#ShoutYourAbortion: Why We Need to Protect the Unborn and Their Mothers

The pro-life movement has a problem. We are not anti-woman. I have never met someone who is against abortion who is also against women. I have, however, met many people who simply don't talk about supporting women as much as they do about supporting the unborn. This was made evident by a recent trending hashtag glorifying abortion.

I came across the #ShoutYourAbortion hashtag by way of Buzzfeed and a Facebook friend, and after reading the tweets, my heart broke into a million pieces. The majority of the women using #ShoutYourAbortion are sharing their abortion experiences and why they have no shame, regret or sadness about the procedure.

I've had 2 abortions. I don't have to justify or explain them to anybody. My life is more valuable than a potential life. #shoutyourabortion

— Clementine Ford (@clementine_ford) September 21, 2015

Had an abortion procedure done at age 22 because I was WAY too young to parent. Have never, ever regretted it. #ShoutYourAbortion

— Mary Emily O'Hara (@MaryEmilyOHara) September 20, 2015

A fully developed human woman is more important than a fetus. #shoutyourabortion #istandwithpp

— Bonita Applebum (@Crass_Sass) September 21, 2015

My initial reaction was anger, fury and disgust. I wanted to shout and throw things. I wanted to say terribly, mean things about these women. "Selfish! Baby killers! Disgusting!" I thought.

But then I realized that those thoughts are the exact reason these women are using #ShoutYourAbortion.

Many women who have abortions are simply young, poor, scared and pregnant. Many times they don't have the financial or emotional support from a partner or family. They have dreams, they want to get an education, and they want to work full-time. They see a baby as the end of those aspirations.

My mother found herself in a similar situation when she was 17 and pregnant. She was going to be the first person in her family to go to college. She graduated valedictorian of her small, rural high school, and great things were expected of her. So when my mother found out she was pregnant with me, she was in shock. She didn't talk about the pregnancy to anyone, and went about her life as usual for months. She moved into her freshman dorm room, enrolled in classes and began college. She wanted to make her family proud. She pretended she wasn't pregnant because she had shame and regret and sadness, and most of all, fear. Who wants to drop out of college, work a job below their capabilities, and raise a child before you want to be a mother?

For a fleeting moment, she thought about abortion. Immediately, she pushed the thought away because she recognized that no life is more important than another. With support from her family, she got through the pregnancy and raised me.

Twenty-two years later, she not only completed her dream of being the first person in her family to get a college degree, but she also earned a master's degree. I'm currently working on my second degree as well. My mom is my role model, and we have a fantastic relationship.

 

I understand that not every teen pregnancy has the same success story as ours. But if the pro-life movement expressed more often that they sincerely want to help the unborn AND the women carrying them, then maybe there would be less abortions and less single moms living in poverty.

Pro-choicers argue that women deserve to be in control of their lives and not at the mercy of a newborn. But no life is more important than another. We should protect pregnant women just as much as their unborn babies. We should promote adoption, and show these women that if they are not ready to become mothers, that is ok! They can give the most precious gift of all to people who desperately want to be parents. We should financially and emotionally support pregnant women who decide to keep their babies as their own. Pregnancy is expensive, and we should help our sisters in need. We should provide counseling. We should provide friendship. We should provide, above all, love to any pregnant woman.

The root of the problem with #ShoutYourAbortion is that these women felt the need to have an abortion in the first place. If we supported women before, during AND after their pregnancies, then maybe, just maybe, they would never have had an abortion, and never would have wanted to shout about it.

Let us pray for wisdom, peace, strength and clarity for pregnant women who weren't initially planning on becoming mothers. Let us pray for generosity and kindness for the pro-life movement. Let us pray for couples seeking to adopt and that their family may grow. Let us pray for the unborn and that they may live.

Thinking about whatever is just,

Danielle

Tweet

Coming of Age in Tragedy

Mrs. Creed was the worst teacher I ever had.

It wasn't that I didn't learn anything in her third grade classroom. In fact, she encouraged me to read ahead, and even gave me books she thought I would enjoy reading. She spent time explaining multiplication and long division so everyone understood, and she emphasized the importance of impeccable penmanship.

Mrs. Creed was a bad teacher because she forced us to remember Sept. 11, 2001.

She was hysterical when she came back in our room after being called outside by the assistant principal. She turned out the lights and closed the blinds and made us sit on the floor between bookshelves, in fear "they" would see us. To pass time on the hard floor, Mrs. Creed wheeled out a television, and turned it on to a woman reporting the news in a pantsuit standing knee-deep in dusty, gray matter.

