I was fighting with my parents in a never-before-seen screaming match. My dad was furious and my mom looked at me wide-eyed, almost in disbelief of what I had just told them: "you're being racist!” I was telling them how I was going to the BLM protest in D.C. whether they liked it or not. I have always been susceptible to depression due to extreme anxiety. As I kept trying to work for change, my mental health declined and my parents noticed. They kept telling me to take a break and to stop being so empathetic to a situation by which I was unaffected. I was so upset at the privilege that held- being unaffected by racial bias- I couldn’t just ‘take a break’. I told them about privilege and I explained the real details and facts of the policing system, the recent deaths, the laws in place that are rooted in racial discrimination, and more. A lot of this information made them mad. They said I was accusing them of being racist. I told them if you’re not an active anti-racist then yeah, you’re being racist. This conversation was one of the hardest and longest of my life. But I was finally on the same page as my parents. I was determined to spark change even though I have a small sphere of influence. I took to social media to educate and to talk to people, to try to change minds and inspire anti-racist education. I read books and donated. I called my representatives and senators, I wrote to the White House, I called police departments, and I made and signed over 150 petitions. I was upset at COVID and my family’s at-risk status, for keeping me out of protests. I felt like my circle was too small- I wanted to reach more people. Doing a lot of listening to Black voices around me and on social media, I contacted an activist who I knew worked locally. She told me how she was part of the people planning a huge protest on June 6th in Washington, D.C. I told her I wanted to help. Over the next week, I rallied my friends and neighbors on social media, even reaching strangers in New York; we were able to fundraise more than 350 dollars worth of protest supplies. After fundraising, my parents resolved that we would triple mask and hand sanitizer it up, and take to the streets with my dad. And that’s what we did! To avoid surveillance, we drove to an underground garage to exchange protest materials with the activist organizer and then rode the metro into D.C. Protesting with crowds of people, all chanting the names of those taken too early and unjustly, was beyond impactful and touching. We were in the streets by the Museum of African American History when the protest leaders had the whole crowd on one knee, in silence. Tears streamed down my face as I held my sister’s hand and thought about the impact we were making. Soon after the protest, my sister and I began writing a song about the BLM movement and American injustice, called Amerikkk. We published it in July and shared it with everyone we knew. It was our way of trying to reach the ears of as many people as we could. Protesting was a life-changing experience for me since I got to put my beliefs into words and actions that actually had an impact. I will always work to ensure that with everything I do, I do it with kindness and justice.