As a 10-year-old girl living with her mother and father during the Women's Reform Movement, I endured many struggles and life-hanging events. I faced discrimination, death, poor wages and working conditions, and violence. I confided in my fellow friends and advocates for support. I arrived to persevere for a better life, doing what I could to survive. My time in the factory was short-lived and I moved on to find other ways to make money. I wish for my journey to inspire others to fight for what is right, no matter the cause.

 Looking back on my childhood, I can recall the suffering I endured. Loss that shattered my world as I knew it. I later on discovered that these moments taught me about the fragility that life holds, and the importance of determination for change. 

I learned the ways to survive. I wanted to be the voice for those who struggled silently. I turned pain into purpose.

Now, as I sit here telling you about my past, I hope to show you how important courage is. Every struggle faced becomes a stepping stone. To this day, I continue to honor those who made sacrifices for our future.

When I was 10 years old I watched as my mother anxiously ran her fingers through her hair. Every day she would come home exhausted. While I observed her mannerisms, I could hear the distant shouts of the protesters outside.

I admired the brave women protesters from an early age. While my mother worked as hard as she could manage, I sought to participate in the rallies one day. I wanted to help my mother in any way I could.

I felt as though it were unfair that my mother, bruised and calloused from her hard work, wasn't making anywhere near as much as the men in the work force. I admired my mother more than anyone. Her fighting spirit gave me hope for my future.

One late evening, I sat on the floor of my room designing my own protest poster. I looked forward to being apart of the courageous women who wanted to make a difference. All of a sudden, I heard footsteps approaching my door.

My mother gently opened the door, her face immediately dropping. I was confused and scared as to what she had to say. She demanded what I was doing in an angry tone. "What could I be doing wrong?" I wondered to myself.

I told her I wanted to be apart of the girls that fought for their freedoms and rights. She lectured to me that I would be risking my safety, and that I should keep my head down in order to survive. She snatched my poster board and threw it away. This would be the last time I ever spoke to my mother.

The following day, the most life altering moment of my life occurred. I could hear the shouts and panic from my home. As I opened the front door, the air was filled with dark smoke. My heart dropped as I began to panic about my mother.

I shoved through the crowd of frightened individuals, my ears were ringing from the chaos. I waited for hours until the smoke cleared, hoping to be pulled into a hug from my mother within the crowd. Eventually, everyone began to depart, and I received the news of my mother's passing, I was heartbroken.

I walked home in a daze, wishing to wake up from the nightmare called life. My father sat in his chair with his face in his hands, weeping. We attempted to comfort each other, and in the midst of sadness, I  promised myself to fulfill her legacy and to use her strength that she passed down to me to make a change in the world.

As I started the grieving process from the loss of my mother, I turned my sadness into action. I began taking notes while watching the rallies. My perseverance grew each day, I knew in my heart that this was my passion. I was able to learn about the importance of suffrage and our voices.

Each rally I witnessed showed me courage and resilience. The feeling of curiosity sparked inside me. Although my mother worried about the consequences of the reform movements, I felt as close to her as ever witnessing what she wished she had the strength to fight for.

The more I observed, the more I ached to contribute to make a difference. I could feel that this was just the beginning of my journey as a reformist. I took notes of many tactics and strategies used, eager for the day I could use them.

As the days at the factory began to grow longer, I continued to work up the courage to fight for our rights. However, rights weren't the only important aspect of this movement. The working conditions we were forced to withstand were brutal, and I strived to change that.

Many of my coworkers opposed the idea of fighting against management. I was told that the possibility of risking my job wasn't worth the effort. But, my two close friends, Charlotte and Beatrice, stood by my side. Despite the hazardous probabilities, we began laying out the foundation to advocate for manageable working conditions. 

Unfortunately, our plans were cut short when an anonymous report was made about our plans. My friends and I were escorted to the manager's office where we were informed of our consequences. The tension in the room became almost unbearable as we accepted our punishments.

Days turned into tortuous weeks with no breaks at the factory. As my friends and I continued to push through the exhaustion, I could see the negative effects beginning to take place. There were multiple occasions where I had to keep Charlotte up from falling asleep on the job.

One morning as I stepped foot into the factory, I noticed that Beatrice and many others were crying. After some questioning, I was informed that Charlotte collapsed from exhaustion and toxic fumes on her way home from work the night before, and she wasn't found until morning. My heart shattered, I was in utter shock and disbelief. Charlotte had lost her life due to my encouragement of rebellion.

Although the guilt of her passing weighed on me heavily, others began to advocate for better working conditions. My friends and I shared stories of Charlotte's determination as well as the moments she found drops of positivity within. Her story began a movement called, "What would Charlotte want?" The recognition of this movement provided me with the strength and motivation to continue my journey.

Within a week, I decided to leave my job at the factory. I couldn't bare the idea of working in an environment where one of my closest friends lost her life. Many others left the factory as well, including Beatrice. Our goal was to put a strain on the factory's success as well as gain public attention to our unfair treatment.

My limited options led to my choice of shining shoes as a living. Although tedious, and sometimes disgusting, I was able to make enough to provide for myself in a safer manner. Most people I dealt with were kind, sometimes even giving me tips for my work.

I met many others who left their jobs in the factories for a better start. I began documenting their experiences until I gathered enough information to write a full story to submit to the press. There was nothing that could get in the way of my fight for rights and justice. I reminded myself that my mother and Charlotte would be proud if they could see what I was doing.

At the age of 14, I began distributing out flyers to support the women's suffrage movement. I felt proud spreading the message as a way of honoring my mother's and Charlotte's life. There was nothing more I wanted than to fight for our rights.

There was a variety of reactions I received. Some wanted to learn more while others balled up the flyers, threw them to the ground, and spit on them. Fortunately, I was able to make some friends along the way, 

Despite the risks, I felt as though there was hope. I had gone from being a sad little girl, to an adolescent with courage. I believed in my heart that I was part of a successful  movement, and I would not give up.