OPINION | CAMPUS VOICES
A love story, for a second COVID-19 graduation
By Liddy Grantland | September 27, 2021This is a love story. I know the best part is yet to come.
This is a love story. I know the best part is yet to come.
When you put up defenses against the discomfort of a broken world, you also cheat yourself out of the opportunity to see its beauty.
I wouldn’t tell myself a year ago that it would be the hardest year of her life. But I would tell her this: one day, you will wake up and go for a run, and it will feel like a miracle.
What I want you to know, loves, is that when things are really bad–and sometimes they’re really bad–people can still make things. Things can still grow.
How do you mourn for a moment, a memory?
I haven’t watched her interview, but I know what she said. I believe Tara Reade.
Look. You live here. You’re breathing.
God made me in her own image. There is nothing wrong with who I am. But the language we use for disability—in church and beyond—assumes that there is.
When we limit the focus of our strategies to reporting, we implicitly blame not only one singular person, but all people who experienced sexual assault and did not report it, for the violence that dwells on our campus. That blame is, on its own, a violence.
The myth that people who use painkillers have done something wrong is a myth that keeps people addicted. It’s a myth that makes me feel shame when I take pain medicine every night. But it is just that: a myth.