by Emily Rose Prats
I am unabashedly excited for the Million Women March. And that's a privilege.
Some I know are afraid--to be targeted by police, harassed by Trump supporters.
Some I know are struggling, the exertion a difficult prospect for those with physical and emotional disabilities.
Some I know are risking a lot, losing pay and maybe even their jobs.
Some I know are alone, seen as traitors and troublemakers by families who don't understand.
But marching is easy for me.
My family--my mom, my sister, my boyfriend--will be marching right beside me.
I'm white, middle-class, and wholesome-looking. It's unlikely I'll face discrimination tomorrow.
I can march all day long on my two feet, full of energy, eating protein bars and PBJ.
I don't have to miss work. I was able to afford train tickets. I'm lucky to have a friend so gracious as to open her home to my whole family, saving us all the cost of accommodations.
I treasure this feeling of camaraderie, of solidarity. I'm grateful for this opportunity. I'm so happy to see how much good has already come of the Trump villainy.
But I recognize how lucky I am to be in this position, and I salute those for whom tomorrow--and the next four years--will be far more difficult.
For feminism to be the intersectional place we want it to be, we have to celebrate our own joyful perspective and be conscious that others can't share that joy. We must be sensitive to these disparities. And we have to see them for what they are: evidence that there's always more work to be done.
Emily Rose Prats is a dog-lover, Pride and Prejudice obsessee, and marketer raised in Kentucky and living in Brooklyn. She's trying to live well, fight consumerism, and be a good role model.
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