I found my Philadelphia Jesus at a time when the church deemed my soul sick with the toxin of some meliorating evil. He appeared to me with a heart so frank I began to fear the ongoing deterioration the New Jesus yielded over the functions of my heart… for, as a pawn and devoted follower, I needed not only to deconstruct the passages of my Mother Faith to welcome a lover she told me to hold as she did me. My Philadelphia Jesus had hair so long you would have mistaken him as a prophet too, if you had met him where I met him. But desolation is a SEPTA station around about 2 P.M. on a Friday — and as a singer of deep Louisiana hymns, I knew that this sense of “fallow” was on par with a prospect far greater than the sickly betrayal I wrote in the other oblivion. 

Picture me as the subject in Birthday by Dorothea Tanning: I was standing there, chest torn in the sublime air, waiting for a savior to tell me how to dream. Because I did not dream of the mythical nor the fantastical nor the sexual nor the pseudosexual nor the violent nor the happy nor the sorrowful nor the mellow, I dreamt none, saw no mirrors. Could have no riddance in the waking world, why would I find solace here where there is not even darkness to wallow in? Instead, as I prayed to thee that I remained still in my motions and bore the pain of my shattered nail beds that pragmatically bled when their ends were bitten too short. Here is how I prayed before the cross made me new again: 

Dear Heavenly Father, 

I bring to thee nothing but my naked body and heart. I know it won’t be enough, but I ask for thee to take me as I am. 

Take me as I am. 

Take me as I am. 

Because, Father, if thou shall not, I will weep like thou did when I left the Mother, even though the tears were of a false idol — forged by the preachers with secrets withheld to everyone except me, the challenging unmatriach. 

I have not known this reservoir, but thou hath turned it to gold. Yahwah, know I looked deep within, and found the ravine of my turmoil. Know I met thee and became reacquainted with the ruthless nature of my primitivity.

Amen.

In another prayer, thou told me that I was safe enough to look beyond thee and forget thee altogether. In that perplexion, I knew I had extrapolated the bygone prophecy of an equally bygone prophet. I could not depart from thee, my Philadelphia Jesus, because how could I leave the force that forged the realm of my dreams — which were once jaded with the technicolor of the more mundane and passive clique contained in my scorch of demons? Yet there are demons that ride on a much more implicative evil — the gray matter that poisons the mellow and condemns the archaic and the primitive, for where the Soul treks shall be no barrier to the New Jesus, who I felt in rhythms and conundrums that would make me realize that the directions of my morning prayers concave not to the directions of the heavens but within the roots of the earth adorned with the chapels of time present and time future; do not look for the Spire, my Soul, or Philadelphia will take you again and tell you nothing of the Revelation surging to the Circle.

Thou, with all of thy grace, appeared to me as fruitful but not holy and true. Where is the open door; where are the frights of my blessings, my Philadelphia Jesus? Why, along the Schuylkill, I can still speak to thee, feel thou as if thou were the lux of my very marrows… I no longer hold the key; thou never granted it to me. I see new gods with no jurisdictions as human as thine — for the breach of the aesthetic world diminishes itself in the clots of my heart with each passing day. Every morn is elastic in the clauses of forgetting thee, the Philadelphia Jesus who concurred with the physicality of the Mother Faith and disguised motive with glamor and cruelty with frankness. The themes of each dogma equate to the deterioration of the Soul, who finds the beauty in the “demise” of Eve by logically eliminating the phrase “demise” from the inventory of faith constructions altogether; how could “demise” be mended when the archetype of devotion has built its foundation the repression of pleasure in exchange for another’s turmoil? 

My foundation once was firm but now it is fluid — the rivers have of course dried in the seasons of drought but now the weather is torrentially lunar; I foresee the Schuykill’s undead ripples as a prophetic finality that brews within me and not by the blood nor the body of an external savior. Less fatalistic, more divine: the river is quaintly splendorous and befriending me for the first time, and thy rine has become accustomed to the flesh and bodies of other false messiahs; celestially enough, thou shall feel god as the muse of the regressions of all common prophets of deceit, and I shall see the Soul as the intended muse of all of my love. 

Written by Eden Mann

Edited by Emma Moran and Julia Brummell

Red velvet brushes against my skin. My hand glides and curves and strokes, making patterns in the fabric. The song pounding through my headphones changes—Norah Jones. Something old. Something 2000s. My hand feels cold without the warm embrace of a mug handle, espresso steam billowing off the top. I pluck the mug off the white oak table in front of me. I peer down at the heart drawn delicately with frothed milk before destroying it, slurping it away. The warm liquid moves its way through my body, awakening my soul, my spirit, my mind. 

