others condoning and inciting violence, are just as responsible. But the inability to differentiate fact from fiction, pause before posting, and engage with nuance rather than attacking people as categories has created more consequences for society than single childfree women ever will.

So let me be clear about what's really making women like me sad. If I were to tell you I’m sad, it wouldn’t be because I don’t have children or a partner; It’s because I fear for the society I’m in and where our collective future is headed.

If I were to tell you I’m unhappy, it’s not because I feel my biological clock ticking; it’s because I’m worried about how society can continue to function in a culture that supports, condones, and rewards violence–via both guns and rhetoric.

I don't have easy answers about where we go from here. But I know it doesn't start by scapegoating single women. It starts by recognizing that the problem isn't who we are—it's what we've become willing to accept.