Lavender Graduation Speech

On Thursday, May 19, 2016, I gave a speech at Lavender Graduation, a graduation ceremony hosted by the University of Virginia’s LGBTQ Center to celebrate the accomplishments of LGBTQ+ and allied students.  Above is the video of my speech, while below is a transcription of my speech.  Thank you again to my peers who invited me to share my thoughts and congratulations to the Class of 2016!

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While writing this speech, I found it difficult to find a starting point—would I start with my desire to go to UVA after visiting Grounds in 2011 OR would I begin with the day my mother dropped me off at UVA OR would I mention the day I met someone who ended up literally leading me to the LGBTQ Center OR would I quote our founder Thomas Jefferson? Of course, I have now started with all of these thoughts, except for the quote from TJ, but I am sure I will hear enough of his words this weekend.

So where have I actually decided to begin my speech? I’ll start with something I have come to realize over this past year: for me, none of this was planned. You see, when I started at UVA, I thought I might want to study psychology but really had no clue, and I did not expect to become involved with social justice issues.

During my first semester here, I enrolled in a class called Introduction to LGBTQ Studies, which was the first semester it was offered. In my class was another first year, who wore scarves all the time. One day he was hanging around my dorm with one of my hallmates, and I decided this was my chance to make a new friend. So, I said, “I think you are in my Intro to LGBTQ Studies course. Do you understand queer theory?” He replied along the lines of, “Yeah, we should talk about it sometime.” And that was the start of my friendship with Connor.

Connor was the one who introduced me to the LGBTQ Center, or, rather the LGBT Resource Center. That’s right, before the LGBTQ Center there was the LGBT Resource Center or, as we called it, the “RC.” The RC was located on the fourth floor of Newcomb Hall, in a space about a quarter of the size of the current center. This small room, which is beside what is now labeled a gender-neutral bathroom (yay!), was where I met many people in the LGBTQ+ community. As an ally, I was unsure how people might receive me—would I be encroaching upon their space? Despite my insecurities, many people welcomed me.

By my second year, I continued to meet people in the community through my internship with the LGBTQ Center as the Speakers’ Bureau Intern. Through my experience as an intern, I gained presentation and communication skills. But, more importantly, I gained many friends. By listening to the stories of LGBTQ+ individuals, I started to learn about the multifaceted identities people possess, as well as the various ways in which people express themselves.

The same year I interned with the Center, I also declared my major in Women, Gender, and Sexuality. This move was completely unplanned when I entered college because at that point, I did not see a reason to study gender and sexuality. I thought it was a useless area and did not realize all that can be done with this major. However, after taking Intro to Gender Studies, I changed my mind and found many uses for this major. My passion for this area of study started with my interest in LGBTQ rights, so I want to thank say “thank you” to the people in this room who allowed me to make mistakes, welcomed me, and shared their stories and thoughts with me.

Now, I want everyone to take a moment to think about all of your own accomplishments as students at the University. Take a second to think about what you have accomplished and who has influenced, advised, and/or inspired you. Appreciate yourselves for your feats. Remember the positive changes we’ve observed within our career at this University. For example, the LGBT Resource Center changed its name to the LGBTQ Center and moved to a bigger space in Newcomb. Student involvement in the Center has increased. Brunch no longer consists of a box of cookies and coffee that only a handful of students attend, but rather takes place biweekly on the Lawn and has many visitors. Gender-neutral bathroom signs started to appear on single stall restrooms.   Sigma Omicron Rho became the University’s first queer and allied gender-inclusive fraternity to be voted into the Multicultural Greek Council. Gender identity was added to the University’s nondiscrimination policy. We’ve started singing the “Good Old Song” the right way at Love Is Love. On a national level, we saw the legalization of same-sex marriage.