I steal the pen sitting atop my ear to write a bullet point. Then another. I scribble away in my notebook. On my laptop shines a vibrant white page. An exhibition catalogue or an essay or an article assigned meticulously by a professor scouring the web for the perfect reflection. I flip to a new lined page. 

The plastic laminate on the outside of my library book chills my leg. I want to highlight quotes, but instead I just commit them to memory. “We are walking down the steeply sloping hill, la la la, the hill upon which the towers and bells of Warren shimmer like a wish.” I pull my phone from deep within my backpack—from where I had previously tossed it in order to focus—to take a photo. Inspiration buzzes all around me. It bounces from the ceiling to the wall to the barista and back. It burrows within me. I need to write, I think. 

Brown and burgundy and deep yellow. Purple and red and burnt orange. Jazz over the speakers. Pastries lined on a shelf: croissant, eclair, bagel, muffin. Soft chatter echoing. A fireplace lit in the corner. A family with two young children enters the room to screw it all up. My roommates follow behind.

They pull up chairs, walking awkwardly through the common space, doling out I’m sorry’s and ‘scuse me’s. The loud screech and moan of the legs moving against the cement floor. My friends join me and I update them on my day, my work, my life. I show them what book I’m reading. They remind me of all the people they hate, anxiously checking the room for people we know who would give us away. Buns that sit high on their heads flop back and forth as they talk with their hands. We pass a lip balm counterclockwise as a packet of gum circles clockwise. We fuse into one as we ride the rhythm and wave and synchronicity of each other. I take a sip of their dark roast, black as the night sky. I pretend to love it. I do love them. 

We leave the coffee shop when the sun is setting. 4 pm is much too early. I will wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

Written by Leighton Curless

Edited by Mia Stack and Julia Brummell

I’ve always loved the rain. Longed for it, even. I would get excited just to see the sky darken, a promise of what’s to come. To me, the promise of rain meant running outside and dancing with my friends. It meant jumping in puddles, unafraid of what I looked like in the moment. Most importantly, the rain meant sitting on my front porch with my mom watching the skies open. We would sit side by side on our well-loved bench with the breeze in our hair and the scent of rain in the air. We would talk about everything and nothing at all as the rain fell before us. I loved the rain because, with each drop that would fall from the sky, a new memory would blossom with the people I love.  

Now, I am 304 miles away from home. Away from my people and the rain and my front porch. I am in a new city that’s nothing like my home. Now when it rains, I don’t get excited anymore. I dread walking to my classes in the rain. I dread not being able to just sit and watch the rain with my mom. The puddles are no longer something to jump in, but rather something to avoid. My childhood friends are hours away, no longer at arm's length to pull into the rain. Instead, I am surrounded by unfamiliar faces and a sea of umbrellas.  

I try to remind myself that under the many umbrellas are faces of people in the same position as I. Although the umbrellas protect them from the rain, their true protectors are at home, just like mine. At home, the people that I love were my umbrella and that’s what made the rain so special. They shielded me from the darkness and destruction that could come from the rain. They showed me the beauty and simplicity of the rain. They were the fresh breeze that came after a rain shower, they were the rainbows that lit up the sky. Their laughs were thunder, and their bright smiles were lightning. So, although I am miles away from my people, my umbrella, I can still remember the memories and the happiness of the rain.  

Being here at the University of Pittsburgh has tested my love of the rain. It’s shown me just how lonely it can be to watch the rain by yourself. But most importantly, I now see the rain as a sign of growth. I can allow the rain to wash over me and let myself grow during this new chapter of my life. Now when I look at the rain, I can be proud of each little step. Each club meeting I attend, each exam I take, and each friend I make are steps of this process of growth. The rain can be lonely and without the umbrella of support from home, it can be hard to love the rain. As I grow and evolve, I can learn to become my own umbrella and love the rain once again. 

Written by Ashley O’Doherty  

Edited by Julia Maynard and Julia Brummell

Social media has greatly accelerated our trend cycle, making the newest fashion trends easily accessible through the hundreds of videos we see each day. As Bella Hadid sits on the for you page with a beautiful new outfit, costing hundreds of dollars, people become infatuated; they form a distinct need to look like their favorite celebrity, a parasocial feeling if you will. This new fashion trend starts to spread through social media, the need grows: the need to fit in and be respected. That’s where fast fashion dupes come in; anyone has the chance to be a “fashionista” at cheap prices. The House of Sunny dresses can sit in your closet without spending an arm and a leg on them. And, because the clothing is so cheap, it quickly loses its value and it no longer matters if the shirt gets thrown away because it only costs $5, less than a cup of coffee. As such, a brand that is incredibly guilty of driving this behavior that may come to many of your minds is: Shein. While Shein is a prominent fast fashion brand, it is also important to recognize that unethical fashion practices are not limited to the price of the clothing themselves, with brands like Zara, H&M, Gap, Old Navy, Urban Outfitters, and Free People promoting these cyclical fashion trends as well. Fast fashion is being consumed all around us, but for today, I will be focusing specifically on Shein. 

