The critical acclaim for HBO’s Big Little Lies isn’t surprising to anyone who has seen it, nor is it shocking that the mini-series has received numerous nominations and awards. In addition to winning eight Emmys (including the coveted Outstanding Limited Series), it was just nominated for six Golden Globe Awards, with five of them acknowledging the outstanding acting in the first season. And while the series certainly delivers a compelling storyline, intriguing characters, and a suspenseful central mystery, its overarching themes of empowerment are what became extra noteworthy, especially in light of what 2017 has meant for women.

The series’ five female leads—Madeline, Celeste, Jane, Bonnie, and Renata—are flawed in many ways. They’re extremely privileged and unlikeable at times. And yet, in other moments, they’re so relatable. Ultimately, they reflect traits we recognize within ourselves, even if we don’t want to. These characteristics are the kind that are often awarded to male leads in television (think: Don Draper or Walter White), but instead of presenting women through an idealistic lens, Big Little Lies offers its female characters with a sense of bluntness. These women are all finding their voices in their own way, and they’re done apologizing for it.

The final scenes of the first season leave the viewer with a powerful image. Despite their differences, these women rally together to unite against Celeste’s husband, Perry, who is revealed to be both a domestic abuser and a rapist. (Of course, the audience knows all along that Perry abuses Celeste; it’s the plot-twist that he’s also Jane’s assaulter that some viewers didn’t see coming.) And while the women are forming an alliance against Perry, they also form a barrier of support for both Celeste and Jane. This unity happens almost wordlessly, as though it was a natural progression.

It’s hard not to equate those visuals with what’s been happening over the past few months for women all over the world. Ever since the initial story broke about Harvey Weinstein earlier this fall, the floodgates have opened and paved the way for many women to speak up about traumas they otherwise might have kept inside for months, years, or decades. The #MeToo movement on social media has provided a platform for survivors of assault and harassment to come forward, knowing they’ll have the support of others who are doing the same. And for the survivors who choose to remain silent, the wave of women coming forward has undoubtedly helped many feel less alone. That same solidarity exists within the pages of the Big Little Lies script, albeit in a different way.

Of course, the story behind Big Little Lies is not new—Liane Moriarty published the novel that inspired the series in 2014—but it might not be a coincidence that the series became a huge hit at the same time that women all over the world became angrier and angrier. We’re fed up with a culture that blames victims and doesn’t bring consequences to dangerous men. After all, it was a little over a year ago when the Access Hollywood tapes went viral and the world heard Donald Trump bragging about grabbing women “by the pussy.” And yet he still went on to become president, an event that undoubtedly created a breeding ground for the #MeToo movement. An undeniable rage has been bubbling under the surface, waiting to break through at the right moment.

That same subtle rage exists throughout the first seven episodes of Big Little Lies. It’s seen in every one of the female leads, and it manifests in different ways. For Celeste, it’s every step she takes to free herself from Perry’s abuse. In Jane’s case, it’s the gun she keeps underneath her pillow, the anguish she feels when her son asks about his father. For Renata, it’s the ache for justice, the relentless pursuit of vindication on behalf of her daughter. Madeline’s rage stems from her unhappiness, the bleakness she feels about her life but masks with a perky smile. And for Bonnie, it’s constantly being misunderstood, the endless frustration of never being adequately listened to.

At various points in the season, we see the raw emotions of all of these women rise to the peak, along with a breaking in their composure. It happens in bits and pieces—like Jane running breathlessly on the beach, or Renata screaming her head off by the pool. It’s over as fast as it began, but those moments—those tiny slivers of release—are so, so familiar for women. We feel them every day, over and over and over, and they’ve been magnified over the past few months. But for many of us, we’re no longer holding back. We are no longer apologizing. We’re no longer afraid.

The timing of Big Little Lies could not be more perfect in conjunction with the national conversation, and the series’ critical recognition is concrete proof that viewers want to see more shows that empower women and encourage them to use their voices. There isn’t a woman in this world that hasn’t wanted to scream endlessly into a void at some point in her life; Big Little Lies showed us that it’s OK to do just that.

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