Hill Magazine Spring 2024

Falling Through the Cracks:

Education in the South Leaves Several Behind

Portrayed Fairly or Unjustly:

Steel Magnolias:

Celebrating Southern Womens’ Strength, Growth, and Independence pg. 16 pg. 08 pg. 38

It has been a pleasure to work with Hill Magazine for these past four editions - keep supporting student media!

Welcome back to Hill ,

I can not believe this will be my final issue as Editor-in-chief of Hill Magazine. I am extremely grateful for the opportunities this outlet has provided me during my undergraduate studies. Although I will be back at the university next year as a graduate student, I feel it is only right to step down and allow other fantastic undergraduate journalists to create their own publication.

This is the second spring print edition of Hill Magazine and I felt it was only right to pay tribute to the region. In this magazine you will find a collection

of stories that highlight the highs and lows of the American South. From the internal struggles of religion to the town that fights to combat the harmful reputation the region receives, this edition covers so many unique stories that many Southerners can relate to.

I’d like to give a huge thank you to everyone who made my final edition possible. Thank you to our contributors who added vivid visuals and creative writing to this edition. To the lovely Lainey Richardson, who had a whirlwind of unfortunate events hit her, she still showed up with a smile. I’d like to thank Lindsey West for her honesty and ambition to continue to improve our new website.

A special thanks to Erika Fredericks for giving up her signature pink for my final print to showcase my favorite colors and of course her amazing designs. I’d like to thank Professor Schulte for his continued support while running the J-School. And finally thank you all for picking up this edition.

We hope you enjoy Hill: A South Worth Saving.

Editor-in-chief

Lainey

Lindsey

West Online Content Editor

Erika

Victoria Hernandez is a senior English and journalism major with minors in history and gender studies from Flower Mound, Texas. She loves winter weather, coffee, and music. Hernandez will be staying in Fayetteville after graduation to earn a masters in Journalism.

Lainey Richardson is a junior majoring in Advertising and Public Relations with a minor in journalism. She is from Dallas, Texas and loves reading, cooking, and friends and family. Her favorite experience from this past year was the Eras Tour in Kansas City in July!

Lindsey West is a junior Advertising and Public Relations major with minors in marketing in journalism from Houston, Texas. In her free time, she loves to bake, read new books, and watch movies. After graduating, Lindsey hopes to move somewhere colder so that she can wear a sweater everyday without sweating.

Erika Fredricks is a junior majoring in Graphic Design from central Arkansas.

Alongside her work in design, Erika keeps things fun and funky by hitting the trails and spending hours pouring over books in local coffee shops. In the future she hopes to pursue design work for nonprofit agencies to uplift under represented communities.

Ashton York is a senior journalism major from Oklahoma. His concentration is multimedia storytelling and production. He’s obsessed with Spider-Man and twenty one pilots, and owns about 20 Funko Pops.

Emma Bracken is a sophomore English and Journalism double major. She is from St. Louis, Missouri and loves writing across all genres. In the future, she hopes to read a bunch of good books and pursue a career in editing.

Dustin Staggs is a senior journalism major from Russellville, Arkansas. He describes himself as “that cool friend who, when we’re watching a movie, has to tell you what other movies the actors are in.”

Natalie Murphy is a junior journalism major with minors in sociology and gender studies from Dallas, Texas. She is the managing editor of The Arkansas Traveler and loves her cat Dot, listening to music, and thrifting.

Dustin Staggs

Natalie Murphy

Ashton York Writer Writer Writer

Emma Bracken Writer

Victoria Hernandez Editor-in-chief

Richardson Assistant Editor

Fredricks Graphic Designer

Alyssa Crutcher Writer

Madison Hiser Writer

Alyssa Crutcher is a senior journalism major from Sand Springs, Oklahoma. Aside from being a Hill Magazine contributor, she is also the editor-in-chief of The Arkansas Traveler.

