I’ll never forget the days walking onto campus as a vocal, conservative advocate – and the hollowness, the loneliness– that followed.  

It was one specific class that I dreaded entering. A group of girls would call me names and murmur behind my back. I remember so much; the most hurtful things that they would say–but this one day was different.  It was Ash Wednesday, a day I look forward to annually for the opportunity to showcase my faith. Walking through campus, it appeared that I was the only one with the grey cross tagged on my forehead. I had high hopes that day – but they were ruined once I entered that class.  

I sat down, and the snickering immediately began. My heart sank. They began making their daily, hollow jokes about me; soft enough so the teacher couldn’t hear, but loud enough so that I could. However, this time, instead of the jokes being related to my advocacy, they targeted my faith. They began criticizing Jesus Christ – comments that cut deeper than any political jab. The runner in the football field that is my mind kept sprinting around in circles, “How could anyone go this low?” and “What did I do to deserve this! I did everything right.” 

My heart was shattered. I wanted to stand and defend my faith, but I knew my comments would be fueled by anger – and I refused to give them that satisfaction. So rather, I bent my head and whispered to myself, “Lord, forgive them – for they do not know.” 

It’s the end of August, entering my sophomore year of college, the season of tabling and advocacy commences; the spitting, the angry snares, the poor debates are hallmarks of my academic years. But through it all, I have no regrets about choosing this path. I speak not because it’s easy, but because it matters; if not me, then who? 

Students are taught that diversity, resilience, and advocacy are pillars of being successful students. However, it seems that only a few approved forms of diversity are tolerated. Liberals on campus can wave signs that state “ABORTION IS HEALTHCARE” and be deemed courageous and brave, but the moment I present cupcakes designed saying “We love mothers” – with a table full of pregnancy resources – I’m a bigot. The irony of it all is that if you stand for life on campus, you’re perceived as anti-woman or worse. However, my entire mission is fueled by compassion. 

I envision a nation where the millions of dollars allocated toward Planned Parenthood are allocated to pregnancy lifelines instead. I envision an America where abortion isn’t a leading cause of death for minority races – but rather one that affirms every life regardless of zip code or income. I envision campuses, like mine, where students are not mocked or shamed for speaking about the sanctity of life, but welcomed into real dialogue, even when it’s hard. Because a free and just society cannot flourish if its youngest voices are denied both life and representation. 

That is the America I will keep speaking for, no matter the whispers, no matter the sneers, and no matter the cost. 

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