Because the clothing is so cheap, every single fashion trend can be bought into, and when everyone starts to dress the same way, fashion trends change and adapt. The trend cycle has accelerated, a new exciting trend comes out and everyone jumps on it, ultimately making the mound of clothes higher and higher, filled with micro trends that quickly make their way to the landfill. We often look back at these micro-trends from a few years ago and cringe at our absolute non-fashionability, despite doing the same exact thing now.  We cringe at the overuse of cow print while wearing oversized soccer jerseys with jorts. 

I know this oversaturation of clothing is due to this need to fit in, by wearing clothing that isn’t trendy people quickly become judged. Fashion is in fact the means in which we present ourselves, and that may never change. But the trend cycle has just become so oversaturated to the point where it’s impossible to be up to date and in trend without constantly shopping. In the social state of the world we live in, keeping up to date with trend cycles improves your status.

A lot of people's arguments on why Shein is okay is because they aren’t the only fashion brand guilty of being unethical. Often using the phrase “there is no ethical consumption under capitalism,” which is true, but it’s obviously a range. There are options for clothing shopping that are much more ethical (the biggest one being underconsumption). Thrifting being another huge element, focusing on this circular fashion of clothing. But this love for Shein and lack of care for the way this purchase of fast fashion is affecting other people is ignorant. Not even mentioning the fact that the price of the clothing is often times cheaper than the price of the fabric itself. Some studies have demonstrated shein clothing containing over 20% lead, and I wouldn’t be surprised if other fast fashion brands had a similar fabric makeup. 

This over-saturation is very evident when you visit Shein’s website, immediately bombarded with discount codes and sales to make these criminally low priced pieces of clothing even less. Then as you start to look through the items, there are thousands of clothing pieces, including duplicates for popular items made minutes after the piece rose to popularity. They release 700 to 1,000 new items each day, with 35,000 to 100,000 clothing items produced each day. The fashion industry is also responsible for 10% of carbon emission and makes up 35% of ocean pollution and every year 85% of all textiles end up in the landfill. As new pieces are churned out, old ones quickly get thrown away, ultimately creating constant waste. 

I think the speed of our current trend cycle is ruining true fashion in its entirety. It doesn’t leave as big of a place for personal fashion as every article of clothing gets mass produced to the point of being overly accessible. It is deteriorating not only our individualism, but also the environment we live in. We need to prioritize a cycle of clothing that enforces repurposing and recycling. We need to value clothing for their longevity, rather than viewing them as how they can fit most into the trend cycle. We all can take part in over consumption in one way or another and it is time to be mindful, and bring real fashion back.

Written by Elena Kimberling

Edited by Diya Aneja and Elisabeth Kay

I grew up in a house next to the house next to the alley on the south side of a street on the northwest side of the city. Out front is a mighty tree, rich with age, and a slow growing sapling. Ugly brown vinyl siding envelopes the house. The porch is painted white, covering the textured brick that makes up four posts, two on either side of the stairs. I used to sit on the ones closer to the street when I was younger and pretend I was a gargoyle. The room upstairs at the front of the house is mine and has been since 2019. 

We had just dropped my brother off at college. When we got back, my neighbor and I dragged my belongings across the hallway. I tore down my brother’s pennants and put up my posters. The trifold windows illuminated the heavy wooden desk. The stained glass window threw rainbows on the closet walls. The room & the bed & the next few years were bigger than before. 

At the window on the right, I open the glass, lift the screen, pull my ratty desk chair over, swing my right leg through the frame, prop my left arm on the chair, boost my left leg through the window, then crawl until I can swoop my head out. To the right is Cicero, a major north-south street in Chicago with a constant stream of cars. I try to count the spacing between buses going in either direction – if there is a pattern, I wish to learn it. Middle aged men bike down my block. Back when the Family Fruit Market lived behind the alley, I’d see arms full of groceries for the week. Now it’s a Dollar Tree, and my mom calls the city to complain about their overflowing trash cans on the sidewalk. I always go inside feet first. 

