How my teacher wore a "I believe Anita Hill" button, and for the rest of my life I would be reminding men to believe women

While writing, I was researching the 90s. I know I was there, but sometimes I forget things or have to pinpoint if things actually happened or I made them up or romanticized them. It was a long time ago. I remember asking my dear gran about her life, and she was well into her 90s, and she would say, "Oh, that was a long time ago," but then be able to spin a story or tell me about someone she knew, and I was right there in the 1940s or 50s with her. I could see her hair "black as coal," she would always say, and I could smell the fresh air and hear the chickens she kept. I could see myself as a child in the 80s with her pristine memory and recall. I was a fairy growing up in the rural temperate forest. I was held in her memory like amber. Anyways, I was researching the 90s for this novel and happened to be in my old college town at Blaise's orientation. It is so wild that he is going to the same school. He will be living in a dorm a stone's throw away from the one I lived in. I was telling him about the land of then and how much things cost and what things were like, and one evening I started to go down a rabbit hole of Reddit, reading people's recollections of the 90s. These were all ages of folks, but the majority was Gen X. It was so comforting to read about a time that I desperately miss but also feel was tricky and difficult as a woman.

Some characters in my book are early 90s teens/young adults, and it is as if while writing and developing this story I am taken back as if in a swirl of excitement, but at the same time, somewhat bothered and triggered at the things that happened around me, to me, and how things really felt. Only maybe I am feeling them now again or more or for the first time. Many layers of a woman. A human. You can't get there from here or some other nonsense.