A word that many women, including myself, have been reluctant to own. Over the past few years, I’ve grown more conscious of my own of my place in the world. Like many people who’ve reached the mid-point in their lives, I’ve been examining my priorities, and the impact I make as a woman, as an American, and as a member of the human race.
Though this self-exploration, I became less afraid of calling myself a feminist. I do admit that sometimes I felt the need to add some over-explaination to something that should be self-evident, but I’m making a mindful effort to stop doing that.
Feminists believe that women are equal to men.
Nothing more, nothing less. Equal.
I guess if there’s one good thing that came out of 2016, it’s that women are becoming more vocal in their belief in equality. Others can call us what they want, but we know who we are.
We are women. Some of us are Americans. We are human beings deserving of respect.
I marched here in Little Rock on Saturday. It wasn’t the biggest march to take place, but it was still a hell of a lot larger than the organizers expected. And in a ‘red’ state, no less.
It was moving, so moving, to be part of this peaceful and positive assembly.
Best of all, my husband was by my side.
Because the strongest heroes are the ones who know how to love a strong woman.
And if you find yourself mired in the morass, remember the words of Mahatma Gandhi:
“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”