On my sixteenth birthday, I walked with my friends to the Art Institute after school. We giggled as Ava applied gloss to our puckered lips in the bathroom. The hallways expanded endlessly as we trailed through the exhibits. I was drawn to the empty Chicago stock exchange trading room off to the side. The glossy wooden floors, mesmerizing detailed ceiling, and octagonal marble posts. My brother and I had played tag in there, chasing each other in tight circles until our little legs grew tired. At that moment, I felt so old and couldn’t remember what it was like to be so small. On the train ride back that evening, I sat alone in the furthest seat of the last car watching the skyline shrink behind the ongoing tracks. 

It was my last day of the summer before making the trek to college for the first time. I sat, bent over, trying to get my cat to drink some water, as he clung to the last bit of his life. My ride was out front. In the backseat, I tuned out my friends, tracing the streets and houses with my eyes. On the black brick siding of a church, white paint wrote ‘You belong here’. I wondered if they were talking to me. The lake had warmed up by now, gentle waves crashed against the concrete ledge. Blue Angels did flips in triads to prepare for the Air and Water show, creating a relentless ruckus. I had been treading water, dunking my head under intermittently, and staring at the skyline, trying to absorb it. 

I have found myself withholding love for other places so as to not lose the love I have for that room, that house, that city. This is the only aspect of my life where my love is finite. My unique stubbornness is loyalty for a promise I don't remember making, and it is loudest when I feel comfort somewhere else. I know I will go back to Chicago, but I want to do so in triumphant admittance that there is another life for me there. One where I can go to real bars and rent an apartment off a different train stop. I just need my parents to keep that house, and for everything to remain exactly the way it is forever, and also for them to never die. I joke that my room should be made into an exhibit with red velvet rope blocking off its perfectly preserved state. 

Only recently, though, I’ve started to wonder what kind of torture it would be to walk those streets again with age. My college returns have been bittersweet, coated in nostalgia. On a winter visit back, I took the bus to the Village Discount at Kedzie and Irving. Empty chip bags blew down the alley. Cars shot up exhaust as they turned onto my street. No blue, only gray. I walked past the magazine store I used to love going to as a kid when I would rummage through the lower shelves. At the bus stop, I listened to wooden drum sticks strike plastic buckets turned upside down and held between thighs. The beat was quick and loud, but seeped in sadness. 

On the ride back, seats were filled with high schoolers. Backpacks shoved between feet or slung on one shoulder. I used to be you. At first it’s exciting to remember my tumultuous teenage years and the stories I’ve racked up, proof of an interesting life. Then, suddenly, I’m an aging embarrassment trying to hold onto my youth. It is not enough to go back to that place and remind myself of the past, I must create something new.

Written by Clare Vogel

Edited by Ella Romano and Elisabeth Kay

Music taste is often seen as a reflection of identity, and I genuinely believe my Liked Songs on Spotify capture who I am perfectly. My collection mostly consists of music that I heard somewhere (in a movie; a store; a TikTok; one of my siblings’ playlists in which I Shazamed the song instead of asking them the name of it, etc.) and needed to save to my library so that I could remember its existence and listen to it later. 

To help explain how my Liked Songs reveal a little about who I am, I have chosen ten random songs from my Liked Songs playlist (starting with the most recently added) to comment on and share why they have been added to my library.

#  Title           Artist                     Duration

1  Candy                                                       Mandy Moore                 3:54

Unfortunately, Spotify no longer lets you see when a song was added to your Liked Songs album; however, I believe I added this song around the beginning of this year. I was watching a clip of an IMDb interview with Ayo Edebiri, and the interviewer asked her what classic 90s or early 2000s track was her personal theme song. Edebiri replied with “Candy” by Mandy Moore, because she “felt like there was no way you could be sad when listening to the song.”

2  Genesis                             Grimes     4:15

I heard this while watching a movie called Before I Fall starring Zoey Deutch. I became addicted to the song, and I would play it in the car constantly with my fifteen-year-old brother, Teddie. When I listen to “Genesis” now, I always think of driving him out to and picking him up from his friend Lukas’s house two townships over. 

3  C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Every...)         Wu-Tang Clan     4:12

This song reminds me of my nineteen-year-old sister, Ellie. We were obsessed with this movie about an online game of truth or dare called Nerve when we were younger, and “C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)” by Wu-Tang Clan plays during a scene where the main character Vee is dared to get a tattoo. I don’t listen to this song very much anymore, but when I do, I always think of my sister and that movie.

4  Gilded Lily         Cults                 3:33

“Gilded Lily” by Cults was a really popular edit song on TikTok – I don’t even know how long ago it was. The song felt euphoric to me. When I was sad, I would just listen to it on repeat because it was comforting. I think, subconsciously, listening to sad music when I’m already sad helps me validate my feelings. Doing this also allows me to fully experience my sadness, which has its pros and cons.

