“Discomfort is the price of admission for a good life.”

I came across this quote, I don’t remember where or said by whom. All I know is that it stopped me in my tracks. I found myself thinking of all those who came before me and paid their price of discomfort. In Canada, my great grandmother waiting until 1955 to take her grand daughters to the library to get their library card – the first time a girl or a woman could get a library card without her father’s or husband’s signature. 1955. Women going to the doctor in 1969 – when birth control was decriminalized. 1969. Women walking into a bank in 1974 to get their own credit card, without needing their father’s or husband’s signature. 1974. Two years after I was born.

It got me thinking of what price am I paying? I’ll be 54 this year. In my life, I’ve always been able to vote, have my own bank account, my own credit, my own car. I’ve had the choice to be a mother. I’ve had the choice to work. All because of the discomfort of those who went before me.

I like to believe it’s partly because of them that I speak my mind. Not only because they made sure my voice could be heard, but that they are always with me, surrounding me when my voice starts to shake when I speak my mind. That they were with me when my grade 5 gym teacher said girl’s couldn’t hit a ball that was pitched to them and needed a t-ball stand, to which I kicked it over and shouted “Pitch it!” and as God is my witness, I hit a homerun – they were with me. They were with me when my grade 10 science teacher told me that it was okay that I didn’t understand the experiment because “I was a girl and girl’s don’t need to understand science.” to which I shouted “I need to go to the office and call my parents about what you just said”. – needless to say, I didn’t call my parents, he looked like he shit his pants after I said that – they were there. When I sold cars and a man asked me to sit in his lap on the test drive (happened more than once) and I looked him square in the eye and said “let’s call your wife to see if it’s okay with her” – they were there.

It’s our time to be there for women. All ages. All countries. We’re at a tipping point. Yes, women are making strides on a global scale, in sports, in government, in finance – take your pick, we are rockin’ it. Yet, it’s 2026 and I still walk to my car with my keys between my fingers. At least once a week a man is surprised that I know, well, anything other than how to remove a stain and make a casserole. At least once a week I meet a man who has no problem with, Roe vs Wade getting overturned or the Voting Acts being rescinded. For Christ’s sake, The White House had a press conference for Dr. Oz to tell us that women in the U.S. are “under babied” – a fine example of a man who’s never been told to shut the fuck up. My great grandmother was a fine lady and she would agree with my sentiment.

It’s time, as John Lewis said, to make some good trouble. It’s time for a little discomfort. We need to be there for each other as our mothers, aunts, and grandmothers were there for us.