Mrs. Creed did everything possible to make us remember that day, not giving us or our parents the option to let us truly understand the matter. Let me be clear: remembering 9/11 is important for the nation, but not healthy for a naive, innocent 8-year-old. She pointed out different countries that could have possibly done this to us on a map. She made us write the day's events in essay form while she cried at her desk. She told us of bomb drills she had as a little girl. She told us about war. Instead of distracting us, or teaching us that day's lessons, she came up with activities on the fly with the intent for us to remember that day years to come.

And do I remember.

In my memory, I see the images of the plane crashing into the second building, and then the first tower crumbling out of the sky. I can't recall if I saw those clips on Mrs. Creed's television, or my own because Mrs. Creed told us our only homework for the night was to watch the news. My mother argued with me, and said that I couldn't watch it, but she gave up when my aunt Joanna arrived to babysit me so my mom could go to night school. For whatever reason, I wanted to follow Mrs. Creed's homework rules before listening to my own mother.

I remember 9/11 so vividly because my teacher didn't give my mother the chance to explain the day's events. Mrs. Creed had already shocked me before I got on the bus that afternoon. In that way, the terrorists won that day. They scared her, and she in turn, scared us.

I couldn't forget 9/11, but I can't remember the day Joanna died in a house fire a few months later. Whether what I saw was so traumatic that my mind blacked it out, or whether my eyes were shielded by a family friend while my mother ran to the firefighters, I have no memory of seeing that fire.

How can a distant tragedy be so vivid, but a personal trauma draw blanks?

A few years later, when I had grown from a curious child to an angsty preteen, Katrina made landfall a few hours south from my home in East Baton Rouge Parish.

After collecting the usual supplies from the store, I remember watching a male reporter in Jackson Square on my family's generator-powered television saying, "New Orleans is saved! The people are throwing hurricane parties in the street. Katrina has overlooked us." My family went back to playing Monopoly, happy that our state suffered no serious damage. A few hours later when my father turned the TV back on to get updates, we saw the water rising. I didn't understand the extent of it until school was canceled for a week, not because our schools were without power (Zachary was out of power for less than 48 hours), but because people needed our buses to get out of New Orleans. I didn't understand the extent of it until my classmates and I squeezed into our rooms once school did start back up; more than 100 new students flooded my middle school. Some left in a few days, some in a few months, and some walked across the graduation stage with me six years later.

Still, despite the proximity, to me Katrina was only a week off of school and a downed tree in my yard. I saw the rooftop rescues on television, but it felt distant, and I felt indifferent.

It wasn't until I went to college that I personally empathized with Katrina's victims. I became friends with classmates who on every anniversary of landfall would grieve their city. They would share Facebook statuses and Instagram pictures of their homes, schools and friends that they never saw again. During the tenth anniversary this year, national media outlets praised New Orleans' rebirth as the comeback kid, but my friends still bemoaned the New Orleans it once was, and the New Orleans it will never be again.

I believe the difference between two events in my mind was my exposure to media. At 8-years-old, I watched thousands of people die on television over and over again, and remember that day clearly. At the same age, I witnessed my aunt's house burn to the ground, but I have no recollection of the night. Had I been forced to watch my family's worst day over and over again on television, I might remember the horror. Thankfully, I don't have to remember. When Katrina made landfall, I never saw any graphic images, and the images I did see were few because my family was saving generator juice for the fridge and box fans. I vaguely remember the weeks following Katrina, but I never truly empathized until I became friends with victims as an adult; I read their memories online every year on Katrina's anniversary.

Sometimes the things we want to forget never leave us, sometimes our minds bless us with blackouts instead of real memories, and sometimes we simply remember the general event instead of the specific moments. The mind is a mystery.

LSU Lost 10-3, but I Still Love My Tigers

As I am writing this, the LSU Tigers are down 10-2 to TCU in the College World Series.

It's a nightmare.

A Louisiana summer afternoon storm blew over our home in the seventh inning, with just enough rain to block the satellite coverage. Normally I would be outraged, but now I am grateful. I don't feel obligated to watch this meltdown unfold more. 

It's a heartache that LSU fans know all too well, come post-season.*

Notre Dame beat LSU with a field goal at the Music City Bowl, 31-28. LSU Gymnastics - which was expected to easily dance into the Super Six, and even win the National Championship - wobbled on the beam when it mattered the most. LSU Basketball finally made it to the tournament... only to lose a double-digit lead in the first game. The women's team also lost in the first round.

