Sonder: the realization that everyone around you has a life as complex and vivid as your own.
I had a unique vantage point in the women's shelter I interned at this past summer. As an intern in the new Education and Employment wing, I spent the majority of my time either in front of a computer screen by myself, or in front of a screen with residents working on resumes or assisting them with applying to jobs. By all appearances, my job was fairly touch-and-go; I wasn't a case manager or a person who oversaw housing or childcare, I wasn't consistently meeting with women one-on-one to understand their individual stories better. The time spent with the residents ranged from 10 minutes to two hours, and, depending on their situation, I may only meet them once.
As someone whose volunteer and service experience was limited to church service and hours acquired at the last minute for our National Honor Society in high school, being in a place whose mission is to serve others from all situations and demographics on a 24-hour basis was an exciting, new, and ambitious personal challenge to take on.
I had a choice when working with our residents; I could remain superficial and cordial, accomplish the task at hand, and focus on gaining personal career experience for my resume, or, I could take the time to make our interactions more meaningful and personal.
Instead of loudly explaining how to use "copy-paste" or how to properly phrase something on a resume from the safe and non-interactive distance of my desk, I sat next to them, twirling casually in the spinning chairs as I got to know them on a professional and personal level. While I won't disclose specific names or stories to protect the identities of women who are rebuilding their lives, the 10 weeks I spent in a computer lab working with women did more to reverse a lifetime of assumptions than I ever thought was possible.
Watching women who arrived at the shelter with whatever forms of identification and papers in shoeboxes become teachers and leaders in their communities allowed me to see that where you come from does not always have the power to determine who you are.
Witnessing friendships blossom between not only the women (trips to the county fair, cookouts behind the shelter, drives to the airport), but the beautiful innocence of the partners-in-crime friendships between the children in the shelter never failed to give me hope that the simple act of introduction can lead to a lifetime of support.
Wondering in awe, at times, at the amount of strength these women were blessed with. Strength to leave their abusive and dangerous partners, strength to open up to complete strangers in a shelter (a place I'm sure they had never wished or imagined that they would end up at), and strength to maintain a sense of normality for their children and/or themselves.
Entering into my internship, I was a privileged white woman with no experience working in an emergency shelter, and occasionally complaining about needing to work two jobs in order to have rent money.
Leaving my internship, I am still a privileged white woman, but a white woman who is fully aware of her privilege in society. There are still major strides to be made for equality for all women across races, ethnicities, gender identities, and socioeconomic situations, and my experience made me fully aware of the advantages I had taken for granted.
I was complaining about having to work two jobs when residents were struggling to create resumes and find one job. I would occasionally grumble at having to fill up my gas tank so many times due to traveling around the state to visit friends all summer when the women we worked with would often have no reliable means of transportation or feel safe traveling anywhere throughout the state.
It was these little epiphanies that gave me a crash course in privilege, and also drove me to understand these women for more than the reason they gave for checking-in to the shelter. They are complex, brilliant, driven, hilarious, sassy, and kind women who I will never forget for as long as I live.