While these positives occurred for the LGBTQ community during our time here, we have also experienced the harsh realities of the world and the bigotry still present in today’s society. Just a few weeks ago, someone chalked racist and transphobic comments on the sidewalks and when several students gathered to write new, positive messages to counter those written by the original chalker, the new chalkings were debased. We’ve heard the “Not Gay” chant one too many times. We endured the people who came to the Amphitheater to tell us that we are sinners. We have yet to see gender-neutral housing options. We survived malicious attacks on our University community from the media. We have felt underappreciated and overlooked. We have felt defeated. We mourned the passing of our peers. We struggled to uphold a mask of perfection. Sometimes, we lay awake at night thinking about injustices within the world.

Despite all of this, we woke up in the morning and continued to work towards our goals. We leaned on one another. We supported each other. We lifted each other up. We reminded one another that we don’t have to hide behind illusions. We persevered. We are resilient. We keep fighting.

Last summer, my mother asked me if I was glad that I ended up at UVA since I had just endured one of the most emotionally draining and academically trying years of my life. I answered “yes.” Here’s why. At UVA, I learned more about myself and the world around me than I thought possible. The people I interact with challenge my thinking and make me want to learn more. In order for my thinking to change, I had to unlearn many things I’d been taught early on in life. I had to start questioning my position within the world and decide to live with intention. I don’t want anyone to think this journey was an easy one because it tried me in so many ways. I saw imperfections within the fabric of the University. I started to realize why people say, “Ignorance is bliss,” but I also came to the conclusion that ignorance is an excuse used by people to avoid blame. I learned from those around me, but I also had to do a lot of personal, internal discovery and reshaping. So where does that leave me?

Recently, my aunt and uncle came to visit, and during lunch, my aunt looked at me with a twinkle in her eye, a grin across her face, and said, “Who would have ever thought you would end up doing all you have done?” I told her what I’ve told so many people over the past few months, “I know, none of this was a part of my original plan.” The truth is, if you had asked me right after my high school graduation what I would get involved with in college, I would not have listed any of the things that have shaped my experience at UVA. So, I want to say thank you again to all of the students who allowed me to embark on this journey with you. I want to give another note of thanks to the faculty and staff at this University who have served as advisors and mentors to me and have taken the time to get to know me beyond my academic involvements. Your leadership and guidance means so much to me. Without all of the people who I’ve come into contact with at the University, I may have never become involved in the LGBTQ Center, which means I would probably have never decided to work with groups and organizations like the Maxine Platzer Lynn Women’s Center, One Less, Green Dot, and Take Back the Archive. If I had not been involved in those groups, I more than likely would have never written a senior thesis. And, honestly, I cannot imagine my life without any of these elements or the people I met along the way.

My point from all of this is: we don’t always have a plan, but we can open our minds to possibility, continue to strive to live with intention, and create our own paths.

Thank you!

An Open Letter to the Virginia Men’s Basketball Team

Dear Virginia Men’s Basketball Team,

Thank you!  I don’t know if you can understand the immense gratitude I gained for you over the past two seasons.  As a fan, I came late to the game, as I first attended one during my third-year.  However, I quickly learned to love the sport, the fans, and the dedicated, hard-working team.  One of my friends recently inquired, “When did you become so interested in UVA basketball?”  As stated above: my third-year.  But why?

During my third-year (fall 2014-spring 2015), the UVA community endured a deeply painful and upsetting year.  The events that took place caused me to examine and question the community I called home.  That academic year tried many people in our community, and at times, we struggled to find a light.  I found a light in basketball because, to me, each game brought a sense of unity among the student body.  As I look back on the games, I remember the moments I spent wobbling in the student section of the arena as fans shifted the bleachers beneath my feet with their excitement, the slow tempo of each play, the quietness that blanketed the crowd whenever one of you stepped up to make a free-throw, the change in your hairstyles from one season to the next, the darkening of the arena for the announcement of the starting line-up, the way you each interact with one another.  Those moments drew me and kept me committed as a fan.

