I march because I am so fucking tired of being afraid. When I walk, I am so conscious of myself, the space that I take up, who is around me and what they see when they look at me.
I have been catcalled, groped and threatened. It’s happened when I am wearing short shorts and it has happened when I am wearing a parka.
The sad part is that this is completely normal. Ask any women in their life and they have the same experience, many have far worse ones than that.
It’s the norm, we have to teach our daughters to cover up, to never walk home alone at night or to not drink too much. We don’t tell them that because we want to keep them oppressed, we tell them to keep them safe, because it’s just the way the world is, and while it would be great to see change, they don’t want us getting hurt.
We live in a culture that teaches boys that in order to be men they need to be strong, to dominate and show no emotion. They are warned not to be bitches, pussies, not to cry or throw like a girl. They are raised to see female qualities as a flaw. Subconsciously, they are taught to dislike us, or at least to see us as lesser, as what not to be.
This manifests into violence when that hyper masculinity is challenged, because it simply isn’t realistic. It manifests into the desire to calling out to a girl walking home alone late at night, into a need to prove their sexual prowess, consent be damned. I march because I believe that there can be a world where we can see each other as equals. I march so that my sister can walk home at night safely. I march so my gentle, smart brother can walk home at night without someone seeing him as a potential threat.
I march because before when I was told to be more ladylike, it broke my spirit. As a women, once you get to be around 10,11,12, you become aware that the world wants you to shrink, to be pretty, to quiet down and be passive. I wasn’t that. I was (am) big, loud, messy and strong.
I was raised by wonderful parents, who-for the most part never tried to mould me into something I wasn’t. However, with the world around me, my environment, the media, my teachers, you can’t help but have the idea that you aren’t what they want seeps into your brain. When your around a boy you like, you learn to be smaller, to be sweeter, because somewhere along the way that is what they and you have been taught to consider that what the ideal girl should be like.
I march because I want a future generations of girls who don’t feel like they need to choose between who they are and who they should be, and for boys who love what they love, not what they are expected to. I march for the boy who wants the dolls and the girl who wants the soccer ball, I march for the complete demolition of the idea that one is meant for the other.
I march for the freedom to feel safe in your own skin. I march for the women of color, for transgender and for LGBQT women and men who face these struggles at a much higher and dangerous rate. I march because I want Muslims to know they have my support. I march because the only wall I believe America needs is the one for Trumps jail cell.
I march because I feel like the world was getting comfy, it was easier to be blind to the rampant sexism and racism that still exists than to accept we are far from done. I march for the women who devoted their lives to this fight. I march because I refuse to believe that it is hopeless. I march for Hilary’s career, I march because this idiotic, orange puppet spewing hate is not going to be able to silence all that bad-ass, beautiful nasty women who need to be heard.
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