My favorite time of year has always been the couple of days between Christmas and the New Year. It has always been this quiet, slow, and reflective liminal space that just hardly can be replicated any other time of year. There is always the mad rush up to Christmas and then… a kind of stillness. There’s nothing left to do, nothing to finish up; just a few days to appreciate where we’ve been and where we’re going.
I’ve been writing myself end of year letters since I was 15 (with the exception of last year— I got started but never finished) and it has become my favorite tradition. I love getting a glimpse into my headspace from a year ago and I love getting to say to myself, “Yep, you did that. That too. And that one.” I also love getting to laugh at myself with the questions I have for my future self and how I envision the year going versus how it actually unfolds. It’s also a vulnerable thing— every year I write to myself about the most sensitive things that have been occupying my mind and I allow myself to be forgiving, hopeful, and loving to myself in ways that can otherwise be difficult. And every year I’m always touched by the affirmations I leave myself— validation from the one person that I seek it from most and the hardest to receive it from: myself.
I’ve finished up my letter this year and sealed it off, so I can’t touch it until this time next year, but I thought I’d share a few of my reflections from this year and what i’m looking forward to in this new year.
Ending chapters
Going into 2022, I was getting ready to finish up my last semester of college. I’d had a crazy successful and somewhat turbulent 3 & 1/2 years. I was lucky to have solid plans post-grad, and I looked forward to sealing up that chapter of my life, having a slow and easy summer (for once), then moving to Ireland! Of course, my last semester felt stolen by the stress of a threatening accusation and the lack of support (and, in my opinion, straight negligence) from adults in power handling an investigation and conduct process that operated as a kangaroo court.
For over 80 days, while I was treated as if I was guilty of accusations (that were later dropped within the first five minutes of my “hearing” with the admission that the student accusing me knew I was the most visible student they could blame) that had the power to threaten my degree status, my upcoming enrollment in my graduate program, and my scholarship to Ireland, I also was juggling classes, leading as the Student Body President and the President of a social justice student organization wherein both roles, I faced a significant amount of pushback, criticism, and even intentional attempts at sabotage by other students that can only really be explained as the product of being an outspoken Black woman in leadership at a PWI in the South. *Biiiig inhale*
By the end of it all— the transitions of power, the emotionally scathing conduct process, my classes, and final projects— I had a measly four days between me and graduation. Life had been sucked out of me. I have never felt so sour, so heartbroken, so shocked by the ending of a chapter in my life where I knew I’d given everything I could, chased every opportunity, and I excelled. I am lucky for those who kept me afloat those first few months of the year— through the semester that I look back on and can barely remember but can still feel with distinct intensity.
I am still grappling with grief over the ending of my college career and seeing the ugly institutional teeth of academia and the ugly sides of mediocre white men in their attempts to obstruct, discredit, and divert attention when you dare to shine in spaces they feel entitled to has reoriented my own understanding of self, how I see myself being able to invest in community moving forward, and it has made me question if leadership as a Black woman can ever mean keeping your tender heart. I’m not sure.1
Slowing down & investing in community
The summer came as a rescue line. In the quiet beginning of summer, I spent most of my time waking up late, going on walks by myself, taking myself out for lunch at my favorite places, reading books, and taking naps. For once, I felt comfortable in slowness. Then Jessica called and offered me an internship at a local nonprofit organizing a community social justice event at the end of the summer, and I couldn’t say no. I got clowned for talking about my slow summer and then jumping into something new. But my internship with Mill Village was just what I needed. It gave me a small community of people I might not have otherwise been connected with, something to keep my mind busy, and a space to heal after my traumatic semester. By the end of my 10-ish weeks with Mill Village, I felt more whole than I’d felt in a long time and getting to organize and lead an experimental social justice and advocacy event for students in my hometown was so fulfilling. '
The power of community cannot be understated. It is not without its challenges, but community is a life force, and there are few experiences I’d say are more divine than finding purpose, place, and love in community. This lesson has been modeled for me in so many ways this past year, especially in Belfast, as I’ve navigated a new place where I do not have the connections and support of living in the same place I’ve grown up in. I am lucky to have been reminded of all the things I love about the communities I’ve called home (and to look forward to finding new space within them one day after thinking I was ready to abandon them) while learning an important lesson about how vital a sense of community is to wellbeing.
Doing things! Outdoors!
