The day after the Presidential Election felt like the aftermath of a hurricane; the feeling of shock, sadness, and anger. The eerie quiet throughout the streets and my college campus. I cried throughout the entire morning because I knew that life was about to become a lot harder. Still, I made a promise that day; that I’d do everything in my power to stand up for my rights as well as the rights of others. So when I saw the Women’s March event on Facebook a few weeks later, I knew that I was going to keep good on that promise.

My mother decided to come with me, with my 4 year old brother in tow. We left home at around 9 in the morning, bundled up in coats and ready to walk to the metro. As soon as we stepped out the door, I saw groups of people wearing pink knitted hats walking down the street holding picket signs. The three of us passed by two people walking in the opposite direction, who had just told us that the trains at the metro station near our house had broken down. Living in Arlington, Virginia we knew there was another station not too far from our house to go to. We waited to catch the nearest bus, which was unusually crowded for a Saturday. I held onto my little brother tightly, my excitement practically brimming over.

I could easily pick out our fellow marchers and could see the excitement on their faces as well. My family and I arrived at Pentagon City Mall and made our way down to the station. We couldn’t understand why we saw the same people with pink hats walking back up the stairs instead of down. That is until we got down to the platform. Hundreds of people stood in front of the gates that lead to the lower platform. Metro officials were only letting people down, if a train had arrived. Never in my life had I ever seen so many people on metro. Once we were able to get down onto the lower platform, we waited to get on the next train available. We stood there for almost an hour trying to find a train to board because each one was packed with people. When we were finally able to get on a train that had just enough room for all of us, we squeezed in like sardines in a can. Next to us, an elderly couple from Ireland were talking about how excited they were to be in DC for the march. A women standing next to them even gave one of her pink hats away. To see such kindness after weeks of hate and violence gave a warm glow in my chest. It took another 30 minutes to finally arrive in DC; at that time the metro was overflowing with people. Many of them were cheering as we came up to the main level.

Outside, thousands of marchers covered every street and sidewalk as far as the eye could see. They ranged from age, race, and gender; most wearing the pink hats that were a symbol of the march, while others were holding signs. My family and I had situated ourselves on the 7th street, blocks away from the main stage. Big screens were set out for us to watch as we heard each speaker and celebrity share their stories. They talked about what it meant for them to be a women in the U.S., how Planned Parenthood helped them through many struggles, and more importantly how they were willing to fight for equality. Not just for themselves, but for other oppressed groups as well.

When it was finally time to march, we started to move toward the Washington Monument. My little brother hollered and cheered with the rest of them (even if he didn’t know what they were cheering about), as we made our way down. The songs and the chants filled the air, as well as the energy from each person marching. Women marching hand in hand, children on their parents shoulders holding signs and flags. People looking at my little brother and telling him that he’d realize that he was a part of history someday. In that moment we were all one voice. The negativity that I felt for the past several weeks had ebbed away. That fear and loneliness that had nagged at my brain was replaced with confidence and fierce determination.

We had stayed at the march for a total of seven hours when we boarded a train to go home. The energy I had throughout the day had quickly drained out of me as I went to bed. I would not know until the next day how big the Women’s March really was. How people marched on seven different continents in solidarity. I only went to bed knowing that I had done my part in showing everyone that I would not back down when basic rights such as equality, health care, and just plain human respect were on the line. The Women’s March was only just one step in a very long journey ahead of me. But I made a promise to do right. And I intend to keep it.