Marshall Deree

Marshall Deree is a sophomore journalism major. He grew up all over the world before settling in Fayetteville. He once was in a speed boat with the Irish National Rugby Team while in New Zealand.

Madison Hiser is a senior Advertising & PR major, and she grew up right outside of Memphis, Tennessee. She loves to read so much that she has over 90 books in her studio apartment.

Sydney Sengel is a senior news/editorial major from Fort Smith, Arkansas. They’ve been writing for a big portion of their life and their story is about living and growing up there! A fun fact

Lawrence Anca Photographer Photographer

Lawrence Anca is a History for secondary teaching major originally from Corona, California. Lawrence is a knick knack connoisseur, Lover of the band The Strokes, and is a professional deadline misser.

Sarah Wittenburg is a senior from Conway, Arkansas studying physics and minoring in math, journalism, and art history. With seven years of professional experience,

Menghan Zhang is a freshman biomedical engineering major from Blytheville, Arkansas. A fun fact about Han is she came from China five years ago.

Katherine Wehling is a junior English major from Arkansas. She enjoys being out in nature, especially when hiking, kayaking, and fly fishing.

Emma Boydston is a third-year Studio Art major from the Memphis area. She has always taken an interest in photography and the arts. As of late she has been interested in film photography and is currently learning how to develop color film.

Abigail Harmon is a psychology and philosophy double major from Edmond, Oklahoma. She also writes the horoscope for The Arkansas Traveler.

Anne-Elise Tidwell is a junior majoring in multimedia journalism and minoring in history from Little Rock, Arkansas. Recently, she’s been loving to cook and find things to decorate her room with, especially plants and local artwork. She’s also been obsessed with buying stickers to put on literally everything she owns.

Menghan Zhang

Katherine Wehling

Emma Boydston

Abigail Harmon

Anne-Elise Tidwell Photographer Poet Photographer Poet

Falling Through the Cracks:

By Ashton York Education in the South Leaves Several Behind

Depending on where you were raised, you may have a different idea of what the South and Southern culture means than someone else. To some people, the South may bring to mind beautiful nature, home cooked food and a unique accent. To others, it can have a less-than-ideal mental image.

In a small Oklahoma town by the name of Oktaha, the high school sits at the heart of the town. When looking at it, the metal building seems to be what the nearby neighborhoods grew around.

The school itself is fairly large for a town consisting of only around 300 people. Since 1989, the average size of a grade level in Oktaha has grown from 35 students to 80.

Though someone from a big city such as Dallas would find it to be tiny, it has grown out of its three or four original class buildings that looked like something from “Little House on the Prairie.”

It is hard for the common spectator of such a school to know every aspect of what life would be like for a student here. The Oktaha High School experience vastly differs from student to student depending on their own personal identities, as it surely does with most schools.

Most students at Oktaha were raised in Christian, conservative households, which may be a decent experience for those who grow up to be what their parents would define as “normal.”

But for those who face more of a struggle discovering their own identities, a big part of childhood turns into hiding who you truly are.

Alex Smallwood is a graduate of Oktaha High School and current student at Northeastern State University in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. They spent a lot of their childhood with their grandparents on a small farm and usually helped with farm chores.

Often, they felt as if their personal identity clashed with their Southern identity.

“I was the weird kid growing up, and a lot of people down there are really homophobic, transphobic,” Smallwood said. “And I am both of those things. I am non-binary and bisexual, visibly. So my family and a lot of people I thought I was friends with started being really cruel to me when I started being more out.”

Living in the South can provide one with very unique skills due to the area, such as driving tractors, caring for cattle and using power tools, all of which Smallwood learned about while in rural Oklahoma.

Although Smallwood appreciated the niche knowledge they gained about such things, it is impossible to ignore when your identity is looked down upon by others. Especially in an environment where it is done almost constantly, every single day.

“I always felt like I would put a mask on,” Smallwood said.

