There has recently been a lot of writing about women’s rage and the importance of it, but I don’t know what exactly to do with my sadness. I don’t want to know women and think of women only in the context of their suffering, or the sexism they’ve faced, or their erasure. But when I think of the women forced to disappear, I am confronted by the void that’s been created in their absence. I mourn every single day for an alternate past, present, and future in which women can move through the world as freely as men. I feel robbed of a women’s history with contours I can’t even fathom. I feel robbed of women’s time, I feel robbed of their joy. I can scream and donate and protest knowing my tears don’t vote, don’t raise awareness. But privately, I mourn.