A Day Without a Woman, But Not Without a Soul

So, today is International Women's Day. It also is the first Day Without A Woman event.

My daughter was born three years ago today. Oddly enough, I had never noticed that March 8 was Women's Day until I was perusing social media a few hours after my girl was born. It wasn't particularly significant to me in the moment, but I filed the new knowledge away, and now, I always remember the two being linked.

When I look around me, I see people questioning the reasons why women are behaving differently these days. I see people still saying they think that anyone protesting, striking or speaking out is just sore about a lost election. Still others suggest that it's all about abortion rights. And I'm not going to lie, it annoys me.

It annoys me, because to me, and to many of my fellow marchers, protesters, strikers and sisters, the reasons are as clear as crystal. To us, all you must do to understand is open your eyes.

Yes, I am a middle class white woman with a comfortable life. Perhaps it should be easier for me to ignore the world outside of my comfortable life. Perhaps I would be more content. But I have never been that person. I have never been someone who could stand idly by, or keep my thoughts to myself.  And at 2:15 p.m. three years ago, I think any chance of my becoming a settled, contented--quiet--housewife was forever doomed.

I am a mother now. I have always been a caregiver, but something in you changes when you become a mother. When I see other children now, I see my own child. I see potential. I see tomorrow. I cannot turn away. And I cannot turn away from other mothers--other women.

As a mother, I see it as my personal responsibility to make and leave the world better than I came into it, because now, I am leaving it for someone to whom I have made an unspoken vow. My daughter. I have promised her every bit of life and potential I can possibly give her.

Motherhood--womanhood--is a sisterhood. Whether you want to be part of the same tribe or not, we face all of the same obstacles, struggles and challenges. When I see a photo of a Syrian woman cradling her starving child, I can see myself in that same photo. When I read about a homeless, single mother in America, I picture myself in that story. When I see a black mother grieving for her son--taken away too soon, I am heartbroken too, because I cannot fathom how I would recover from that same pain.

There may be a percentage of marchers, protesters, strikers, and sisters who see one man, or one issue as the target of their efforts, but to believe that fighting against one man's electoral victory, or the possible overturning of abortion rights is sustainable, is naive. The momentum behind this fight comes from the depth and breadth of its motivation.
While it's true that this one man, and this one moment represent everything counter to my own personal values, this fight isn't about one election. It cannot be about one election, or it will be lost. It is about the rights of all people to live to their full potential. It's about recognizing our responsibility to one another as humans, and shepherdesses of our shared Earth. It's about standing up for the rights of people who disagree with us, not because we are contrary, but because we believe even those who do not share all of our views are still entitled to the same rights we demand and defend for ourselves.

I believe in everyone's right to decent health care. I believe in everyone's right to safe water and air, as well as sustainable energy and resourcing that is not counter to the protection of our environment and other species. I believe in body autonomy, which means I believe every human should have self-determination about what happens to their bodies. I believe in civil and human rights. I believe in global consciousness, and peace. I believe in national security via all  avenues, not to exclude diplomacy and collaboration. I believe in equality--for women, and members of the LGBTQ community. And when I say that all lives matter, I don't say that as a retort against mothers who have buried their sons and daughters because they were presumed to be thugs or criminals before they were presumed to be humans, I say it because each one of us--brown, white, olive, mocha, yellow, or peach--as my daughter refers to herself--is precious, and holds enormous potential.

I believe that there are more ways in which we are similar than ways we are different. As average citizens, we would take back all of the power if we stopped listening to those who stole it tell us to be afraid and suspicious of each other.

I am a white, middle class mother, but that doesn't make me any less part of the human tapestry that has been woven throughout time. I understand that every right I have is there because someone else fought for me to have it. I understand that not all of the people who have made America so many of the wonderful things that it is have shared equally in the rights and privileges that I have been able to take for granted.

My skin color and my financial security do not give me permission to discount the value of others. My belief system and values do not allow me to trample on the beliefs and values of others. And my commitment to my own child does not permit me to look at other children and ignore their potential, and their right to thrive.

I march, speak out, protest, and fight so others have an equal right to share in humanity's potential. Geography, skin color, religion, financial status or social standing should not determine whether someone lives or dies. Nor should these things define a person's value.

I won't apologize for who I am, or my "loudness." You may not be able to see it, but I stand for us all, because we truly are more alike than we are different.

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