  
I’ll admit, I spent about half of the second-half of the 2016 ACC Tournament final with tears brimming my eyes.  I wanted the win, and I know you wanted the win more than I could possibly ever understand.  But, it is okay that Virginia did not win.  It is okay because I still see a team who respects each other.  After the game, watching Tar Heel player Marcus Paige comment on Malcolm Brogdon, I recognized the respect he has for our team, and to see two great teams play against each other and respect each other says a lot about the character of both teams.  No matter the outcome of the game, I am still so proud of you all and how you carry yourselves.  I am proud of the work you put into practicing.  Once again, thank you–thank you for being a light.

Much love,

A fan

  

Not Monochromatic

Full–unbelievably full.  The smile stretched across my face as I stood before the black-and-white photographs of fellow University women.  The tightness of my face strained to remain taught as tears threatened to run down my cheeks.  But the dam never broke because that smile utilized every facial muscle.

Everybody’s hurting
There’s nothing more human than that
See the pieces of heart’s missing
But watch how the light fills the cracks
My heart’s too big for the city
My heart’s too big for my own body
My heart’s too big for you to understand me
Please understand me

~”Monochromatic,” Mary Lambert

I met Kendall in Starbucks on a Tuesday night.  Going into our meeting, I knew I would discuss my struggle with body image–the multitude of miles ran, the daily weigh-ins, the measuring tape around my waist, the way I turned side-to-side in the mirror, hoping, hoping, I would appear thinner.  I knew I would talk about my relationship with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).  I told her about my refusal to eat one of the brownies my ninth grade geometry teacher made for our class  because I didn’t eat sweets for fear of gaining weight; how my classmate turned around and asked if I didn’t take one because I thought I’d gain weight; “You’re not fat,” she said.  I thought I wanted to take a picture focusing on my waist, on running, on a measuring tape wrapped around my torso while in running clothes.  Yet, some other thought pushed its way to the front of the queue.  My hands, we had to capture my hands.

“They tell us from the time we’re young
To hide the things that we don’t like about ourselves
Inside ourselves
I know I’m not the only one who spent so long attempting to be someone else
Well I’m over it”

~”Secrets,” Mary Lambert

I like the shape of my hands, the length of my fingers, the strength of my nails, the creased knuckles.  It is what I have done to my hands that causes me shame.  During first grade, I became extremely fearful of germs, so the compulsive hand washing started.  Eventually, this compulsion became dormant, yet in my last year of middle school, I became obsessed with weight-loss.  I had to run at least three miles a day, six days a week; I had to do push-ups and sit-ups; I had to look at the calories on each box; I had to refrain from eating sweets.  When I started high school, I continued this exercise routine and these restrictions, and, in time, I fell back on hand-washing rituals.  Dry, irritated, red, cracked hands–so cracked blood would flow from the broken skin.  Raw, unutterably raw.

One idea Kendall and I toyed with involved me standing at a sink or basin, washing my hands, while looking in a mirror (a scene that I know all too well).  Then, Kendall voiced another option: I would eat a cookie (an allusion to my non-brownie eating days).  My hands would still be in the picture.

A week after our initial meeting, I walked toward the building in which Kendall was taking pictures.  Before leaving my apartment, I looked at the Marilyn Monroe poster hanging over my bed.  Marilyn, in black-and-white, wears a white tulle dress, and her hand grazes her chin as she sits in a wicker chair.  I snapped a photo of this poster to show Kendall, maybe we could play around with this pose.  As I posed like Marilyn, I kept laughing at the prospect of posing for the camera–something I am not completely comfortable with.  Finally, Kendall handed me a pink-frosted sugar cookie, and I nibbled on it while Kendall captured the moment on camera.  Even while devouring the cookie, I laughed and laughed.

The photo decided upon was one of the first shots Kendall took.  However, unlike the poster of Marilyn with her mouth set in a timid smile, my mouth is wide open in a hearty laugh, teeth and tongue glistening with the reverberations.  My eyes close, as laughter lines form near my temples.  Both of my hands present themselves, one resting under my chin.  All I can do is smile and stare because I feel so beautiful.