Once Smallwood moved to the town of Tahlequah for school, they said they found themselves so used to fitting in that returning to their hometown is unappealing. After transitioning to college, it is easy to forget how different rural Southern culture is from that of bigger Southern cities.

Smallwood said their favorite part of college is “the people, definitely. I don’t feel this shift from when I’m by myself to when I’m with other people (so much) that I’m a completely different person. I feel like the same person, which wasn’t true in my hometown.”

Especially for neurodivergent children, racial minorities or queer students in such a small, like-minded country town, going to school every day can feel more like an emotional burden than an opportunity to grow and learn.

“They didn’t even acknowledge that I had a learning disability, so I didn’t really get any extra help with that or accommodations at all,” Smallwood said.

For students who are neurodivergent, learning disabilities like ADHD and dyslexia make school a different level of difficult. A lot of schools in the South do not have the funding or experience to be able to hire teachers who have proper training to help those students.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

Middle school and high school students are already at a vulnerable point in their lives, facing big changes and other students who may not be kind. Add a learning disability on top of that and it is easy to feel misunderstood and alone.

“They did not know what to do with me,” Smallwood said.

“Literally, a lot of the times, they would put me in a broom closet with a pile of work and keep me in there until I finished it.”

In elementary school, Smallwood would often get sent to In-School Suspension (ISS), which meant getting put in a small, empty room with only a desk. Students would be sent to this room as punishment for acting out in class. However, in Smallwood’s case, it was usually due to their symptoms of ADHD.

Teachers would get annoyed at them for talking, kicking their feet, or being inattentive in general, Smallwood said. Then they would have to go to the ISS room for the rest of the school day, sitting alone and working on an endless amount of busywork, separated from all the other children.

Rather than help the situation at all, this only aided in making neurodivergent students feel isolated and unimportant. Smallwood’s guardians were never even notified that their child was put in ISS.

Many situations like Smallwood’s merely present themselves due to a lack of knowledge. Both teachers and parents in Oktaha and most rural towns do not have nearly as much information about ADHD or queer children as one would in a city.

The impact that ignorance and world-views can have is clearly represented by how Oktaha administrators treat those with disabilities versus how they treat students struggling with financial insecurity. Wealth and class are one of the few things that aren’t subject to prejudice in this town.

As it may differ from bigger and more diverse schools, the high school is primarily made up of students that live in trailer houses and need reduced lunches. In many rural towns, families and schools alike struggle financially, which leads to a disadvantage in many aspects.

Teachers at Oktaha are good about supporting students who come from low-income households, giving them free lunches and making sure they have clothes on their backs. It vastly contrasts from their treatment of queer and differently-abled students.

The teachers’ personal connections to certain issues seems to give them the understanding they need in order to be more kind to those who struggle with them.

These experiences are not limited just to the likes of a smalltown Oklahoma school. It can be found at plenty of other high schools across the South.

A student at the University of Arkansas, who wished to remain anonymous, graduated from Pangburn High School in Arkansas. She did not have the exact same experiences as Smallwood, but she had enough occurrences to make her not want to return to Pangburn.

Pangburn is a town consisting of nearly 500 people, one school for grades K-12, multiple churches, two gas stations and a convenience store, the anonymous student said. A lot of her time was spent outdoors or hanging out with family, as there is not much else to do in such a small town.

As a straight, white woman, the student felt as though her personal beliefs were the only thing she could be treated badly for, she said.

“I think being liberal in the South is definitely not the most fun,” she said. “For me, though, I’m a pretty basic person. It’s

mainly my beliefs (I could be judged for).”

The anonymous student feels as though she had the advantage of seeing things from others’ perspectives, which taught her how to be more patient toward those with different views. A lot of people in her hometown did not experience this for themselves, and that led them to become less tolerant people.

