The night before last something incredible happened. So incredible, in fact, that I spent all day yesterday walking a little bit taller—yes, even with my cane. I held my head higher, felt my spirit fly freer, and felt my mind and body grow more capable. It was as if the political winds of Ayana, Rachael, Nika, and Liz were lifting up my spirit when I hadn’t even realized it had been crushed. It’s as if their wins were my wins too, and in some sense I imagine they are.

I don’t just mean because I helped with the campaign, or because I volunteered my time, or because we if you go way way back we have a shared ancestry; at least I hope so, because what an honor it would be to somehow be linked to these incredible women. It’s because they gave me hope. Their fights, their tenacity, and their strength reminded me of who I am and where I come from. I’m talking about Black Girl Magic.

We seem to live in a time where you can’t speak your truth without being burned, or without people saying awful things— things they feel that they have been licensed to say by a man unworthy of the position he holds. It was empowering to see four Black women— women who look like me, or my cousins, or my aunt— win. Despite the odds stacked against them. Despite people saying they couldn’t. Just to see them win, to know that Black women will do it, can do it, and have been doing it for centuries. That reminder resounding through the city on the news stations two nights ago was magic.

The fact that each of these women will very likely make it onto the next round— the Councilwoman Ayanna Pressley already has her seat— means the light that we each have is enough to push on. Being the first African-American woman to ever have a seat in the House in Massachusetts is historical enough to push the boundaries. To encourage little girls that look like her, that look like me; little girls who were told that they can’t wear their hair in braids, or that they they speak too loudly, or that they stand too tall. It is enough remind us of who we are and the strength that we have.

Yesterday I was so emboldened that I did scary thing after scary thing. I challenged my own limitations. I walked up to people on the street and told them about my new venture. Even though my mind hadn’t completely come to terms with me talking in those moments, I knew I was following the plan. I knew I was serving my purpose and a greater sense of self that I was lacking just came together.

On the real I was on some privilege shit yesterday. In fact there was even a moment I was like, “Wow this must be what white people feel.” And this is not a dig at white people. I did grow up in a biracial family, and is isn’t at all a dig at individuals. But it is a dig at white supremacy. It is a dig at the structures that are not made for people like me. It is a dig at the politicking and the policies that are made to insulate and protect institutions from people like me. But this week we’ve shown that we’ve had enough. We just won’t have it any more. That is beautiful, and that is the power of communities united. That is the power of voices speaking truth to power, to their purpose, and to their passions, and I don’t want to hide from that anymore.

Once you get a taste of living in that power it is near impossible to go back. I’m here to thank these women not just for running, but for running whole heartedly, firmly embracing the community, and taking us with them all of those steps along the way. And in doing so, lighting a light inside of us to remind us of our own magic, of our own power. For reminding us that each of us is worth it. For saying that each of us deserves to be heard no matter where we’re from. No matter what we’ve experienced or what we’re going through. For continuing to fight and believe. For knocking on doors and pushing to get here, despite being out-spent every step of the way.

For reminding us that whether or not policies and institutions are set up for us, they serve us and therefore should be listening to us. They should be molded by us.