Guest Blog: 'Women Are Really Changing': Writer Yanina Hope on Female Solo Shows As Political Acts In Her Show THE SOUND OF ABSENCE

I'm sure I'm not the only woman who feels helpless navigating the world right now. I have moments of empowerment where I feel I can achieve anything, and I'm grateful to be living in the 21st century with freedoms women before me didn't have.

I acknowledge my privilege here as a white woman living in the West. Then I see news about the Taliban's latest restrictions on women or the Epstein files, and I come crashing back down with sadness and rage, feeling naive for ever feeling that relief. Is it really 2026? Have we really come as far as we think? Will things ever truly change for us, and how can we learn from the past to inform our future?

But something is brewing. Things are changing and women are really changing. I saw a quote that sums this up: "Tradition is peer pressure from the dead." Where do we get these ideas about how we should live, what's beautiful, what our lives should be like as women? 

Female solo shows are a means of exploring the past, present, and potential future of womanhood. The famous phrase "the personal is political" which is often attributed to second-wave feminist Carol Hanisch in 1969, argues that women's individual experiences are rooted in political systems and patriarchy. So, when a lone woman commands a stage and an audience's full attention, asserting her perspective in a medium where she was once relegated to supporting roles and love interests? That's political. When she creates space to share her lived experience navigating the world and exploring systems such as patriarchy that work against her? That's political too. 

I’ve seen more shows over the past few years examining how we're shaped from the inside out by the systems we're born into, what our parents pass onto us, and the societal norms around us as we grow up. These shows - and I hope my own - are furthering our unlearning of ideas so ingrained it can take years to unpick. 

At the Bush Theatre, Lava, written by Benedict Lombe and performed by Ronkẹ Adékoluẹjo, really stood out for its emotional clarity and restraint. In this play the female perspective felt deeply embodied to me and incredibly honest and authentic.

Fleabag, of course written and performed by Phoebe Waller-Bridge has been a touchstone. Its use of irony, distance and precision allows the character to shape her pain rather than be overwhelmed by it. 

Although not a one-woman piece, 1536, set during Henry VIII's reign around Anne Boleyn's execution, examines womanhood as survival within rigid social and moral borders. What made it feel modern was its focus on interior resistance: how a woman discovers her worth when the system is designed to deny it.

That question connects to The Sound of Absence, where self-discovery comes through understanding and navigating inherited structures. In my case, the was the woman I had become from the relationship I had with my father which I only truly realised after his death. My show asks, who are we without the structures that shaped us, and what kind of freedom is possible in their absence?

Working in a creative space by women (the majority of the creative team are female) where a woman's inner life could exist without explanation, judgment, or resolution still feels like a political statement, especially one that explores how quietly patriarchy works, often from the inside. It isn’t always overt or aggressive, but a system we absorb through relationships, especially with our fathers who are usually the first male figure in our lives. The father figure isn't a villain; he represents authority, expectation, judgment. When he's gone, what's left is absence and that absence creates space. Space to listen, to question, to start defining yourself on your own terms.

The absence in the title isn't empty. It has a presence, a sound, and learning to hear it becomes part of claiming your freedom. Thanks to our director, Ivanka Polchenko, we allowed contradiction with vulnerability and strength existing simultaneously. In some ways, it's a feminine medium in its essence. Theatre gives space for slow, emotional thinking. You're not pushed toward answers; you're allowed to sit inside the questions. That refusal to simplify is political. 

A majority female team whether in the theatre or elsewhere is a political act: reframing what has been used to marginalise us as our greatest strength. Our histories, accents, and experiences came together to create a space where this wasn't a disadvantage, but the foundation of the work. 

Theatre is uniquely powerful because it doesn't ask for permission. It doesn't rely on algorithms or approval to exist. You show up, in a room, with other people, and tell the truth as you see it. 

That's why theatre feels vital right now, and why female solo shows are political acts. Theatre slows the conversation down. In a world of outrage cycles and polarised debate, it offers a shared human space where ambiguity is allowed. This is perhaps why we're seeing so many talented female voices emerging in theatre as it's one of the few places where complexity and vulnerability are welcomed, where a woman can stand alone on stage and assert her right to be heard without compromise.

The Sound of Absence is a reminder that women's freedom isn't only about laws or politics - it's also about voice, self-definition, and the courage to take up space. And when a woman does that on stage, alone, speaking her truth - that is a political act.

The Sound of Absence is at Omnibus Theatre from 24-28 February