Let’s discuss the color pink. In my childhood, I prided myself on my disdain for it, rebuffing societal norms that dictated girls should like certain things. My passion for sports led me to embrace an athletic identity over a more feminine one. This aversion to pink set the stage for a personal protest; however, as I matured, I came to understand that I could embrace both femininity and athleticism. Yet, even now, I sometimes hesitate when considering pink items, as the fear of reinforcing an outdated stereotype lingers. Still, I recognize that who I am transcends the colors I wear or the sports I play. They merely reflect the intricate and beautiful person I continue to learn to appreciate.
The Women’s March on Washington
Yesterday marked the Women’s March on Washington, and my desire to be there was immense. I longed to join friends in Washington, rallying for our beliefs and making history. However, reality dictated otherwise. Since returning to school, I’ve felt an awakening of energy and passion that I thought I had lost. Even a recent bout with a stomach bug felt unbearable, as I craved movement and engagement instead of confinement. Though my recovery journey is ongoing, I understood my limits, which is why I decided to stay home on such a momentous day. I knew that in a massive crowd, my anxiety would likely escalate, leading to a panic attack.
Coming to terms with this choice was challenging. Initially, I felt disheartened that my mental health prevented me from taking a stand against the uncertain future of our country. As a survivor of sexual assault, I found Donald Trump’s rhetoric about women deeply disturbing. The thought of my friends facing increased hatred and prejudice over the next four years filled me with dread. It was for these reasons that I yearned to march. However, I also grappled with feelings of privilege and selfishness for choosing to stay home.
Self-Compassion and Boundaries
Here’s the truth: practicing self-compassion and acknowledging one’s boundaries isn’t selfish. If I had suffered a physical injury, I wouldn’t regret missing the march. Recognizing my mental health condition shifted my perspective. Instead of fixating on what I was missing, I sought alternative ways to engage.
That’s how I found myself in the heart of Lancaster City yesterday morning, adorned in bright pink lipstick, grinning as Ukelele Explosion played songs of solidarity alongside countless other protests occurring across the nation. I had a prime view, perched on a ledge, observing hundreds of participants proudly wearing their pink pussy hats, all standing together for our rights.
The Power of Unity
In that moment, I grasped the significance of the march. Regardless of location, when diverse individuals unite for a common cause, something remarkable occurs. The hope and positivity radiating from every participant created a palpable energy. During that rally, our differences faded; we became one.
So, thank you, President Trump. Your divisive actions inspired us to unite, transforming housewives into activists, fathers into feminists, and strangers into friends. Most importantly, you altered my lifelong aversion to pink. No longer does it symbolize outdated gender norms; it has evolved into a symbol of strength, hope, and unity. These are ideals that no executive order or legislation can diminish.
Conclusion
In summary, while I couldn’t physically attend the Women’s March, I found ways to participate and connect with others who shared my beliefs. Embracing my mental health journey allowed me to engage in meaningful ways, demonstrating that one’s presence isn’t solely defined by physical location.