After these devastating losses you can surely expect to see the following things said about the coaches on social media:

"Les Miles is an IDIOT! Why would anyone mismanage the clock like that?!" 

"Johnny Jones BLEW IT! How can you possibly give up a game like that?!"

Even worse is when I read about the players.

"Anthony Jennings is an embarrassment to LSU! He should transfer!" 

"Why all the hype about Leonard Fournette? He's a lousy football player!"

And I'm sure, after today, I will read something like this:

"Jared Poche SUCKS! What a loser! He blew the game!"

It's like they've forgotten all the times these men and women have given glory to LSU. It's like they've forgotten these STUDENT-athletes must juggle all the stress that comes with studying for at least 12 hours of classes, as well as the anxiety that comes with an entire state watching your every move on the field or court.

To all my favorite social media complainers out there, let me ask you a simple question.

Why do you cheer for the Tigers?

Is it because you grew up watching the Tigers with your parents? Is it because you're from Baton Rouge, and that's what you do when you live in the Red Stick? Is it because you're a student, and you take classes with these players? Is it because you earned a degree from Louisiana's flagship university? Is it because your love LSU with all your heart and the thought of any Tiger facing defeat eats your up inside?

For me, it's all of the above. It's because I have the fondest memories listening to Jim Hawthorne calling the College World Series in the '90s with my mother. It's because I vividly remember walking into Death Valley and Alex Box for the very first time, and being blown away by their beauty. It's because LSU, with all her passion and youth, gives life to the city of Baton Rouge. It's because my time under those stately oaks and broad magnolias evoke a nostalgia so strong it warms and aches my heart simultaneously. It's because I take pride in my degree.

It's because I love my university, I love my city and I love my Tigers.

And even when I scream in frustration and even when tears roll down my face in disappointment, I still love my Tigers.

As I wrap this up, the storm has cleared and the TV is back on. LSU lost, 10-3.

It's not over yet. The Tigers play again on Tuesday. 

Let's geaux.

*LSU Softball made a valiant effort in the Women's College World Series, finishing third. LSU Men's Golf won the National Championship. So we do have something to celebrate.

Tweet

Why I Used To Hate LSU SG, or How Helen Frink Changed My Mind

Spring 2012. I was excited to begin writing for LSU's student newspaper, The Daily Reveille. My editor told me I would be covering student government for the semester. I knew little about SG (except that it provided free scantrons - hollahhhh), so I had a lot to learn, especially since elections were quickly approaching.

Within weeks, I lost any respect I had for the organization. Members showed up drunk to legislative meetings, openly slept at their desks and gossiped about each other. With the election came dirty campaigning. Someone actually told me a story off-the-record that began with, "They met at the clock tower at dawn." One presidential candidate, who lost the runoff, threw his support haphazardly to one ticket, only to rescind it, calling me a liar who crafted fake quotes for stories. Another losing candidate bullied me on Twitter.

*Note: There were a few members who were exceptions to these crazy stories. They genuinely cared about the future of LSU; SG wasn't just a line on a resume to them. And thankfully, the two students who ended up winning the positions of president and vice president were friendly, passionate people who wanted what was best for LSU. They deserved to win.

Many LSU students have negative views of SG, if they have an opinion about the organization at all. And who can really blame them? Over the course of my time at LSU, there have been less and less bad apples in SG, but unfortunately, those bad apples are usually the most vocal.

SG members have tens of thousands of dollars at their hands, and the right people in office really could make a difference at LSU. However, I had grown so pessimistic toward SG I thought none of the good members would have the courage to stand up and change the SG's culture.

And then I met Helen Frink.

Helen was one year younger than me when she pledged my sorority. She lit up the room with her energy, and wanted to get involved in college right away. She joined SG, and (with my attitude toward SG), I believed that her voice would be drowned out by all the negative leaders. But she never gave up. She created many bills, including one that put sustainable water fountains all over campus. She never gave up on her ideas, and made sure she was making LSU a better place than how she found it.

Having noticed that past candidates followed a stereotype (white male presidential candidate, paired with a white female vice presidential candidate, both of whom were typically Greek), and that they handpicked their friends to run with them, Helen flipped the table.

Helen Frink decided to run for LSU SG president, the first woman to do so in recent memory.

She picked a well-spoken, intelligent and detail-oriented man to run with her for vice president. I've only met Wesley Davis a few times, but just in those few minutes, he's convinced me that he has the drive and initiative to get things done.

