From a Nasty Woman,

Friday was a day I was hoping would never come to fruition. Friday was a day that we put a racist, misogynistic, self-centered, sex offender into public office to be the head of our incredible nation. Friday was a day when the questions that had been manifesting themselves in our minds became palpable worries. Will this presidency effect the legitimacy of my citizenship, of my marriage, of my job, of my gender, of my humanity? Friday was a day that I was hoping would be some elaborate prank that ended with Bernie Sanders with his normally sized hand on a stack of Bibles. 

It wasn't. 

But then Saturday came. Saturday was a day that brought encouragement, unity, democracy, a voice. I had been looking forward to Saturday all week because I knew the amount of creativity that would reveal itself in the form of clever posters and tweets. I fell in love with people I had never met before, carrying signs that said "GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUNdamental rights" and "I've seen better cabinets at Ikea". Saturday, I donned a "Nasty Woman" t-shirt and walked with my shoulders back and head high. Saturday, I donned a "Nasty Woman" t-shirt and proceeded to avoid eye contact with every male I passed in the mall. Saturday, I donned a "Nasty Woman" t-shirt and I was ashamed for standing up for my gender. 

There was a time in my life that I hadn't been touched by the effects of gender differences. Then, I turned 7. It was the first grade and I was in the principles office for being harassed by a boy on the playground. He got in a minor amount of trouble for holding me on the ground and choking me. Boys will be boys, am i rite? In elementary school and throughout the rest of my public school career, there were more differences that started cropping up. Friends of mine that were tomboys (and rocked it better than anyone I've ever known) were ridiculed. Girls weren't allowed to play against the guys in PE regardless of how well we could ball. There were different standards on fitness tests. Guys were expected to be stronger, faster, and tougher than the girls. Girls were really only expected to touch their toes. (Not to brag, but in middle school, I could smoke just about all the boys in a pushup contest, so screw your standards.) When it came to dress code, girls were the ones who had to adhere to all the rules. Our shorts had to be a certain length, our shirts had to have a certain width of strap and height of neckline. Lucky for me, I spent most of my middle school days in basketball shorts and a tshirt so I didn't have to worry much about the dress code. I did, on the other hand, have to worry about other kids at school. I hated pink, I had short hair, I loved sports, I dressed in swim t-shirts and shorts, I listened to rap music, I wore Nike's or Etnies (shoutout) almost every day, and according to my classmates that meant I must be a boy. I grew up in a school system that called me a boy for the way I looked, a boy for being an athlete, and a boy for being friends with actual boys. Boys apparently don't like girls who don't fit their stereotype.

Luckily, this didn't bother me all that much, just set me up wonderfully for my angsty teenage years that came complete with neon skinny jeans and a mohawk my freshman year. In high school, I mellowed out a bit and started blossoming into a beautiful young lady. After being labeled as a boy to being labeled as a punk, now I was just Kathrine for a bit (until I started getting called a dyke because I generally hung out with all guys and wore athletic clothes to school, sorry I had practice at 4:30 AM). I joined the debate team early in my high school career and was finally challenged to use my logic and skills that I had always been taught to hide. Boys don't like girls who are too smart, don't ya know? 

Debate not only taught me how to examine evidence, counter-attack, and dissect logical fallacies, it also taught me to shut my mouth during cross examination so the judge wouldn't think I was too aggressive, it taught me to alter my appearance to make myself look less like an ignorant blonde girl, and it taught me not too be too intense or the judge would call me bitchy on my ballot. I wore fake glasses and a pant suit because no judge looked at a petit blonde high schooler in a dress and assumed she was intelligent. As the only female in the room in some rounds, I stood quiet as my male opponents shouted over me because if I spoke back, I was docked for being aggressive while they were praised for their excellent argument skills. I would be punished for doing the exact same things as my male counterparts were applauded for. Haven't you heard? Boys don't like girls who are too assertive.

Then I got to the age where words like slut, skank, twat, hoe, whore, etc. started getting thrown around willy-nilly. It's disgusting how many degrading words there are for a woman when I can only think of a couple for men. Boys will be boys. Then I started learning about the wage gap, the glass ceiling, the lack of female leadership in the business world and I was discouraged. I was disappointed. I was disgusted. However, no matter how often women have tried to speak up, have tried to fight systematic injustices, we come up empty. Boys don't like girls who challenge the double standard.

But, then Saturday came and with Saturday came an army of nasty women. Women who don't care what those boys think. Women who break every stereotype. Women who are insanely brilliant. Women who are assertive and bold. Women who challenge the all double standards. Women who make me proud to be a woman. These women and all of their supporters are challenging injustices that we've been taught so long just to deal with, that there was nothing we could do about it. The Women's March on Washington became a global movement. Millions of people out supporting one another and supporting the ideals of being a decent human being to all human beings, regardless of gender identity.

On Friday, I was discouraged. On Saturday, I was inspired. The Women's Marches were a beautiful display of loving humanity. I am honored to be a part of a generation who isn't afraid to fight back for basic rights. This fight isn't over, probably far from it, but we aren't going down quietly. Respect our existence or expect our resistance, Donald.