March often arrives like a paradox—bringing both a whisper of spring and echoes of the past. It’s a threshold month, straddling endings and beginnings, change and continuity. For many, including myself, it’s a time of homecomings and departures. My partner and I return to Montreal from Mérida during this season, and that transition carries a bittersweet weight: the warmth of memories left behind, the excitement of returning to familiar streets, and the body’s quiet memory of what this time meant in 2020—the year everything changed.
On a wider societal level, March marks a shift in collective attention. As Black History Month fades from headlines, a hush settles in—a silence that can feel jarring. And with International Women’s Day fast approaching, we’re reminded of the complexities embedded in mainstream feminist celebrations. It’s difficult not to notice the ways in which certain narratives dominate the conversation—often excluding voices that are Black, trans, disabled, Indigenous, and others living at the margins of society’s attention.
This year, I’ve been especially drawn back to Fannie Lou Hamer’s powerful declaration: “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” These words resonate deeply. Freedom—often romanticized as a grand ideal—is, in fact, grounded in the everyday. It’s the ability to walk alone without fear, to express your full identity without apology, to gather, rest, and thrive without scrutiny. For some, those freedoms are given. For others, they remain distant dreams. And this disparity—this unfinished business of liberation—underscores why dedicated moments like Black History Month, Pride, and International Women’s Day are still essential. Not as marketing tools or token gestures, but as calls to awareness, reflection, and action.
As someone who values solitude and independence, I understand the pain that comes when these are denied. Moments in my own life when my need for space was dismissed have reminded me: the freedom to be oneself fully and safely is not universal. That recognition can feel heavy—but we can’t live in the heaviness alone. Which is where joy comes in.
Joy is not a distraction from justice—it is fuel for it. It reminds us what we’re fighting for. The freedom to laugh, to love, to move through the world on our own terms. The simple pleasure of walking down the street with a friend, visiting a favorite bookstore alone, or signing up for a class just because we want to learn. These are not luxuries. They are, in many ways, essential rights. And when we acknowledge that some people don’t have them, we are called not only to awareness—but to action.
That’s where compassion steps in—not as a soft or passive feeling, but as an active force. Awareness may stir us, joy may nourish us, but compassion compels us. It asks us to take what we know and what we love, and use it to create change—not just for ourselves, but for others.
So how do we practice this kind of compassion? How do we move it from feeling into motion?
It starts with honoring the wisdom and leadership that marginalized communities have always brought to the table. Black women, for instance, have long modeled what true self and communal care looks like. Their joy and resilience in the face of systemic barriers offer a roadmap for how we might all show up with more honesty, more integrity, and more heart. A recent piece highlighting the self-care rituals of five Black women illustrates this beautifully. Their stories are reminders that showing up for ourselves is not selfish—it’s a radical act, especially when the world tells you not to.
We can also deepen our understanding by learning from communities that mainstream feminism often overlooks. International Women’s Day must be for all women—not just those who fit into neat boxes. For the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, for example, visibility and inclusion on this day are more than symbolic—they’re vital. When we say “equal rights,” we must mean it in the most expansive sense possible.
And if you’re looking to put compassion into practice in your workplace or organization, tools like equity audits—such as those offered by Awa by Beloved—can be transformative. These audits help organizations confront their blind spots and commit to meaningful change. Even on a smaller scale, using free tools to evaluate your own team’s diversity, equity, and inclusion practices can be a powerful start.
Compassion also invites introspection. Take a moment to reflect on the pleasures you cherish most—the quiet joy of a morning coffee, a favorite walk, an evening spent with loved ones. Then, imagine those pleasures taken away. What emotions arise? Let those emotions move through you—write, draw, dance, sit with them. And then, return to those pleasures with gratitude. This kind of emotional inquiry can anchor us in empathy and connect us more deeply with those whose lives are shaped by constant exclusion or limitation.
Lastly, there is the practice of loving-kindness. It can take many forms—not just reciting phrases, but also evoking images or memories that stir warmth in your heart. Let that feeling grow, and then send it outward. To yourself. To someone you love. To someone you struggle with. To a stranger. To the world.
As we step into March—a month that quite literally invites us to march forward—may we carry with us a commitment to awareness, joy, and above all, compassion. These qualities are not ends in themselves; they are energies that, when combined, can move us toward a freer, fairer world.
And so, Happy International Women’s Day. May it be a celebration not just of progress, but of possibility—for everyone.