5  I Got The...-2006 Remaster                      Labi Siffre                 6:35

This is a great Labi Siffre song. I discovered it during one of my family’s homemade pizza nights because my dad likes to listen to his music while he cooks. Out of all of the songs that he played that night, this one stuck out to me because Eminem sampled it for his song “My Name Is.”

6  Right Down the Line           Gerry Rafferty     4:28

I added “Right Down the Line” to my Liked Songs collection after I heard it in an episode of Season 2 of HBO’s Euphoria. I really liked how it made me feel, and I always get the urge to dance when this song plays.

7  Stardust Chords           Greta Van Fleet     4:57

“Stardust Chords” is a part of my Liked Songs library because an ex-boyfriend of mine loved Greta Van Fleet. In an attempt to impress him, and to relate to him more, I felt that I needed to like the band, too. So, I added a few of the band’s songs that I liked to my library and called it a day. 

8  First Suite in E-Flat Major, Op. 28...        Gustav Holst, North Texas Wind...     4:50

I used to play the French Horn in my high school’s Wind Ensemble (the best of my high school’s four different bands, not to brag). I no longer play, but sometimes I wish that I did because I loved making music. Anyway, when we played pieces that I really liked, I would add them to my Liked Songs playlist. Listening to the songs actually helped me learn my parts and figure out how I was supposed to blend with the rest of the band.

9  Flightless Bird, American Mouth           Iron & Wine                 4:02

The first time I ever watched Twilight, I fell in love with this song because it reminded me of autumn. I later found out that Kristen Stewart specifically requested this song to be in the film. Even though the series is a little stupid, I love it because it is the fall season as a film, in my opinion. 

10  Space Song                       Beach House                 5:20

Space Song by Beach House is my favorite song ever and my comfort song. I don’t remember the first time I heard it, but it was probably sometime in 2020 or 2021. Since then, anytime I have been asked about my favorite song, I reply with Space Song. I think it’s perfect, and I never ever get sick of it. 

Public Playlist

maggieaknox · 10 songs, 46 min 6 sec

Written by Maggie Knox

Edited by Wendy Moore and Elisabeth Kay

I care. 

I care A LOT actually. I am so passionate about so many different things that it makes my heart ache. Sometimes I am not sure why I feel so deeply and why I choose to when I always anticipate tremendous amounts of emotional turmoil. However, I don’t see a reality in which I would want to be careless: I couldn’t imagine a life more dismal than one parched of intensely-had-emotion. 

The first time I was made to feel pathetic for caring was in the seventh grade. I had written an essay for my history class titled something along the lines of “The Women's Suffrage Movement.” I had put my blood, sweat, and tears into this piece and felt proud of the linguistic effort. I have always, and will always, hold a strong investment in women’s issues. Then, my teacher told us we had to present our pieces to the class, immediately sending a shiver down my spine. I felt embarrassed: why did I feel embarrassed? What was so frightening to me about sharing something I had put so much effort into with my classmates? 

Well, as they often say, trust your gut. I stood up, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and watched as every boy in the class giggled at me. They gave each other looks, shared a whisper into each other’s ears, and silently mocked me with their grins. Even though I stood about five inches taller than each of them, I felt the tiniest I have ever felt in my life. I proceeded to feel just as tiny, now in physique and character, for the following years of my high school career. 

It wasn’t until I graduated high school that I rid myself of that shameful feeling. What I had once dismissed as fact, that it was embarrassing to care as much as I did, I let go. I realized that choosing to care silently because you cannot bear the thought of what others think of you isn’t passionate: it is compliant. Passion is a beautiful quality, and one that I love to share with others and vice versa. I love telling people about my affinity for Broadway plays. I adore hearing a book lover's argument about why Colleen Hoover is so awful. Any space in which there is an open conversation to be had about something someone cares about is a space I want to be included in. And to circle back, especially in the political climate of today, I care so deeply about the struggles women face that I refuse to keep my mouth shut. I cared in seventh grade and I care now: the only difference is now, I choose to be as loud as I want about it.

Written by Ella Romano

Edited by Renee Arlotti and Julia Brummell

To be a woman is to inherit an awareness of being watched. 

I believe that there are very few women who haven’t second-guessed their presence in a room. It starts young – that hyper-awareness of space and sound and how much of it you’re allowed to occupy. You learn to become fluent in the language of making yourself palatable: shoulders softening, voice lilting down at the edges, a careful rationing of conviction.

Your passion must be tempered, and your enthusiasm looks better when it's weathered. The safest way to exist is to perpetually inhabit the space between too much and not enough. 