Photo by Kendall Siewert

In my blurb, I wrote: “In the first grade, I started compulsively washing my hands due to my fear of germs.  For a while, these habits subsided, but during the latter part of middle school, my compulsions came back in the form of exercise because I obsessed about losing weight.  I ran a certain amount each day; I looked at calories; I was never satisfied with my body.  As I continued with my running routine and dietary habits, I also fell back on hand washing.  Along with my waistline, my hands–irritated, dried, cracked–became a shameful part of me.  Since entering college, I have learned not to be ashamed of my obsessive-compulsive disorder and to focus on the functions my body allows me to perform every day.  This photo demonstrates how much pride I can take in my body, hands and all.”

We are, we are more than our scars
We are, we are more than the sum of our parts

~”Sum of Our Parts,” Mary Lambert

Fullness warmed my body as some of my closest friends at U.Va. gathered around to look at the series of photographs.  “You look so joyous,” many of my peers exclaimed.  Someone else said, “Your laugh is so genuine.  It is just so genuine.”  When people made these comments, I told them that my original idea was a more somber picture, a picture that encapsulated my struggle with body image.  This outcome was beyond all expectation for me.  I was not expecting an image to capture me in such a joyous state because, in truth, I still struggle.  I still find myself looking at my body in the mirror, dissatisfied.  I still don’t feel fully comfortable with the way my body looks.  I am working on focusing on what my body can do instead of my self-perceived “flaws.”  And, in truth, this picture is so much closer to who I am now than who I was seven or so years ago, so much closer to who I am now than who I was when I entered college.  This is my story.

To check out the other stories and photographs, click here for the online exhibit.

You’re Not Invited

CW: sexual harassment

His disgustingly smooth voice

Caused my stomach to be tightly wound

With anxiety

I’d look through the glass

To the outside world

Afraid he would appear before me

Afraid he would be in class

At the same cool white table as me

Ready to harass me

I didn’t want to go to class

Panicky before period 7

Because that junior chose to pick on girls

And I was just a freshman

–

He placed his arm around my shoulders

Pressing me tightly to his side

Directing me towards a place I did not want to go

Laughing as I squirmed away from his grip

He was a freshman, and so was I

Now we sat and his arm went around me again

After I slid away from him

He scooted close, his outer thigh touching mine

“I don’t like it when people do that,” he whispered

Later, he tried to get me to undress in front of him

But I’d rather dress in the dark, green port-o-potty

Than strip in front of him

So there I stood among human feces and urine

Avoiding his persistent pleas

I appeared in my change of clothes, ready to enjoy the day’s festivities

And not long after, he would stroke my calf and I’d feel the knot

Growing in my stomach

–

Drunk, he tried talking to me

Sober, I stood near the wall

“My fraternity brothers are different

Like most fraternity brothers want to get laid

But my brothers, we are real friends

But we still want to get laid”

He said while glancing at my chest

Covered in an over-sized sweatshirt

He’d step forward

I’d step back

Repeat

–

Over 100 of us sat in a lecture hall

Slumping in brown, pilly chairs

The reading for the day came from

A black book cover with red script blaring

Yes Means Yes

Topic of the day:

Consent

It wasn’t until that day

In my second year of college

That I learned about consent

And this fact scares me

And yet, I felt empowered once I knew

A word that made sense

I didn’t think I had ownership of my body

I didn’t think I had a right to love it

Because I live in a world

Where my body is sexualized by others

And it shouldn’t have taken me 19 years

To know that my body is my own

And I’d been violated

All I knew at the time was my discomfort

My hesitancy to say anything

And it may have not been sex

But the point remains the same

Silence is not an invitation

To make me feel less than you

Summer 2015-FUN?

