Life on the Road: A Woman Musician's Fight for Safety

For over a decade I’ve hauled my guitar across pubs, festivals, and dive bars from the UK to Europe, the States, and Canada. But for women musicians like me, the road isn’t just a stage it’s a battleground. Long days in vans or tour buses with male bands and crew, steeped in booze, drugs, and bad behaviour, test your grit. I’ve been sober since 2011 but clarity doesn’t shield you from the chaos. Assaults, creeps, and the fight for basic respect like a private spot to change or handle my period, shadow every gig. Women musicians don’t want a free pass we want our songs to earn our stage, not our sex, and to play without fear. The UK Supreme Court’s ruling on April 16, 2025, affirming “woman” means biological sex under the Equality Act and protecting single-sex spaces, is a victory for us. It’s not just about loos, it’s about our right to perform without harassment or silence, something the industry tried to bury me for.

Touring is a sweaty, lawless grind, and for women, it’s a boys’ club where you’re always the outsider. I’ve been jammed in vans with lads - guitarists, drummers, roadies - where beer-soaked banter turns sleazy fast. Late nights and drugs blur boundaries, and as the only woman I’m navigating a minefield. From Leeds to Los Angeles, Berlin to Banff, I’ve crashed in coffin-tight bus bunks or budget hotels where “saving money” means sharing a room or a bed with guys I’ve just met. “This feels unsafe,” I’d say, only to hear, “That’s touring, love, deal with it,” like I’m some diva. Every woman musician knows this dance - shutting down flirty jabs or handsy tourmates while stuck with them for weeks, no escape. My sobriety keeps me sharp, but it doesn’t stop the sleaze.

Fans can be a lifeline but for women musicians they also bring danger. Most are brilliant, but creeps and stalkers haunt the edges, guys who think buying a ticket means they own you. One guy tailed me to four gigs, slipping creepy notes into my merch box. Another sent obsessive messages for months. Promoters shrugged when I begged for help, leaving me to dodge him while hauling gear. Every woman on stage knows this fear, playing your heart out while scanning the crowd for threats. We don’t want crowns we want to sing our songs, not play security.

Some moments cut deeper. In 2013, I was playing a punk dive in Berlin, 300-strong crowd. Mid-song a man crawled onstage and shoved his face between my legs. I froze, guitar in hand, gutted, exposed. The crowd, promoters, staff - nobody moved. When I vented on Facebook, I was the villain, accused of smearing the venue. The assault didn’t matter; my voice did. Every woman musician carries scars like these - violations ignored because the industry shrugs. We don’t want special treatment, just to perform without being prey.

The Supreme Court’s ruling is a game-changer for women musicians. It mandates single-sex spaces - bathrooms, changing rooms - for biological women. Privacy on tour is a myth. I’ve changed in grim backstage corners, my guitar case a flimsy shield against prying eyes, or in rank toilet stalls before sets. This ruling demands venues give us a proper spot to change - not because we’re fragile, but because we deserve to focus on our craft, not flash the crew. It’s respect, not a favour.

Periods on tour are a nightmare every woman musician endures. Try managing a tampon in a van with no loo, or a venue with one trashed, mixed-sex toilet by 10 p.m. I’ve scrounged for petrol stations or just gritted it out, jumping around onstage like everything’s fine. A single-sex bathroom means a clean, safe spot to handle it without dread - basic dignity, not diva demands.

These struggles - assaults, harassment, the fight for safe spaces - are the reality of being a woman musician, a real woman, not a man in a dress claiming the word for himself. My stories, from that Berlin stage to countless vans, reflect truths every woman in music lives: the fear of a stalker, the grind of a period on the road, the violation of an assault. These aren’t abstract debates or culture wars, they’re our reality. It’s obscene that men want “woman” to include them, erasing our ability to name our experiences. These stories belong to us, to women, and silencing them to appease others is a betrayal.

The fear of being cancelled keeps mouths shut. So I’m just laying it all out, writing what I’ve been through, hoping it lands somewhere and makes a dent. If more women weren’t so scared to speak up, imagine the noise we could make. We could shift this whole industry, demand the safety and respect we deserve, and protect the word “woman” for those who live its reality. I’m not a scholar or an activist - I’m a songwriter, telling it as I see it, praying it sparks something bigger.

The road’s brutal, but I’m still here, guitar in hand. The industry is failing women musicians, but the Supreme Court’s ruling is a spark. It says our safety, our craft, and our voices matter.