Written on the day of the first Woman's Solidarity March in Saint Paul in 2017.
Its 3AM CST here, and I can't sleep, not only because of my insomnia, but my mind and heart are full of the sights and experiences I've seen today. Today I participated in my first march, the sister solidarity Women's March in St Paul, MN. We were blessed with wonderful weather, no counter-protesters, and a wonderful crowd. I've certainly seen and heard things that won't soon leave me. We came home hours ago and have spent the rest of the day recovering, relaxing, and basking in the beautiful sights of women around the world marching with us.
As I sit here in the early morning quiet, broken only by the Netflix documentary playing in front of me and a few lone marchers or partyers on the street below, I'm struck by the marks of battle I'm carrying on my left arm. The scars of being a woman, and the marks of the march are still clearly visible on my outstretched arm. I'm 25 years old, and starting to develop that under arm flab, but I'm still quite fond of my arms. A few days ago I had my birth control implant replaced in my upper arm, so my upper arms sports dual band-aids and several bruises. I'm still nursing that new implant.
On my forearm I have written the phone numbers of the friends I marched with- precautionary steps we took in the event of getting separated or loosing our cell phones. It'll wash off soon. For the moment though, these things are beautiful to me. A reminder of what it means to be a woman in 2017. And I'm one of the lucky privileged ones. That fact hasn't escaped me during the entire day of marching and reflection on the reasons why millions of women came out in masse today.
But now, I'm going to turn down the lights, prop up my still sore upper arm, and reflect on the brilliance of what was accomplished today.
Its 3AM CST here, and I can't sleep, not only because of my insomnia, but my mind and heart are full of the sights and experiences I've seen today. Today I participated in my first march, the sister solidarity Women's March in St Paul, MN. We were blessed with wonderful weather, no counter-protesters, and a wonderful crowd. I've certainly seen and heard things that won't soon leave me. We came home hours ago and have spent the rest of the day recovering, relaxing, and basking in the beautiful sights of women around the world marching with us.
As I sit here in the early morning quiet, broken only by the Netflix documentary playing in front of me and a few lone marchers or partyers on the street below, I'm struck by the marks of battle I'm carrying on my left arm. The scars of being a woman, and the marks of the march are still clearly visible on my outstretched arm. I'm 25 years old, and starting to develop that under arm flab, but I'm still quite fond of my arms. A few days ago I had my birth control implant replaced in my upper arm, so my upper arms sports dual band-aids and several bruises. I'm still nursing that new implant.
On my forearm I have written the phone numbers of the friends I marched with- precautionary steps we took in the event of getting separated or loosing our cell phones. It'll wash off soon. For the moment though, these things are beautiful to me. A reminder of what it means to be a woman in 2017. And I'm one of the lucky privileged ones. That fact hasn't escaped me during the entire day of marching and reflection on the reasons why millions of women came out in masse today.
But now, I'm going to turn down the lights, prop up my still sore upper arm, and reflect on the brilliance of what was accomplished today.
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