Why I took part in the Augusta Solidarity March

On Friday, the day Donald Trump officially became the 45th president of the United States, I took my daughter to the park with the intention of not thinking about politics. Earlier in the day, I joked with my editor about the day being set aside for mourning. But I really cried when I watched the Obamas welcome the Trumps into the White House. 

I live in a very red county now, so it shouldn't have surprised me to see, on our drive to the park, white men standing on the corner of a busy intersection, waving a Confederate flag and holding up a sign that read, "America is back!" My chest tightened, but I pushed it out of my head so I could enjoy playing with my baby girl. She just started walking, so every day is a new adventure with her.

But the next day, Saturday, I joined about 600 people from the Augusta area to march in solidarity with the historic Women's March on Washington. I didn't go just because I feel so strongly about women's rights, equality for EVERYONE, and because I fear what Trump will do to our country, which is already so divided. (To be clear: I do feel strongly about those things.) I also didn't go because I thought doing a 3-mile walk with strangers would bring about a whole helluva lot of change either. (After all, 53 percent of white women voted for Trump.)

I went because I didn't want to feel alone. When I drove by those Trump supporters the day before, I was so mad—but the best I could do was text my man and my cousin, who replied with angry emoji and expressed disbelief. The problem is, I haven't found my niche of bleeding liberal friends here in Augusta yet. (I suppose part of that is my fault, but the older we get, the harder it is to make friends. Science even says so. I'm going to try to do better about talking to new people. I promise.) 

Witnessing scores of people—not just women—come together in an effort to send a message of resistance is a beautiful thing, for sure. So many women are riding a high after Saturday's march. But I'm thinking about what's next—and I'm not really sure what the answer is.

In the meantime, I'll continue to channel my discontent with the direction our country is going through my writing. Not gonna lie though: It really helps sometimes to hear other people yell.