Spring

When I came to the University of Kansas in the fall of 2016, I knew that I'd study what I was drawn to, and would figure the rest out later.

God's plan stepped in and pulled me to what I'm passionate about over and over again. The calling on my heart has always been to invest in and stand by young women as they become leaders, learners, and advocates.

A couple months ago, I accepted a position with Chi Omega Fraternity as a National Leadership Consultant. After graduation, I'll move to Memphis for the summer to train for the upcoming year.

Upon return to whichever city I choose, I'll spend half or more of the month traveling to college campuses all over the US. I'll live in hotels, on campuses in chapters, and wherever I'm needed. All while working with a group of amazing women.

I wish I could articulate what this opportunity means to me. It's what I wish for women I share a heart with, that have fire in their hearts for something more than what we've been told we're capable of.

I think of the girl I was sophomore year in high school, when I forfeited presidency because "the job was more fit for a man." Oh, how my life has been changed for the better, with the support of amazing people, and a God that calls us higher, higher, and higher.

I feel a great sense of relief and accomplishment to be able to rest and enjoy the rest of my undergraduate time at KU, and will be saying prayers of thanksgiving the entire time.

Hear me out.

Thoughts on Women's History Month, and the act of listening.

INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA-

I sat in a sparsely decorated, packed to the brim, hotel conference room in a chilly city a few weeks ago. To my right was a row of strangers I had never met. Behind me sat all of my friends and peers who had traveled with me. The man at the front, who had a sense of confidence and maturity that only came with years of success, began his presentation.

He asked the men in the room to stand and explain what they would do if they were alone and saw another man walking toward them on the street. The men in the room answered, saying things like “Say hello,” and “Move out of the way.”

Then, he posed the question to the women in the room.

“Take out my pony tail. So he can’t grab it and get a firm grip.”

“Call my mom, let her know my exact location.”

“Pull out my pepper spray.”

“Run.”

These answers shouldn’t have shocked me. I do the same things. The women in the room nodded in solidarity. We weren’t nodding because we wanted to make the men feel accused. We were nodding because we get it. We’ve been there.

How many times have you been able to relate to someone because you’ve been through similar experiences? Constantly. That was us, that was the women in the crowded hotel conference room.

The man who was leading the discussion didn’t need to say much more. The men in the room felt for us. To the extent to which they could understand, they nodded with us. An understanding that they hadn’t been exposed to before, and we hadn't felt.

It was beautiful, a sense of relief that we had been heard washed over us. For a few minutes, feminism wasn’t holding aggressive signs on the street, it wasn’t blaming. It was nodding in solidarity, taking a silent vow to be better. They heard us, and we weren't screaming.

I share this story because it’s Women’s History Month. I hope that someone stumbles upon this who is asking themselves “Why do they get a month?” Perhaps even,”Why do WE get a month?”

If we use this month to talk about the sometimes scary truth of being a young woman in society right now, then it has a purpose.

I encourage you to take the time to have real discussions about how you feel about gender issues right now. To dig deeper, and to place yourself in someone else's shoes, and hear them out.

Photography for this post by Rosie Mosate