The Suffrage movement means that I’m the latest in a long line of women that were unafraid to say no. They yelled so much that they lost their voices, so that today, I don’t have to yell to have my own voice heard.
One hundred and twenty-five years.
What that means is that we’ve come such a long way, but we have such a long way to go.
The Gratitude:
When I turn eighteen, I can vote.
Hell, I can even vote for another female .
I can run a country and be a mother.
I can marry the love of my life without my father’s permission, and I won’t be their property, I’ll be their equal.
The Gripe:
“I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.”
There are women in the world who won’t turn eighteen.
The Handmaid’s Tale is still relevant.
Your body? Not your choice in 134 countries.
I can ‘ask for it’ without opening my mouth.
I’m only worth 90.8% what a man is worth, per hour. In 2018.
Sure, I can leave the house, but I’m still leaving the house to march, god dammit.