Then, Helen and Wesley turned to the student body to listen to their concerns about SG. They visited 37 organizations, allowed students to sit in a "hot seat" on campus to voice their ideas, and listened to students for a total of 1,987 minutes. After getting ideas from actual students, then they drafted initiatives. And if elected, they won't stop there. Helen has promised to hold open office hours and will listen to any student who will come in. She has promised to take those concerns to make LSU a better place for all.

Helen is different from any other person I've met in SG. She understands the potential that SG has, and she also understands that SG has a tendency to put up blinders to the majority of students. She wants to listen, and she wants to make her time at LSU matter. Helen is genuine, she is honest and she has integrity. Helen doesn't just say she's passionate, she shows she's passionate. She has fantastic ideas, is great at delegating tasks, and knows how to unite a team of different people together toward a common goal. Helen wants to be LSU SG president because she wants to represent ALL students.

For the first time since first coming on this campus, I believe that SG can benefit LSU, if only Helen Frink becomes president.

You can vote through your Moodle accounts, or at this link: http://students.lsu.edu/sg/elections. Polls close at midnight.
Tweet

An Open Letter to Louisiana Legislators: Stop Higher Ed Budget Cuts

An alumna concerned about the future of LSU, I recently signed up to be a "Tiger Advocate." The LSU Alumni Association grassroots campaign urges LSU alumni to contact their state legislators and urge them to stop higher education budget cuts. After signing up online, a database will point you toward contact information for your respective representatives. I emailed my state senator, Rick Ward, and my state representative, Kenny Havard with the following email:


"Dear Louisiana Legislators,

I am writing to express my concerns about the potential devastating higher education budget cuts. I believe that these cuts could not only harm college students, but also the state of Louisiana. I also believe that you can help stop the cuts.

We have something in common; we both attended LSU. If your experience was anything like mine, you know that LSU is committed to excellence, both in and out of the classroom. My degree from LSU is one of the things I am most proud of, because I know that piece of paper holds credibility to my name. My degree also represents all the wonderful memories I made at the university, from pledging my sorority to cheering on the Tigers in Death Valley. 

President F. King Alexander recently said that if Gov. Jindal proceeds with cutting millions of dollars to higher education, about 1,400 classes and 27 percent of faculty positions would have to be cut. Let's imagine for a moment that those classes and faculty had been cut my freshman year. What if one of those classes had been Film and Media Arts 2001 - the very class in which I met the love of my life? Or what if one of those faculty members had been Dr. Lisa Lundy, the woman who mentored me in a one-year thesis research project? Life for me would be much different. I wouldn't have met my boyfriend, and I wouldn't have all the wonderful memories associated with him. I probably wouldn't be enrolled in LSU's Graduate School, because I previously thought I hated research. But, Dr. Lundy showed me that research can be fun, and my research can help causes I believe in. 

Thankfully, LSU survived cut after cut after cut during my undergraduate years. However, it pains me to imagine what I might miss out on in my graduate years if we suffer an incision deeper than any before. Worst still is the thought that Louisiana high school juniors and seniors may leave the state after graduation in hopes of a more secure college education. 

I tell you all of this to urge you to do everything in your power to have courage and stand up to Gov. Jindal. Tell him you will not support cuts to higher education. I understand that our convoluted constitution does not make it easy to stop cuts to higher education, but there are other ways to save LSU and other colleges. Please get creative, and make a stand. Please urge your fellow state legislators to do the same. I wish you the best, and I look forward to your reply.

Thank you for your public service,
Danielle Kelley"

Tweet

How LSU Changed Me Forever

August, 2011. I moved into West Laville Honors Hall, ready to start anew. High school left me tired, angry and bored. I anticipated the memories I would make, the friends I would meet and the classes I would take. None of it had happened yet, which made it most exciting. I began the fresh start immediately.

I rushed. I met wonderful women in all ten Panhellenic sororities, and I found my home in ZTA. I pledged to be loyal, considerate and loving to my new sisters. I learned the secrets. I made the house my home. Those girls became my sisters after sharing closets, memories and stories. We walked the lakes together, we celebrated together, we studied together. I held a sister's hand when she ended a destructive relationship. I cried when she was hurt. We told jokes and pulled pranks. I lounged in the front yard, adored our housekeeper and laughed loudly at all hours of the night.

I enrolled in classes. I received a 'D' on my very first college paper, a wake-up call for the egocentric high school valedictorian. I met with my professor. I took notes. I listened to feedback. I learned there is always room for improvement. I finished MC 2011 with an 'A.'