How does it feel to live lukewarm? 

To fold up your limbs and curve in your shoulders (smaller and smaller and smaller) until you melt into the window seat of the public transit. To become the master of the measured response, the strategic understatement. Ambitious (but not threatening), confident (but never certain), successful (but always with a self-deprecating footnote). 

How early do we become the teachers of our own constraints?

The cruel irony is that even this curated tepidness isn’t enough – because “lukewarm” isn’t really what anyone wants from you. They want you in constant pursuit of adjustment. You’re still expected to read the room even though you’ve been forced to live between the margins. An inevitable purgatory. 

Everybody wants to be The Cool Girl, and nobody wants to be The Crazy Girl, but we’ve all been both to somebody. 

What does it really take for a woman to be “cool”? 

Can we ever truly be effortlessly cool? Because it sure seems to take a lot of effort to dilute yourself thin enough to exist in that limbo. 

Interested but never eager. 

Unattainable. 

Mysterious. (Are you really mysterious, or has the world scared you out of being openly and obnoxiously passionate about the things that make you happy? The things you find important?) 

Why do we bend over backwards to appear indifferent? What are we protecting, and what are we losing in the process?

These next few years, it’s detrimental to remain vibrant, and angry, and joyful, and empathetic – alive to everything that makes us human. 

Occupy space and fill it until it overflows.

Written by Delaney Pipon

Edited by Emily Hudak and Julia Brummell

On Tuesday morning, the sun’s rays pulled me out of bed. I woke up at seven, an unusual occurrence to say the least. The child in me ran around my apartment like it was Christmas Day, making a breakfast of eggs and fruit instead of skipping the typically forgotten meal. I took a shower and set aside time to do my makeup, feeling more put together than most days. I rummaged through my dresser for my Ruth Bader Ginsburg socks and quickly took a picture of them to send to my family, voting blue in Virginia, Indiana, and Kansas. Due to November’s unusual 80-degree weather, I picked out my favorite basic green short-sleeved shirt and a pair of Lucky Brand jeans. Lucky…

On Wednesday morning, the sun hid behind gray, looming clouds. My tears from the night before crusted my eyes shut, hiding reality out of view. I woke up feeling the need for a hug, an unusual occurrence to say the least. My feet dragged me to the kitchen for a cup of chai and later to my dining table to write in my journal. But my words seemed to be hiding… grieving. They were angry… sad… numb. Music seemed like the only way to reach out to those missing words. I reflected on the lyrics of Durand Jones & The Indications’ “Morning in America”:

And I think of my grandmother

How she told me to be strong

It's morning in America

But I can't see the dawn

I wanted to be strong so badly, but the doomscrolling weighed me down. Instagram stories once flooded with pictures of “I voted” stickers and blue hearts had changed overnight into reposts announcing that a felon would be taking office. The same criminal who got elected one morning in seventh grade, altering my world. And more importantly, the world of so many others. At 12 years old, I felt powerless. What could a middle schooler do to reverse this morning? At 20 years old I feel powerless. What can a college student do to reverse this morning, one repeating itself eight years later? 

I’m not sure what I will do yet, but today I grieve, like so many others, with hopes of waking up tomorrow a little stronger. I hope the strength will grow each morning, so I can show my childhood self that I won’t give up even when the system suggests otherwise. I hope to see a woman in office one day, fighting for a just world.

~ A young woman grieving for her younger self,

November 6th, 2024

Written by Nina Southern

Edited by Cate Fennell and Julia Brummell

We’ve all been there: “They had a bad childhood.” “This bad thing happened to them once.” “They just have mental health issues.” Like bae, yes they do…yes they do have mental health issues. And so do you, but I don’t see you making it everyone else's problem (yikes). 

Regardless, I know that feeling of wanting to “fix” someone, all too well. I thought that if I loved them enough, they would trust me to open up about their feelings. That if they opened up about their feelings, they would change. I also made the mistake of assuming that if they knew that how they were treated as a kid was wrong, they wouldn’t do it to me. WRONG! Actually it became an excuse to continue that bad behavior. Oops! 

But don’t worry you guys, I’m here to tell you how to actually change someone in only 10 super easy steps. We can start from scratch too, so you can still participate if you have a partner. Let's call this person…uh…Jamie. Now, Jamie is your dream person. While you think about who your dream person is, I’ll start listing off some attributes that you can choose from:

-Mysterious 

-Plays guitar 

-Has a cool sense of fashion 

-Athletic 

-Family issues 

-Business major 

-Likes trucks 

-Funny 

-Sarcastic 

Okay, boom. Attributes done. Now what about appearance? 