“Definitely I feel like I’ve become more open-minded from it because I was around a lot of people who didn’t have the same opinions as me,” she said. “So I was able to kind of look at people’s beliefs from different points of view.”

There were many times in high school when she would not freely speak her opinions because she was worried what would happen, she said. Even if this is a bad thing in itself, this experience continues to help her decide when she should speak or not.

Although she did not get treated much differently by those around her, the student said she wishes there had been a more diverse group of people. It would have given her “more opportunities to build connections with people that meant something.”

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

There is a disadvantage for students attending universities after having been at a small high school, the anonymous student said. As it is when the teachers deal with a lot of minority groups, many rural high schools have trouble finding qualified people to help the students navigate towards college.

On the other hand, Christopher Brown, a student at John Brown University (JBU) in Siloam Springs, does not think he had much of a disadvantage coming from a smaller school. Brown is majoring in construction management at JBU, and he graduated from Pryor High School in Oklahoma.

Brown’s brother was 15 years older than him and graduated many years before he did, and the college preparation system at Pryor changed a lot within that time.

His brother struggled to prepare correctly for college, as teachers often gave out easy homework that could be finished in class, and not much studying was required to pass classes, Brown said.

However, by the time Brown himself graduated, he never had the same feeling his brother did. He felt as though the counselors were decent at helping him to choose the right path, Brown said. This may have been due in part to his major of choice, which was somewhat covered at Pryor.

Brown’s high school had an engineering course, and the teacher had a degree in aerospace engineering. She had experience in the field and was dedicated to helping the students prepare for college.

“Her class kind of really worked more like a college class,” Brown said. “She told us what to look for in college and how to study.”

One positive aspect of rural high schools is that they usually have at least one or two teachers that work their hardest to make sure their students leave with as much knowledge as possible.

They do not receive any extra training or pay; however, they leave their impression on students for the rest of their lives.

Though Brown had the advantage of this experienced teacher, he was not as prepared for his original goal as he thought at first. Originally, he went to Oklahoma State University (OSU), majoring in engineering, but he realized after his third semester that it wasn’t going to work for him.

A lot of college engineering programs heavily rely on the prior experience of students. Most engineering or computer science students had related classes in high school that prepared them for higher education in such topics.

This is a privilege that a lot of students from bigger schools may not think much about, but for schools like Pryor and Oktaha, those classes do not exist.

“I dropped out of my first class,” Brown said. “It was an intro class, but I had to go to an easier class that I took online just because I had no experience.”

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

The South may have several aspects that need work to make it a safer and more accepting place for all people, but there are parts of Southern culture that make living here worth it to some of those same people.

There are also several benefits that come from living in the South. A lot of skills are acquired in Southern states that do not get taught elsewhere, and Southern hospitality and food cannot be beat.

In his free time, Brown enjoys working on cars and other automotives. It has been a hobby of his for as long as he can remember, due to the fact that he was raised by parents who loved the same thing, he said.

“Anything related to cars, boats, dirt bikes, and anything like that has always been my favorite hobby,” Brown said.

Brown got his first dirt bike when he was three years old. By the time he was in junior high, he saved up enough money to buy himself a 1969 Chevy pickup truck with help from his dad. Even now, that pickup truck stays at Brown’s parents’ house and needs work done often.

“I don’t really know how some people just get into it later in their lives,” Brown said. “My dad just kind of got into it. I don’t know how, because his dad was never into it. But for me, it’s just something that I always have been into and I can’t remember a time that I wasn’t.”

If he had not been raised in the South, there would have been less opportunities for Brown to get involved with his hobby. Brown’s parents have their own car shed and workshop on their land so that he and his father can work on various cars in their free time.

Not only are some hobbies more accessible in the South, but there are also many foods that only those in Southern states have ever heard of. Many of which may sound crazy to someone who was not raised in the area.

Southern hospitality is also talked about a lot, and it is certainly not a myth. In smaller towns, it is common for everyone to know everyone else as opposed to bigger cities.