I went to every home football game. I tailgated. I learned to like beer. I stood on bleachers in the burning sun, chanting, "Geaux!" until my voice was hoarse. I sweated in sundresses and sandals, and swore nothing, absolutely nothing, could cheer a soul like those hallowed four notes in pregame. I watched Tigers like Reid, Claiborne, Mingo, Mathieu, Randle, Ware, Landry, Hill and Beckham, Jr. become legends. I watched in disbelief when the Tide felled the Tigers. I got upset. I got real upset. Then, I remembered there's more to a college than its football team, and in my case there was a lot more to LSU than its football team. I stormed the field. I sang. I cheered. I cried while singing the Alma Mater for the last time, arms wrapped around my sisters, because there's no place like Louisiana State University.

I took my parents' advice and "got involved." I wrote for The Daily Reveille. My sisters elected me to ZTA's executive council. Twice. I studied abroad for a summer in Ireland.  I represented the Manship School in a purple polo and recruited future students. I landed a few internships. I listened to lectures and concerts, watched movies and plays and volunteered for the community.

I met a boy in class. He walked me from Coates to the Union. He took me to the Northgate for our first date. We picnicked on the Parade Grounds. We danced at Groovin'. We learned everything about each other in Alex Box, on the Indian Mounds and in Middleton. He pinned his fraternity badge on me. I fell in love.

I met people from faraway, mysterious places like England, Bangladesh, New York, California, Missouri... and the North Shore. I laughed until tears leaked down my cheeks, clutching my ribs. I learned much about my major, and the more I knew, the more I understood I actually know very little. I questioned my faith. I ran back to God, quickly. I re-evaluated my political beliefs. I stood firm on the big things, but I did reconsider the smaller issues. I became wiser. I became confident. I became a better listener. I became a better speaker. I became a better thinker.

Louisiana State University made me the woman I always wanted to be. I've done everything at LSU I dreamed I would when I first moved in, except one thing.

And tomorrow, I graduate.

Thinking about whatever is just,
Danielle

Tweet

16 Things Being In a Sorority Taught Me

The perks of graduating a semester early are fantastic, but there's one big con. I get a head start on graduate school, but I also have to move out of my sorority house a semester early. One of the biggest reasons I decided to rush is that I always wanted siblings. An only child, I thought having sorority sisters would be the closest thing to the real thing. Today I can say with confidence that those women are my sisters, and I'd do anything in the world for them. Beside gaining sisters, I also gained some practical knowledge from joining Zeta Tau Alpha.

1. Being in a sorority taught me how to share.
I didn't have many opportunities to learn how to share as I child since I didn't have siblings. I learned real quickly how to share everything with my sisters once I moved in the house. Sharing house chores, sharing closets, sharing a room, sharing a mirror, sharing snacks...

2. Being in a sorority taught me how to lead.
I don't know how other sororities function, but there's an opportunity for everyone in mine to lead. I joined programming council the second semester of my freshman year as service chair. My sisters trusted me to organize service projects like Operation: Christmas Child and helping out at the Special Olympics. I even got to throw a 90th birthday party for the woman responsible for my chapter's national charter. After gaining experience as service chair, I decided to run for executive council. My sisters elected me two years in a row on the council as the chapter's public relations chair and ritual chair. I learned so many skills in those leadership positions, like how to be a peacemaker, how to represent my sisters in public and how to communicate my ideas clearly. I know that these skills will come in handy in the workplace.

3. Being in a sorority taught me how to follow.

While it's important to learn how to lead, it's also important to learn how to follow. I learned to respect authority, obey orders and ask how I can help those above me how I can help. This goes full circle, because people are more likely to follow me when it's my time to lead if I follow others when it's their time to lead.

4. Being in a sorority taught me how to fight... fairly.
The thing about have more than 300 sisters is never in a million years will every single person agree on anything. Be it the location of semi-formal, how much money we spend on house renovations or whether to have tacos or pasta for dinner, someone will disagree with you. I learned to pick my fights. What was worth fighting for? When was it ok to let it go? I learned to approach those that disagreed with me with kindness, open ears and strength.

5. Being in a sorority taught me how to speak in public.
Every week for my two years on executive council I had to stand up in front of hundreds of women and give a report for my office. At first, I rambled. I stumbled my way through my notes and my neck broke out with splotchy red spots. I wasn't necessarily afraid of speaking in public - especially in front of the women I called my sisters - but it wasn't something I was comfortable with. Over the months, I learned tips and tricks to speak concisely and confidently. Public speaking is now a breeze!

