There is something we do not always name when we talk about women’s rights: the gap between what is written and what is actually lived.

In theory, rights are clear. Women have the right to health, autonomy, identity, and safety. Girls and adolescents have the right to be protected, to be heard, and to grow up in environments that support their well-being. But in practice—especially for immigrant women in the United States—these rights are not always accessible.

At this moment, we continue to fight for those rights—for fairer policies, for responsive systems, and for structural changes that guarantee their fulfillment. But while that struggle continues, there is also an urgent truth: we cannot wait for everything to change in order to act. We must ask ourselves how, starting now, we can help women exercise the rights that already exist.

These rights do not exist in a vacuum. They are deeply influenced by real conditions: fear, uncertainty, structural and economic barriers, and systems that do not always feel safe. And as long as those conditions remain unchanged, rights will, in many cases, continue to exist on paper but not in everyday life. We see this clearly when we talk about access to healthcare.

The right to health implies access to comprehensive, high-quality physical, mental, sexual, and reproductive care, free from discrimination. We could say that in places like New York, for example, services exist—but that does not necessarily mean women can access them. Often, the barrier is not the absence of resources, but fear and distrust: fear of sharing personal information, fear of high medical costs, fear that seeking help could have consequences for their immigration status or their families’ stability. These fears do not come from nowhere. They are shaped by constant policy changes, misinformation, and a history of distrust toward systems.

For this reason, it is not uncommon to see women who know something is wrong with their health delay seeking care—not because they do not want to take care of themselves, but because they do not feel safe. And when they finally access services, it is often because they are connected to organizations that build something more important than any system: trust—the ability to speak in their own language, to feel understood, heard, and not judged.

This is where we understand that access to healthcare depends not only on the existence of services, but on people feeling safe enough to use them. In practice, this means very concrete actions: expanding access to free or low-cost services, ensuring that information is clear and available in the community’s language, accompanying women step by step instead of simply referring them, bringing services into trusted community spaces, and investing in programs that are already doing this work effectively. Without trust, access is simply not real or meaningful. Something similar happens when we talk about autonomy.

We often think of autonomy as an individual decision, as if simply knowing you have rights were enough to exercise them. But reality is much more complex. For many women, especially immigrant women, decisions are deeply shaped by fear, economic dependence, cultural expectations, legal uncertainty, and the emotional weight of breaking away from family structures or significant relationships.

A woman may know she has the right to leave a violent situation and still not do so—not because she lacks strength or will, but because the cost of that decision can feel too high. This is where we must be honest and recognize that autonomy is not only a right; it is a condition that needs to be built.

And building it also has very concrete implications. It means creating safe, nonjudgmental spaces where women can reflect and make decisions at their own pace, without pressure. It means offering culturally responsive support, strengthening access to clear legal information and support services, investing in economic autonomy through employment, training, and financial resources, and integrating supports such as childcare—which often determines whether a woman can access services at all. It also means recognizing that autonomy is an emotional process that takes time, support, and stability. It is not enough to tell a woman that she can decide—we must ensure that she truly can.

And none of this happens in isolation. The conditions that limit women’s autonomy also directly impact girls and adolescents. When a mother does not feel safe accessing services, her children will not either. When community resources are cut, girls and adolescents are often the first to feel the impact—in their access to education, in their mental health, and in their ability to develop with stability.

Even under these circumstances, many of these girls and adolescents continue attending school in silence, carrying emotions they do not always have the space or resources to process. And that silence is not accidental—it is the result of systems that are not always accessible, either culturally or linguistically.

That is why guaranteeing their rights also requires concrete actions: ensuring safe spaces within schools and communities; integrating education on rights, consent, and self-care from an early age; sustaining and investing in programs specifically for girls and adolescents; and working with families, understanding that girls’ well-being is deeply connected to their mothers’ well-being. Because when we strengthen women, we are also protecting the next generation.

Conclusion 

All of this analysis leads us to an uncomfortable but necessary truth: the problem is not that women do not know their rights—it is that many cannot exercise them safely. And that redefines our responsibility.

Of course, we continue to fight for broader changes—for fairer policies, for systems that truly respond, for structural conditions that guarantee these rights for all. That struggle is necessary and ongoing. But while that transformation unfolds, we cannot remain in a state of waiting. It is not enough to demand rights—we must continue building, starting now, the conditions that make them possible.

Because when those conditions exist, women do make decisions, do seek support, and do transform their lives.

It is our responsibility to make that possible today. We cannot postpone dignity or access while we wait for change. The struggle continues—but action cannot wait.

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Image Credit: Young Lady with Flower, 1960. Amelia Peláez del Casal (Cuba, 1896-1968)