Last Saturday, January 21, I participated in the Women’s March on Washington. Having the opportunity to take part in something so big was extremely impactful. It felt good to stand beside hundreds of thousands of people united in our fight for women’s rights. It felt good to hear other women’s stories and to stand in solidarity with them. The most memorable thing I experienced all day had to have been an older woman who told me that the first time she protested in Washington D.C. for women’s rights was in 1968. She had been fighting this fight for nearly 50 years. I was, and still am, awed by this women’s dedication. At 21 years old, I often feel exhausted by all of this, but the older women with whom I spoke at the march did not look tired. They looked a little angry, but mostly grateful and wise. I wish to one day be one of those women. I wish to fight this fight as gracefully as I can, and when the years start to catch up to me, I hope I can inspire younger women to do the same.
I marched for many reasons on Saturday. I marched for myself, for my own reproductive rights. I marched for my sister who has made a career out of women’s reproductive healthcare. I marched for the 500 women each day who die from self-performed abortions. I marched for white women who earn 78 cents to a white man’s dollar, and the black women who earn 64 cents to a white man’s dollar, and the Hispanic women who earn 55 cents to a white man’s dollar. I marched for the women who fail to recognize that even if they don’t need feminism, other women still do. I marched, with a cross drawn into the corner of my sign, in recognition of my Catholicism and my pro-choice beliefs. I marched because women’s rights are human rights.