6. Being in a sorority taught me the art of conversation.
Perhaps the most nerve-wracking part of being in a sorority is the hell that is recruitment. Bouncing, clapping, singing and dressing in matching dresses has absolutely no benefit to learning about potential members. Unfortunately, we're stuck doing it until the entire row can agree that it's probably best to spend more time speaking to incoming freshman instead of trying to impress them with how pretty we can look while chanting at them in high heels. Rant aside, I learned the art of conversation while rushing potential members. I learned to never ask questions like, "Soooo, what's your major?" and "How's the weather out there?" (answers: "I don't know what I'm doing with my life yet, so stop freaking me out" and "Humid and 105 degrees, please ignore my sweat stains, dripping make-up, and overall stench"). I instead learned how to take the awkward situation of rush and instead make a girl feel at home by simply getting to know her. I can get the small talk out of the way, read body language and ask poignant questions that stimulate real conversation.

7. Being in a sorority taught me how to delegate.
While serving on executive council, some of my sisters signed up to be my assistants. I learned to give my assistants assignments. It saved me stress during busy weeks, and it taught my assistants skills they needed to know.

8. Being in a sorority taught me how to keep a secret.
The absolute coolest thing about being in a sorority is the secret rituals. Rituals are a time when we learn about the qualities that make a good woman, and how to live moral lives. Rituals bind me with my sisters who live across the nation, who are much older than me and who are younger than me. I swore to keep what happens in ritual a secret, and I'll keep that secret to my grave.

9. Being in a sorority taught me to be a feminist.
Despite the stereotype, sorority women are strong, smart and forward-thinking people. Sororities were founded by women in a time when they couldn't even cast ballots. Sororities are little havens of society where women can lead and encourage other women to excel at whatever they want to accomplish in life. I've learned to demand equal pay for equal work and to fight against domestic abuse, sexual assault and rape.

10. Being in a sorority taught me how to give.
Philanthropy is a huge aspect of my sorority, and I've learned to put others before myself. I am cheerful to give my money, energy and time to causes I believe in. I've also learned to help out people I love, including my sorority sisters. When they're caught in a tight spot, I will do anything I can to help.

11. Being in a sorority taught me to say 'no.'
In high school, I was the annoying girl involved in absolutely EVERY club or activity. When I pledged my sorority, I learned to pick and choose what I want to dedicate my time to. I learned that it's best to excel in one or two organizations rather than stretching myself too thin among dozens of organizations. I learned to say "no" when asked to take positions I didn't really want or to do tasks I really didn't enjoy. I am a less anxious and less stressed person, and I'm thankful for it.

12. Being in a sorority taught me to stand up for myself.
My sisters have instilled confidence and composure in me. I've learned to stand up when people try to walk over me. I've learned to keep my cool when others push me around. My sisters encourage me to do what's best.

13. Being in a sorority taught me to stand up for others.
Even more important than standing up for yourself is standing up for others who don't have the power or strength to stand up for themselves. I've learned to use my skills for good. When my sister is being treated unfairly, you can bet I have her back.

14. Being in a sorority taught me how to work on a team.
My sorority has hundreds of different personalities. One of the reasons I chose to accept the bid from my sorority over others is because it didn't have a cookie-cutter personality or image. I enjoyed the diversity. Working with people who are different than you can prove to be difficult though. I learned to work with people from all different backgrounds and hometowns and cultures for a common goal.

15. Being in a sorority taught me how to have fun.
I'm a very serious person. I take my studies and my work very seriously, and sometimes I forget to enjoy life. My sisters taught me to enjoy the moment and to have fun in all things.

16. Being in a sorority taught me how to be a friend.
Above everything else, being in a sorority taught me how to be a good friend. I learned this by watching other women pour their love on me. My sisters have gone out of their way to help me understand economics homework, take me to dinner, do my hair, watch Netflix with me, drive me across town, call me out when I do wrong, thank me when I do right, listen to my rants, laugh with me, congratulate me, cry with me, hold my hand, hug my neck and show me that they love me. I, in return, show my love for my sisters similarly. Love is selfless. Love is putting others before yourself. Love is the foundation of friendship and the foundation of sisterhood. My sisters taught me to love greatly, love fully and love deeply. My sorority has blessed me with friendships that will last a lifetime, and I am so thankful.

Tweet

Thanking about whatever is just,
Danielle