Elizabeth Austen's Poem: The Girl Who Goes Alone.
See the third one down.
Some of this poem isn't really how I think, but the beginning and end ideal is one every girl can relate to.
It's interesting how perspectives differ with age, company, and upbringing.
I've lain awake at night, listening to a "giant beast" outside my tent, bang at my bear bag tree... I've never been so afraid. It came within two feet of my tent, went down to the stream, inspected my bag on the way, and touched my canoe scrapping it against the rocks. What was it? I don't know. Do I want to know, or would knowing make it better? What's funny is although someone was with me in the tent, it was me who was freaked out more, who remembered where every possible weapon was kept. They just sat there ... no panic, like this was any other night where the wind blew and the leaves rustled. Did my gender affect how I react because of how I was brought up?
How do you go to sleep after that.
... how do you tell someone, it will be okay, I'll be safe. What if that someone is a person who warns you about the crazies ... how do you show faith when they never have?
Age, company, upbringing, perspective. Gender. Sometimes it makes a different sort of difference.