An overheated train packed with people is rarely ever pleasant, but everyone aboard Chicago's Red Line headed to the Women’s March yesterday proved to be just that and more.
Growing up in rural, conservative Wisconsin as an LGBTQ individual, I rarely felt like I belonged or that I would be accepted. I was an unknown minority that experienced friends and family disparaging my very existence as casually as they’d comment on the weather.
Now, I feel part of the majority. I feel accepted. The people that packed that train were there to support me and my right to be. Moreover, they were there to support anyone marginalized by the hateful rhetoric and ideation that brought Trump to office. It felt fitting that the sheer volume of those who marched for my rights, and the rights of so many others, kept me upright on a moving train without a single object to physically brace myself.