it’s been 1 year since the march, the red dust pluming up from dry park paths, the unusually warm saturday sweltering in humidity.
12 months since that deep pain of losing to a “pussy grabber” turned to fear for what would become us- has become us- the US.
52 weeks since the sun hit our faces early in the morning hours, where we gathered with fellow marchers to reclaim our strength against those who have said “you have to treat women like shit.”
365 days since my daughter expressed her own power, knowing her father would never say he “would date her so she’s hot,” while we walked the two mile city landscaped terrain of Houston.
8,760 hours since we’ve toiled to publicly teach her that Mexicans are not “rapists,” and that all people are equal; woman or man; black or brown or yellow or white.
525,600 minutes since we showed my precious daughter that together we are better, and showed her that we love equally. even if federal judicial nominees call transgender children “satan’s plan,” we will know the heart has no boundaries.
31,536,000 seconds since we bore our beliefs to the wind, chanting “women’s rights are human rights” and catalyzing the cascade of women’s victories that began to occur in 2017. afterall, in just a few short years, my young daughter will also be a #metoo.
and what a year it’s been. it feels like five. in times like these, it’s clear that every second counts… every word, every tweet. we bear what we sow. and guess what… I’m sowing a feminist.
cheers, y’all! see you saturday!