Let’s delve into the significance of the color pink. As a child, I took pride in my rejection of it, convinced that embracing the color would mean conforming to expectations simply because I was a girl. I was drawn to sports and identified as an “athlete” rather than a stereotypical girly girl. This aversion to pink became my signature protest. However, as I matured, I discovered that I could embrace both femininity and athleticism. Yet, every now and then, I still grapple with the instinct to avoid anything pink, fearing it might reinforce stereotypes I’ve never fit into. The remarkable thing is that who I am today transcends the colors I wear or the sports I play; they merely offer glimpses into the multifaceted individual I am growing to appreciate more each day.
Yearning for Change
Recently, I felt a strong desire to participate in the Women’s March on Washington. I envisioned myself in D.C. alongside friends, passionately advocating for our beliefs and making history. However, I recognized that what I yearned for and what was best for my mental health didn’t align. Since returning to school, I’ve rediscovered a sense of energy and passion I thought I had lost. Just the other day, despite battling a stomach bug that kept me bedridden, I found myself longing to be anywhere but confined to my room.
While I understood that the Women’s March was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I also knew that the overwhelming crowds would trigger my anxiety, likely resulting in a panic attack. Coming to terms with my decision to stay home was challenging. Initially, I felt frustrated that my mental health was hindering my ability to take a stand against the uncertain direction of our country. As a two-time survivor of sexual assault, the comments and views from certain leaders horrify me. I feared for the safety of my friends and felt saddened by the prevalent belief that our country isn’t already great. These feelings fueled my desire to march, but they also made me question whether choosing to stay home was a selfish act.
Embracing Self-Compassion
However, I learned that practicing self-compassion and recognizing my limitations is not selfish. If I had a broken leg and needed crutches, I wouldn’t feel guilty about missing the march. Understanding that I have a legitimate medical condition helped me shift my perspective. Instead of dwelling on what I was missing, I sought alternative ways to contribute.
Finding Joy in Lancaster City
That’s how I found myself in the heart of Lancaster City at 10 a.m. yesterday, with my lips painted a vibrant pink, joyfully watching as Ukelele Explosion played songs of solidarity. I stood high above, witnessing hundreds of individuals proudly donning pink pussy hats, all united in exercising their First Amendment rights. In that moment, it became clear why the march was so crucial. When countless people from diverse backgrounds rally together for a common cause, something truly extraordinary happens. The energy generated by the collective hope and positivity was palpable. We transcended our individual identities and became a single, unified force.
A New Perspective on Pink
So, thank you to those who seek to divide us. Your efforts have instead sparked a movement that brings us together, transforming housewives into activists, fathers into feminists, and strangers into friends. Most importantly, you changed my long-held views on the color pink. What was once seen as a gender stereotype has now become a symbol of strength, hope, and unity—qualities that no legislation can ever diminish.
Conclusion
In summary, embracing both my limitations and my desire to contribute allowed me to find joy and solidarity in unexpected places. My experience in Lancaster City reminded me that no matter where we stand, we can all come together for a greater cause.