I am not quite sure where to start my posts for this summer because I have so much to say, so for now, I am going to start at the beginning.  As I revealed on my blog in April, I am working at the University of Virginia for the summer on a project called Take Back the Archive, which is a digital archive of the history of sexual violence at the university.  However, we have also decided to include incidents of other forms of violence, such as racial violence, in the archive.  When I announced my decision to work on this project along with others at the University, I received mixed reactions.  Some people were excited for the project, wanting to know the history, happy that something was being created to showcase the issue of sexual violence at the University of Virginia.  Others worried, telling me it sounded like a sad job, one that wouldn’t be fun.  Here’s the thing: This project is not supposed to be “fun.”  This project is meant to document a history that spans over almost two centuries.  This project is meant to illuminate what some individuals do not believe happens in their community, what people continue to ignore.  This project is enlightening and causes me to ask a lot of questions, some of which I hope to explore in later posts.  This project proves to me the importance of knowing the history of the communities in which I participate.  This project continually pushes me to think and explore.  This project is so much more than “fun.”

“Be As You Are”–Words of Wisdom from Mike Posner’s Mother

Raw–what I first thought when I watched the music video for “Be As You Are” by Mike Posner.  So beautifully raw.  I have been listening to Posner’s EP The Truth on repeat for the past two days.  The four EP songs emote what the EP is entitled: the truth.  Some time has passed since I last heard something this truthful produced from music, something that moves me when I listen to it, something that causes me to empathize with the singer.  Maybe that sounds ridiculous, I don’t know Mike Posner, but there is something about his vulnerable approach to his new music that makes me feel comfortable, that makes me believe what he is saying.

Recently, I posted a question for Posner on a live Facebook chat asking, “What was your inspiration for creating The Truth?”  He replied with, “check out the lyrics on the EP…im sure you’ll understand :).”  So, here I am looking at the lyrics as I listen, letting everything sink in at once with “Be As You Are.”

Part of the chorus of “Be As You Are” is as follows:
“There are moments when you fall to the ground
But you are stronger than you feel you are now
You don’t always have to speak so loud, no
Just be as you are”

There are moments where we are vulnerable, where we feel weak, but vulnerability and weakness are not synonymous.  Vulnerability is strength.  Vulnerability allows for growth.  Furthermore, you don’t always have to make yourself known, you don’t always have to put on a fake persona to get people to notice you.  As Posner says, “Just be as you are.”

In the first chorus, Posner adds:
“Life is not always a comfortable ride
Everybody’s got scars that they hide
And everybody plays the fool sometimes, yeah
Just be as you are”

In the video, people hold up signs with their “flaws” or “stereotypes.”  After ripping their signs in half, they end up stripping themselves, naked just as the day they were born, in the flesh, fully embodying themselves.  They run into the water, cleansing themselves, allowing themselves to be as they are.

Raw–how I have been feeling lately.  My grandfather passed a week ago, and I cried more than I have in a long time.  I am grieving; I feel raw, vulnerable.  I came across The Truth while working on Take Back the Archive.  I think The Truth is helping me heal, reminding me the importance of looking at truth, at acknowledging our own personal histories.

One of my favorite lines from “Be As You Are” is: “Life is better when you open your heart.”  I will try to remember these words as I continue walking through life.  So, thank you to those of you who continue to support me, and thank you to Mike Posner, whose music keeps me company and gives me truth.

My Issues with the Idolization of the “Dad Bod”

I read “Why Girls Love The Dad Bod” by Mackenzie Pearson earlier this week knowing that it would annoy me, and surely enough after reading this article, I found myself asking, “Why am I so uncomfortable?” So, I started exploring that feeling of discomfort, and came to another question: “Whose bodies are being valued here?”

Answer: white, heterosexual, cisgender, able-bodied, middle- to upper-class men, many of whom happen to be fraternity members.

But why are these bodies being valued?

