Yesterday I marched with my sister and millions of other women the world over. I felt so empowered, supported, and proud to stand up, speak out, and celebrate our different beliefs. In the midst of thousands of ladies laughing together, encouraging one another, and flying through Seattle, Beau texted to tell me my first Painted Lady butterfly had emerged.
I haven’t been silent on here about how disillusioned I am about Trump being president. At first I thought I was one of very few. The way he speaks about women, and countless who condone him made me want to do something tangible. I made my female symbol out of red and blue and posted it here, then started following grassroots movements online. On Pantsuit Nation I read countless stories from marginalized women, some of hope, some so hard to read I couldn’t stop crying. It’s been such an interesting time of discovery for me, realizing the fight women have been through in our century, and how much of my own views have been distorted by society. Just because a law says we have rights, doesn’t mean they’re still followed, and people saying we at least don’t have to cover ourselves up like in other countries cannot understand how demeaning that sounds: as if the very basic right to show my skin should be a triumph for me.
I marched for the environment. I marched for my friends struggling with gender roles in their private and professional lives. I marched for love and acceptance. I marched for those who have experienced sexual violence. For those who are physically or verbally abused. I marched for the girl me who was scared, the woman I am now, and the future me. Yesterday I was inspired by a quote by Feminist Nellie McClung, who fought for women’s voting rights: