Yesterday, history was made.
Women from around the world marched in peaceful protest.
They marched for equality, they marched for respect, they marched simply to say - we will not be cast aside and viewed as lesser. We will not teach our daughters to bow in the face of adversity, swallow their pride and accept anything less than they deserve.
We will not be defined by a leader who does not know us, and certainly does not speak for us.
They marched for love. In the hopes that the actions of many, united in their cause could send a message so strong and so powerful that someone might look up and recognize a voice so often not heard.
What a feeling that must have been.
I wouldn't know, because I didn't march.
It's not that I didn't want to be there. I did. I really did. But I decided not to for reasons that all mothers deal with day in and day out. Making decisions based on what's better for their family and not for them.
I've been struggling all day with how that feels. At first I was down, feeling like I'd missed an opportunity to demonstrate something I feel so strongly about. It was important to me, and I didn't go.
However, after some thought I realized, I've spent the last four years on my own march - fighting my own battle for women's equality.
I, and my family, have made sacrifices to see that through. It wasn't easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever is.
I did it for no other reason than to say I stood up. I fought back. I did not slink away feeling powerless. No matter the outcome I can tell my daughter that I fought for myself, and for her. That there is one less man who will try to put a woman down and make her feel as if having a child means losing the capacity to excel.
And in the end, that fight felt good. It was liberating.
I imagine that's how it felt to be out there with hundreds of thousands of women.
If we can move the world by one day of marching in peace, imagine that momentum, and what our collective strength could do.
I may not have been there on the streets, but I am marching.