While I do believe that everyone has a right to feel comfortable with their body and that no one should be judged for the way their body looks, I have an issue with applauding white male bodies at the expense of other bodies. Implicit in Pearson’s article is the heralding of a white supremacist, patriarchal view of the human body. Why are we applauding a white heterosexual male’s body, when his body is already strongly accepted in America’s highly white supremacist, patriarchal, capitalist society? Pearson claims that females find the “dad bod” attractive because “it doesn’t intimidate us.” Then she goes on to say, “We don’t want a guy that makes us feel insecure about our body. We are insecure enough as it is. We don’t need a perfectly sculpted guy standing next to us to make us feel worse.” This analysis of why the “dad bod” has become a popular craze makes me cringe. The female body is being regarded in comparison to the male body. Why is it that we, as females, feel insecure about our bodies? One of the myriad of reasons is male bodies are valued over our bodies, and it is men imposing on women the ideal body type for women. By blatantly stating “we are insecure enough as it is,” acknowledgement as to why women are insecure about our bodies has to be considered.

Women’s bodies are constantly being policed in American society, and each woman knows the pressure society puts on them to look a certain way, and men add most of this pressure. Pearson ends her article encouraging men with dad bods to “confidently strut that gut on the beach because while you stare at us in our bikinis we will be staring just as hard.” This encouragement of confidence is not the problem because everyone should feel confident in their body. The problem is the assumption that men will “stare at us in our bikinis” because the male gaze still ensues, no matter where a woman goes. Pearson is implying that women do not normally gawk at men on the beach whose bodies do not consist of a six-pack and bulging biceps, and she is saying that men are always staring at women in bikinis. This article reinforces the idea of a female needing to please a man by being aesthetically pleasing.

I have been talking a lot about the female body in relation to the world, but I am afraid that maybe my focus on the female body is too large, that I am generalizing too much, and I may be reinforcing the systems that I am trying to fight against. I identify as a white, heterosexual, cisgender, able-bodied, middle-class woman, so I know that my experiences as a part of these groups do have influence in how I am analyzing Pearson’s article. I ask the following questions in an attempt to think about the multitude of possibilities the body can be thought about in terms of identities, and while I may not have answers to each of these question, they are important to ask when trying to approach an idea from a critical lens. So here are some of the many questions that can be asked in regards to the body: how are trans* and gender non-conforming individuals’ bodies viewed within cissexist American society? What about black female bodies, how are they viewed in relation to the white female body? How are bodies with disabilities regarded in a highly able-bodied environment? How is the gay Latino male body viewed in a white supremacist, heteronormative society? How is the upper-class body privileged in relation to the working-class body in a capitalist institution?

Here’s the thing, the idea of the “dad bod,” as expressed in Pearson’s article, is not revolutionary. By heralding the publication of this article, one is giving into a system that allows for white male bodies to be valued over every other body out there. As individuals, we must look critically at the arguments presented to us, and question why we either agree with them or why we find ourselves in a condition of unease.

What Sustains You?

The grassy field spread out in front of us, as we stood underneath a large tree to the side of the field. At the center of the field, a soccer game took place. There we were, existing in the margins, gathered for the Take Back the Night rally, organized against gender-based violence. bell hooks, an author and human rights activist, argues “[marginality] is…the site of radical possibility, a space of resistance” in her book Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures (341). And that’s what we were and are, that small group of people underneath the tree, taking up a space of resistance, the site of radical possibility.

Within that space under the tree, we learned about local community organizations working against gender-based violence. Some individuals chose to recount their experience as a survivor of sexual violence, and others performed songs or skits as a way to relay their stance on the issue. Morgan Harrington’s mother Gill Harrington, founder of Help Save the Next Girl, spoke about her dedication to raise awareness of gender-based violence through prevention education. Missing teen Alexis Murphy’s aunt Trina Murphy also shared the same sentiments as Gill Harrington in providing information to combat gender-based violence and abductions. The Keynote Speaker at the rally was Gordon Braxton, a 2002 U.Va. alum who is the founder of the blog Allied Thought: A Blog on Manhood and Gendered Violence Prevention. Braxton stated that the focus of his speech was to get more individuals, especially those standing on the “fence” about sexual assault prevention advocacy, involved in advocating for the end of gender-based violence. While trying to get allies to participate in advocacy work, he observed, “If you listen to what is being said, what’s being asked of you aren’t necessarily big things to do.” And isn’t that true? As advocates and activists, we are asking for people to stand on the margins with us, whether it be for a night at the Take Back the Night vigil or belonging to a group on Grounds that promotes sexual assault prevention or telling someone why the rape joke they just made isn’t funny.  Braxton’s view of advocacy resembles a quote I learned while participating in Green Dot, a national bystander intervention program related to power-based violence prevention, “No one has to do everything, but everyone has to do something.”  The smallest action paired with all of the actions taken in an activist movement propels the initiative forward.

Here is one of my friends, Gordon Braxton, and me posing for a picture after the Take Back the Night rally.

Recently, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what sustains me as an advocate. My answer isn’t an easy one nor am I fully sure of it, but I do know that the work I participate in is work I believe in. The work is emotionally draining.  It is tough, not being able to ignore the systems of power in place, not being able to be ignorant. At times, this space of resistance can feel lonely, but then, I remember all of those individuals participating in advocacy work and realize the site of radical possibility in which I stand.  Advocacy work is transformational.

After this academic year at U.Va., I wanted to leave Charlottesville for the summer, I wanted to not focus so much on sexual assault prevention. I wanted space to breathe, time to take a step back. However, I received an opportunity to stay in Charlottesville and work on a project that will digitally archive the history of sexual assault at U.Va. I wanted this opportunity so badly, yet I hesitated when I received the e-mail from the internship director about her interest in hiring me. I thought about the offer I was given to return to Montreat for a third summer, to work with preschool-aged children. With the internship, I knew I would have to stay in Charlottesville, to focus on the history of sexual assault at the University.  And, ultimately, I declined Montreat because I know that the internship opportunity is working toward changing the culture of U.Va., toward setting a precedent for other colleges and universities to own their history and to make sure history does not repeat itself.  After spending my past two summers in Montreat, where I met great friends and incredible families, my decision to decline my contract was difficult, but I know that my choice to stay in Charlottesville is one based on what I want to see happen in the future at the University, on what I see myself working on in the future: gender-based issues.  So, thank you to everyone who has supported me along the way.

Part 3: Are We Out of the Woods Yet?

I closed the door and ran. I ran and ran and ran. Rarely, I stopped to catch my breath and reflect upon why I was running. In all the rush to run, I forgot one thing: to latch the door.

* * *

The week before I returned to Montreat for the College Conference, excitement leapt about my stomach. In anticipation, the thrill of reuniting with friends coursed through my being, as tears of happiness brimmed my eyes and squeals of ecstasy rose from my throat. I even created a “Home” playlist on Spotify, featuring classics like, “Home” by Phillip Phillips, “Coming Home” by Diddy, “Home” by Daughtry, “Come Home” by One Republic, and “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.  Finally, January 2 (the day I traveled with my church group to Montreat) arrived, and I eagerly looked out of the car window, braced with my iPhone camera, as we drove through the stone gate, snapping a few blurry photos from the backseat. I was home.

The first night, I reunited with several friends at a Sam Burchfield concert. The hugs I waited so long for were finally received. A smile etched on my face, as an overwhelming relief took place. For months, my heart yearned to be near these people, and finally, they were right in front of me.

The next morning, I found myself seated in the “older than your grandmother” pews, ready for Keynote.  Alexie Torres-Flemming, the founder of Youth Ministries for Peace and Justice, took the stage. I watched in awe as Alexie discussed social justice. She defined justice as “the idea that we all have the opportunity to be fully alive or fully human,” so when looking for justice, we must first look at the root causes of injustices. She looked out at an audience filled with college students, the people who hold the future in our hands and have the chance and power to positively change history, and pointed us out, calling us to action, which entranced me.  Never before, at least to my memory, had I witnessed someone so directly ask a group of Christians to do something about injustices people in our own country face.