-Hot 

Okay, we’re done now. So, how this will work is we are going to pretend that you guys are already friends. They’ve opened up to you a bit about their past, which explains why they can be a little mean or closed off sometimes. And of course, these little pieces of information draw you in. Why? Because you’re special! They opened up to you. So basically, if you can get them to open up to you fully, by loving them unconditionally, you can convince them to change and be a better person…because by loving them you are creating a safe space for healing. Duh. So how do we start this process? 

Step 1: Become Their Best Friend - Obviously you can’t just jump right in. We have to play the long game if they’re going to be our forever soulmates, right? We have to get them to trust you: that is our biggest goal here. But what does this look like? How do we become their bestest friend in the whole wide world? Well, you have to analyze what exactly they value in the people they surround themselves with. But most importantly, what are they lacking? Do they feel neglected in some areas? Do they feel unheard? THIS is where you become that space for them. Say things like: “How are you feeling today?” or “How did that make you feel?” or “You did not deserve that.” Be their dream girl early on…they don’t know it yet but you are!!! So once you become their best friend… 

Step 2: Withdraw - Now this step can vary. If they already know they like you back and have made a move, that’s great! But for the girlies who need to give them that extra push: withdraw.

Now that you’ve given them all this attention, in order for them to want you, you have to make them realize what they had all along. You have to make them realize that they are missing something when you aren’t there. Now this doesn’t mean you should abandon them; remember, we still have to maintain their trust. However, Jamies can be a little slow sometimes, and that’s okay. So withdraw, make them realize how lucky they are to have you so that they want to be with you. Sometimes people don’t realize what they have until it’s gone! 

Step 3: Bask in the Honeymoon Phase - If you’ve made it to Step 3, congrats! It’s probably taken you a long time to get here, as we’ve used the slow burn method. This is the time before any conflict arises, so enjoy it!!! The fact that they like you romantically at all is amazing, and you feel so so special. Are they taking you out on dates or getting you flowers? They don’t even have to! You can even say that to them, because you are lucky to even be in their life at all- bonus points if they express that to you! Regardless, this stage doesn’t last forever, and it’s definitely one of the most euphoric ones. But NOT as euphoric as when you change them, because we have not lost sight of our goal quite yet. We are looking for that deep emotional bond, which we don’t have quite yet. In this stage, you know that their bad or unhealthy habits exist, but it’s easy to ignore…because we’re gonna be able to fix them eventually. Change doesn't happen overnight! Which leads us to Step 4. 

Step 4: Figure Out Your Needs - Now that the honeymoon phase is over, you’ve started to realize what your needs are in particular. Because everyone’s different right? And we now know that the saying “if they wanted to, they would” isn’t quite true; if we haven’t communicated our needs to them yet, how are they supposed to know? This is where we show our consideration and showcase our healthy relationship habits. If we can show that we’re a stable partner, they will trust us even more. Also, bonds become deeper after some healthy communication. Let’s say that we ask Jamie to post us on our birthday, which is coming up! This leads us to Step 5. 

Step 5: Compromise - Oops…Jamie said that they don’t use social media like that. Or simply put, they’re just not that kinda guy. This may sting at first, but don’t let that get you down! Trying to change who someone is, is not good. We love Jamie for exactly who they are, remember? This is where we can compromise with Jamie to at least post us on Valentine's Day or our anniversary (Jamie can choose!). We wouldn’t want Jamie to feel like they’re not good enough for us, because they are more than enough. We also can’t stand the thought of losing them. Birthdays aren’t that important anyway. 

Step 6: Work On Your Unhealthy Habits - Jamie is now upset, as they feel like you’re asking too much of them. You’ve stressed them out. Unfortunately, you’ve continued to “find things” to complain about regarding their behavior. We all know that you’ve done way worse at times! You try to explain to them that it makes you sad when you’re always the one making the plans, or when they made that one comment about you (bonus points if it was in public!), or that their new girl best friend is being really friendly with them (you are the OG girl best friend!!!)...but Jamie remains convinced that you are putting too much pressure on them. To make matters worse, when Jamie leaves the room or stops talking when you are trying to tell them about how they

made you feel, you get upset! Girl, you can’t do that! You have to remain calm at all times…and be mindful of how you’re communicating. 

