Yeah, I went to the Women's March.

Go ahead, roll your eyes, scoff at me, tell me I'll understand someday. Get it out.

Still with me? Cool.

Taking part in the Boston Women's March was an unforgettable and life-changing experience.

It wasn't a bunch of crazy, old, fat women burning their bras in Boston Commons (bras are expensive, why would anyone burn them?) and ranting because we had nothing better to do. The Women's March was several months in the making, and its creation had several ups and downs, but it turned in to a beautiful show of solidarity.

Was it perfect? No. We have a long way to go and a lot to learn before we can truly stand together, intersectional and proud. While I tip my pink hat to all those who proudly celebrate their womanhood through signs and shirts with the feline name for their genitalia, it's important for us to remember that not every woman has a...cat, so to speak. While celebrating that expression of womanhood can be empowering for many (and it clearly is!), we also have to be mindful of our trans sisters. As one sign said, protect your sisters, not just your cis-ters.

We also need to keep in mind that no, not all of us are immigrants. Some of the women marching were Native Americans. Their land was stolen long before us, and still their land and culture is disrespected (to put it mildly).

As a white woman, it's easy to bristle when people of color bring up certain issues and how I'm not a part of certain spaces, or when white women are generalized as the problem. But how can I be mad about that when white women overwhelmingly voted for Trump?

"We got some karma to work off," Samantha Bee said in her show the day after the election. That's an understatement. I see many white women working on being more inclusive, and that's wonderful. Keep it up, ladies. We've got a long way to go.

This election influenced my own involvement in politics in ways I never thought possible. I never thought I'd go to an event like the Women's March. I supported it wholeheartedly, but I didn't think I could go. So when a friend of mine invited me to go with her and her family, I decided to go for it. So I did. I went to her house the night before and made signs (one said "respect existence or expect resistance" and the other had a Princess Leia quote: "It's time for the resistance to rise."). I stayed over, and we all got up early. The traffic was horrendous. That might seem like a small detail, but to us, it meant everything. It meant people were going to the same place we were. The closer we got to Boston, the more knitted pink hats and signs we saw.

It was bright, cloudless, and thankfully, not freezing. It was a beautiful day for a beautiful event. Though we could barely hear most of the speakers, just standing in the crowd was enough to bring grins to our faces. We read aloud signs to each other, complimented others and thanked those who complimented our signs. My friend saw people she knew from high school and elementary school. People were waving flags, had children in strollers, and were proud--you could tell--to be there.

It's impossible to describe the energy of the crowd. The word that first came to my mind was electric. We were on, we were ready. The energy it took to put the March together, to make signs, to show up, it was a labor of love for all of us.

When the Boston Children's Choir sang "America The Beautiful," the crowd was completely silent. I teared up and tried to hide it, thinking I'd be the only one crying. A few minutes later, I saw my friend's mom take off her glasses and wipe her eyes.

It was tiring, but one of the most fulfilling things I've ever done. Scrolling through social media that night was the first time since the election that I haven't wanted to scream at my Twitter feed. Talking with my friend about it later, we came up with another word to describe our experience: validating.

We're not alone. This isn't a fight anyone has to take on alone. It's not a passing phase for college students, it's not an easily broken minority. It's people from all across the world standing up and standing together. That night, the signs remained in the Commons as a reminder that we were here, we are here, and we're not going anywhere.

That's what this day was about, beyond protesting: the Women's March was and still is about standing in solidarity with the people who are afraid right now. It was a way to say we are here, we see you, and we will not forget you. It was a way to tell our leaders that we are here, we see you, and we will not let you forget us.

All day, people were asking what the millions of women the world over were protesting. Truly, I don't know where to start.

We protest hate.

We protest white supremacy.

We protest transphobia and homophobia.

We protest sexism and misogyny.

We protest racism.

We protest rape culture.

We protest a world where our daughters, our sisters, our mothers, our friends cannot feel safe.

We protest a banning people who enter this country based on where they come from.

We protest those who refuse to give aid to refugees fleeing war-torn countries.

We protest not getting paid what we're worth.

We protest "locker room talk."

We protest climate change deniers.

We protest the destruction of our environment.

We protest narrow definitions of women.

We protest those with no experiences taking offices and holding power over our lives for their own gain.

We believe that diversity, free speech, and kindness make America great. We also believe that when being nice and patiently explaining things doesn't work, it's time to pick up the phone, whip out the cardboard and markers, raise our voices, and make ourselves heard.