Laura is a fourth year studying English and Women, Gender & Sexuality with a minor in Psychology. She believes in the value of art as a tool for social change and the power of the written word to connect us all. In her free time, Laura enjoys watching romantic comedies and laughing at astrology memes.
When I look back at my time with the Women’s Center, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. After three years, the time seems to blur slightly. The things I do recall are fewer specific moments and more themes of constancy—unvarying inspiration, exploration, and vulnerability.
When I was younger, my best friend and I would beg my mom to play The Dixie Chicks’ Home album in the car, just to hear “Travelin’ Soldier”.
I keep a list of things I want in the notes app on my phone (right below my grocery list and right above late-night ruminations on the failures of my life).
The worst year of my life started when I walked on Grounds in the stiff August heat to move in to my first year dorm (sans AC). Red-faced, insecure, and awkward, I felt like an intruder on an intimate scene--as if I had just walked into someone else’s life and didn’t know how to leave.
The moment I realized I was in love for the first time floats into my memory more often than I’d like it to. It was summer in a small hometown with a boy. But more than that, there was me, frozen with overwhelming self-awareness and recognition of feeling.
I completely suck at self-care. And not in a cutesy, humblebrag way or in a self-deprecating way. We just do not get along.
About a year ago, I started on a journey towards building a sustainable wardrobe.
I was eating at Chick-fil-A with my mom when she asked me if I felt loved.
I was at a sleepover for my best friend’s birthday party when I saw my first and last scary movie.
A deep pit in my stomach. I checked the time on my phone every fifteen seconds, waiting for the perfect time. The perfect time to ignore down the rapid beating of my heart and the sweat that began to form under my arms; the perfect time to decide, “fight or flight?”.
Often when we think of love, we think of a relationship between two people. Whether familial, platonic, or romantic, these relationships tend to define our sense of who we are.