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Reflective Essay On Sex Discrimination

Decent Essays
I have a picture from the Woman’s March from January 2017. It’s my Facebook cover photo, a Latino policeman helped me stand up on the trunk of his police car to get the photo. It’s not a professional photo, but it’s taken well enough to see that there are people going miles back. They’re a big mix of nationalities, races, sexualities, ages, and genders but they were all here for the same thing I was there for: to make sure my voice was heard and to try and help in any way I could. Before that first protest I had no clue where I was going or what I was doing with my life, I knew I wanted to help people, that’s the whole reason I went to the demonstration in the first place but it wasn’t until after that I realized that my first protest helped me find my purpose in life.
I was an angry fifteen-year-old. I was angry at my rabbi, who kept going on about homosexual people being damned to hell for eternity. I was angry at Fox News because anytime they seemed to come onto the television in our home, Al-Qaeda seemed to be linked to every single Muslim in America. I was angry at my biology teacher, who was a two-for-one and was both sexist and racist; ignoring the only black girl in our advanced biology course. At fifteen, I was so angry and had no idea how to control the festering rage inside of me. I couldn’t even really put into words why I was angry or who I was angry at, all I knew was that it was like a dark force inside of me. I didn’t want to lash out randomly, I didn’t want
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