Alexie began her Keynote confidently claiming, “You can find peace in the center of chaos.” By the end of it, she listed lessons to be “peace bound” (the theme of the conference). Of her lessons, I connected with a few of her statements. One was that we will not find our place or peace until we realize we belong to one another. This statement does not mean we are each others’ property, but rather that we need to have empathy and see each other as fellow human beings. Alexie also claimed that we cannot have peace until we live in our purpose. In that moment, I started to realize the importance of my purpose as an advocate, but I still had not fully grappled with my connection to this statement. Finally, Alexie, once again, highlighted the importance of showing up.

I left Keynote feeling empowered and moseyed on over to small group. One of the first questions our leader asked us was, “What did you think of the first time you heard the theme ‘Peace Bound?’” As I racked my brain for an answer, I realized that previous thoughts of the theme had never even formed. In my excitement to go to Montreat to see old friends, I paid very little attention to the most obvious details of the conference. I had little to no expectations, no thoughts, because I had decided to just exist at the conference, putting minimum effort into my participation.

Then, I noticed that during Alexie’s Keynote, I started to not just exist because I saw my purpose within her words. The way she captured my attention with what she was saying; my eyes, ears, and heart opened to something larger. Within her words, I found truths that I needed to hear, truths that I had forgotten, truths that were new, truths that started to help me heal.

The next morning, I awaited the appearance of Jamie Tworkowski, the founder of To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA), on the stage. A tall man wearing a beanie appeared, giving a small wave to the crowd as he appeared out of the depths of backstage, the spotlight focusing on him. He quickly introduced his singer-songwriter friend Josh Moore. When Josh shared his music with us, peace blanketed the room, as a silence hummed about the Auditorium.

When Jamie reappeared, his words presented themselves to me with intentions of reinstating hope. He relayed to us a time in his life that he tried to distance himself from God, but he said the most comforting thing is that he could never run away from God.

For too long, I ran without latching the door, without looking back, and God was always behind me. I so badly wanted to run, to hide from God. And yet, I ran right to God, right into His arms. And when I met God in the Auditorium, I connected the dots. I thought I was at the College Conference to see friends and to have the experience of finally going to one.  But God led me there because He knew the content of the conference, of how much I needed it in my life at that moment.

Jamie Tworkowski of TWLOHA and I standing in the lobby of Anderson Auditorium.

Further along in his speech, Jamie shared that his hope was for the audience to walk away knowing that we don’t have to fake it, that we can feel pain and express it, too. He acknowledged that there are only a few people in our lives that we can be honest with, and that, “We are meant to be loved, to get known, to have relationships where we share [our vulnerability].”

Jamie was speaking to my philosophy on life. Since coming to the University of Virginia, I quickly learned the importance of being vulnerable. Vulnerability educates and creates empathy. Vulnerability lets people truly see you. Jamie claims he found peace “when [he] let someone in and was vulnerable and let somebody love [him].” Those are the moments where I, too, find my peace and my energy, my passions and myself.

Jamie ended with a request to the audience, urging us to “participate in things that matter.”

* * *

When I signed up for College Conference, I was not expecting a healing process to occur, I was not expecting it to be a part of my journey.  More than anything, I needed to retreat to Montreat, but I thought it was just to reconnect with friends, not to reconnect with God. How completely naïve I was. For so long, I told myself that my studies do not connect with God, and I started to separate myself from Him. I know I am filling my passion by studying Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, in hopes of creating and working toward social change. But maybe God gave me the gift of compassion, and maybe, just maybe, He gave me that gift so He could later call upon me to advocate for others.

Apple

The saccharine juice drips into my palms

Sliding down my wrists

Towards my elbows

The sweetness starts to pool in my hands

My forearm is now shimmering with stickiness

As I crunch on my apple