So follow these steps: use “I” statements. Avoid saying “you always do this” or “you never do that.” Using definitive words like that may cause Jamie to get defensive- and you probably would get defensive too if Jamie said that to you. You probably already have! We can’t be defensive, that ruins the trust. And whatever you do, don’t rush them into communicating with you. Being pushy, controlling, jealous, and needy…are all unhealthy behaviors. Remember, you’ve also made lots of mistakes. Be patient and let Jamie come to you. Your past mistakes might be another reason they’re not great at communicating, even if Jamie is just now telling you about that! We always knew that they had trouble with opening up, so we just need to be patient and understanding. What is in our control right now? Our actions. So let’s hold ourselves accountable and change for the better, for Jamie! An apology is only as valid as the change that follows it. We also need to understand that Jamie might have an avoidant attachment style. 

Step 7: Understand Their Needs As An Avoidant - Now, this step may not apply to everyone. If this doesn’t apply to you, feel free to skip to Step 8. For those of you who are still here, it’s time to do some research girl! Now, we already know that they had a bad childhood, or maybe they were even cheated on in the past. Regardless, they probably have a hard time being vulnerable! We already knew this beforehand, and that’s why we tried so hard to become a safe place for them. We have to be different. It may be confusing as to why we are suddenly no longer a safe place for them to share their feelings with us (because we were once before!), but that is why we just have to try harder! The slow burn is still burning! Slowly! Anyway, when you do your research, you’ll find that avoidants often need space during conflict. Conflict activates their “fight or flight,” and since they were shamed for having emotions as a kid, it’s hard for them to open up as an adult. Taking space can look like them leaving the room for a bit or taking a break from texting or being on a phone call. You should accept that sometimes, they may never come back after they take space, and that is simply because you’ve overwhelmed them. If this is true, reread Step 6. 

Step 8: Recognize That They’re Still Healing - They have flaws for a reason and we love all of Jamie, not just the good parts. That’s what love means, it’s a choice. And we choose Jamie. At this point, you can still presume that because they were treated badly in the past, they would never do that same thing to you. Jamie can recognize that it was wrong when it happened to them, so why would they do that to you? Duh. They talk about it all the time! You’re a safe girlfriend. Regardless, they still need time to trust you fully to fix their bad habits. But luckily, you’ve communicated to them in a healthy way that their unhealthy habits hurt you. And this time, Jamie actually said they would change! They even offered a solution that you have been pitching all along! They apologized for hurting you, which is a GREAT sign. You are so close to changing them! 

Step 9: Be Patient - Now, healing is not linear! This period definitely feels like a long…long…long time. Jamie will not change right away, and that’s okay. Change takes time. Your patience will show Jamie just how much you love them! You guys are gonna be together forever, and you’ve come this far! Right? At this point, you’ve probably been together for at least a year, maybe even way…way longer! Yet unfortunately, you get frustrated when Jamie repeatedly lets you down. You’ve started to notice just how long it’s been since they said they would change…and they still haven’t. You’re confused why Jamie said they would change…a while ago, and yet you always seem to end up back at square one with them. And that’s where we convince ourselves…that certain needs of ours really are too much! And that’s okay, let Jamie tell you what they can actually provide for you. Let them come to you, and tell you what they’re comfortable with doing. They can tell you how you’ll feel loved. It’s the only way this relationship is going to survive and you don’t want Jamie to leave you, do you?! 

Step 10: Leave Jamie - Wait…wait a minute who wrote that? *door creaking* Who just walked in? Who are you? *evil laughing* Wait..ah..*bonk*...AH…AHHHH…………………………….hi guys! I’m logic. Now you may be thinking, why the hell did I write that? You’re in love with Jamie, right? Girl I know you are. I’ve watched you obsess over them for years at this point. You’ve been obsessing over them…yet I see you crying all the time? What was that? Did you say it’s because you’re not good enough for Jamie? Girl…PULL. YOURSELF. TOGETHER. If your dedication, patience, and loyalty to that person for YEARS doesn’t prove that you’re good enough for them, I don’t know what will. How many times have you told Jamie to change? How many times have you told Jamie that their lack of effort hurts you? You’ve done everything right…you’ve changed your unhealthy communication habits, you use “I” statements, and you’re as considerate about their feelings as you could possibly be…but is Jamie considerate about your feelings too? How long ago did you tell Jamie to change? What was that? A YEAR??? BITCH WHAT ARE YOU ON RIGHT NOW! Look, you can love someone and know that you deserve better. You deserve someone who puts in effort back! Are you content with who Jamie is right now, or who they might be in the future? If you’re not ready to hear this, make note of this date in time. If they haven’t learned how to communicate in a healthy way, taken you out on a date, or done the things they said they would, in 6 months from now…you’ll have your answer. 

[6 months later]…don’t let the breadcrumbs fool you girl! You can’t change someone who does not want to change - xoxo.

Written by Mia Stack

Edited by Ashley O'Doherty and Julia Brummell