07/05/2026
She looks like me.
I don’t know her name or her story, but I know that look. I have worn it myself.
I’ve worn it in boardrooms and offices—places where I was expected to just be grateful for a seat at the table.
I know what it feels like to steady a racing heart and force composure while feeling watched, underestimated, and entirely alone. The pounding pulse. The trembling hands. The heavy weight of generations riding on your shoulders.
The striking visual reminds me that courage isn’t always loud. It doesn’t require a microphone, a march, or a speech.
Sometimes, courage is just sitting still.
We carry the weight. We do the work. We keep building, believing, and standing.
Our presence is our power, our resilience is inherited, and our hope will always outlast their hate.