I was going through pictures from 2022, and I was laughing at all the pictures I have of myself doing sports. For YEARS, I have written in my end-of-year letter that I want to run a half marathon. I didn’t even know that I’d been wanting to run for so long— I thought it was a random quarantine development, but no! And this year, I finally ran one. My goal for the year was to run double what I did in 2021, and I didn’t quite make it in terms of mileage, but I was realizing just how much time I spent trying new things like biking (with clips!), trying to learn how to swim so I could do a triathlon (and then backstroking the whole way because even though I couldn’t really swim, I wasn’t about to give up!), kayaking 6 miles in a triathlon even though I’d never kayaked before, joining intramural basketball and volleyball even though I definitely was a dead weight on my team, joining rowing even though I didn’t know anything about that sport either, and rock climbing too!
I’d almost forgotten how life-giving sports and the outdoors are. I wasn’t able to invest in a single sport growing up, so I had some serious unlearning to do in regard to narratives I’d created for myself about being an athletic adult without any sports background. I spent a lot of time looking absolutely goofy in sports and in the outdoors. Easily over 1,000 dollars was spent on races (shoutout to Triathlon club and Furman Running Club lol!) even though I was certainly never racing— only trying to see if I could get through the challenge.
I’m 16 weeks out from my first marathon, which I’ll run at the end of April with one of my close friends from college, Bex, and her mom, Linda. I ran a half marathon on New Year’s Day, and I am always surprised and so proud as I discover what my body can do. (More on the marathon to come in a future newsletter!)2
Having the courage to be vulnerable & always speak truth to power (even when your voice shakes)
Maybe the most important lesson of my youth, one that I am continually called to act on, is this. I think often of my friend, Alyssa Adare, who, throughout college, modeled what it meant to be courageous, especially in a space where many systems, structures, and people were set against you and designed to be that way. Adare is the friendtor (friend + mentor) who reminds me of the power of vulnerability, honesty, speaking truth to power, and cultivating your own joy.
I have carried this lesson with me closely this year as I’ve spoken even as people with power have attempted to silence me; I have put myself on the line for others in the name of justice; I have demanded to be spoken to and treated with respect by leaders, I have left spaces I was seeking community when I did not feel appreciated, and I have continued to find and create my own joy through it all.
So, what’s next?
This year instead of making a vision board where I collected other people’s images as a way to visually design the life I’d like to live this year, I made my own visual web of reminders using my own photos and things I’ve learned this year (pictured above). I have the usual goals of sticking with running, reading more than I did last year, exploring more places over the next eight months I’m in Ireland, cultivating joy and taking advantage of opportunities for play, etc. But mostly, my goal is to continue being as true to myself as possible— this looks like reminding myself to keep slowing down (as there is truly no rush and no missing out), keeping good company in friendships and relationships, and continuing to chase after the wants and needs of my own heart— because I have surely done enough chasing after everybody else’s!
This year, like last year, is another big transition for me. I have applied to schools for my PhD and I’ll likely know within the next six weeks or so where I’ll be headed off to after my year in Ireland for the rest of my twenties. When I head back to Belfast next week, I’ll begin an internship at the Linenhall Library (super cool little place!), I’ll be finishing my coursework for my masters, and I’ll be prepping to begin my 20,000-word thesis on… who knows exactly what yet.
No more rowing, but lots of running. And who knows what other things I’ll get into this semester. I’ll keep you updated. Thanks for following along through this little newsletter-meets-blog for the past year and a half-ish. :)
I’ll be called dramatic for this. I’ve been called dramatic for sharing how I’ve felt, but there really are few words to describe how it really feels to be in the kind of situation I was in, and most people won’t get it unless they’ve experienced something similar. Sharing my experience and my feelings have opened the door for other alums to say they experienced similar things under slightly different contexts, and Black students from other students have found me to share that they went through very similar things at their PWIs. Whether it’s Title IX or conduct, it’s unfortunate and unacceptable how common this is and how institutional practices have not been addressed to make these processes more humane for students.
And, as some of you might recognize in the subtitle— “doing things” is the tagline of an athleisure company, Outdoor Voices. My friend David described it (pretty accurately) as “Lululemon for Granola Girls.” I’ve amassed an unbelievable amount of their clothes over the year, and I have zero regrets. They don’t ship to Ireland/the UK, which is heartbreaking (but good for my wallet), but their little tagline sticks with me.
If speaking your truth about what you endured is "dramatic," then we should all aspire to be drama queens. You're fierce and you'll encounter people who are intimidated by your light, your strength, your smarts your whole life. That's about them and their smallness, which is reflected back at them by your depth and devotion. I love your updates and find joy in knowing that you exist in this world. Keep it up, dear one, and take care as often as you can.