We are officially in March. Women’s History Month.

I sat down wanting to write about the incredible women who shaped our world. The women who fought for our right to vote. The women who demanded equal pay. The women who shattered ceilings so that our daughters would never see them.

Women like Susan B. Anthony, who refused to accept that women’s voices did not belong in democracy.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who spent her life fighting for gender equality under the law.

Harriet Tubman, who risked her life over and over to lead others to freedom.

Malala Yousafzai, who was shot for demanding girls have access to education — and still stood up and spoke.

These women endured resistance, humiliation, violence, and ridicule so that we could live with more freedom than they ever had.

But as I sit here to write, I cannot ignore the heaviness in my chest.

Because when I look at the state of our country, I don’t just feel anger.

I feel protective.

I feel protective of our daughters.

After everything women have fought for, we are still watching laws being written about what women can and cannot do with their own bodies. We are still debating whether a woman who is raped should have to prove her trauma before she is allowed autonomy. As if the assault itself isn’t violent enough. Now imagine being forced to relive it publicly to justify control over your own body.

That is not protection. That is punishment layered onto trauma.

We are still watching women who speak out against trafficking and abuse by powerful men be questioned, dissected, and doubted. Some of these women were children when the abuse occurred. Imagine being 14 years old and watching adults debate whether your pain is real. Watching your name circulate online while the men who harmed you sit in positions of power.

What does that teach our girls?

We are watching women win gold medals in sports long dismissed as “men’s sports.” Women who have trained relentlessly. Who have disciplined their bodies and minds to represent our country on the world stage. Women like Simone Biles, who redefined strength by protecting her mental health. Women like Megan Rapinoe, who have fought not just to win — but to be paid and respected equally.

And yet their accomplishments are mocked. Diminished. Politicized.

What message does that send?

This is political. It is. But to me, it is not about parties.

It is about protection.

It is about whether we truly believe women deserve autonomy. Safety. Credibility. Respect.

Regardless of what side you vote on, do you want your daughter to know that her voice matters? That she has full control over her own body? That if someone harms her, she will be believed and protected? That her victories — in sports, in business, in motherhood, in leadership — are just as significant as any man’s?

Or do we want her to grow up measuring her safety by how powerful her abuser is? Wondering if speaking up will cost her more than staying silent?

Women’s History Month should be a celebration. And it is.

But it is also a reminder.

Every right women have today exists because someone refused to accept “that’s just the way it is.”

The question is — what are we willing to protect now?

For ourselves.

For each other.

For our daughters.