When a neighbor is in need, it is common courtesy in rural areas to offer assistance and care.

Though many rural memories from their childhood were negative experiences, Smallwood still finds a home in the South. They wish that outsiders could see that many Southern stereotypes do not hold true all the time, Smallwood said.

Specifically during the winter storm in 2021 when many power outages and deaths occurred across Texas, Smallwood recalls how people reacted to hearing the news.

“People said they deserved it because they’re a red state,” Smallwood said. “And we’re a red state. And they were saying, ‘They’re homophobic.’ and all that. ‘Those people deserve to die.’ No. There’s people of color and queer people that live there and people who aren’t conservative freezing to death. They don’t deserve that, and if there are conservative people living there, they don’t deserve to die either.”

Smallwood will never forget how so many people from outside the South acted that way, they said. It just shows exactly how misunderstood the South as a whole can be.

“If people could see past the outside (view) of how Southerners act, we could move forward and switch to something a little bit more proactive,” said the anonymous student from the UA. OOO

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

Wheat

By Katherine Wehling

Wheat bends to the ground Prostrating itself

To its' Maker.

The heavy scent of grain; The wind slaps me And I look up.

My father often prostrates Low, Low to the ground, Asking the Maker for peace, Blessing, And to continue to shower love upon the Earth.

I think perhaps, Dad is praying for me now.

Bended low

Like the wheat, Wheat in the fields of Kansas Where he played as a child.

O great, endless Heart of God.

Photo by Emma Boydston

Photo by Marshall Deree

Portrayed Fairly or Unjustly:

Is Harrison truly the ‘Most Racist Town in America?’

By Natalie Murphy

Driving the winding roads of Boone County and its surrounding small towns, deep forestry greens and a plethora of quaint Baptist churches parallel the two yellow lines split down the road. Here and there you can spot deer and, at the right time of day, elk taking interest in the whoosh of cars passing. Houses with large acres, sometimes a mile apart from the other, stand shabbily, as if a strong wind could blow them in. A commonality with some houses is the confederate flag nailed to deteriorating wood or flown from the tips of flag posts. To any minority, this is a sign to proceed with caution.

Harrison, Arkansas, is among the many small towns that make up the county. Despite the lush nature surrounding the town, it is overshadowed by a darkened cloud. Harrison is not known for its quaint town square, proximity to Buffalo National Park or its close-knit community. It is rather known for its racist reputation and unwelcomeness to minorities.

The lack of diversity in Harrison comes from its notable racist past. On two separate occasions, in 1905 and 1909, white mobs drove out the Black population of 115 people. This left the town as a place Black people would usually avoid, known as a sundown town, which is an overly-white town deemed unsafe to minorities past sunset.

Furthering its reputation, new and dangerous company moved in, causing a stir in the media. Interest in Harrison had been ever-growing since the late ‘80s after the Ku Klux Klan moved to Zinc, Arkansas, a small town 15 miles from Harrison, establishing the organization’s mailbox in Harrison because Zinc didn’t have a post office.

This quickly created a correlation between Harrison and the Klan, especially after leader and grand wizard Thomas Robb claimed it was the headquarters of the KKK. Numerous media outlets, including international outlets, gained interest, furthering negative press around the so-called “Klan Town.”

But some citizens of Harrison disagree with the town’s reputation. Kevin Cheri, who was the first Black park ranger and superintendent of Buffalo National Park, lived in the town for many years, even grounding his family roots in the soil.

When Cheri first accepted a park ranger job at the national park in July 1978, he was warned by the superintendent at the time that his safety might be at stake. When word spread around Harrison of his potential hiring, he said numerous townspeople had threatened his life.

But the danger of the job did not dissuade him, and taking a risk, he accepted the offer, excited to be working in the park. With his new title and life in Harrison, he became the only Black park ranger and one of the very few Black people in a 50-mile radius, he said.

“My superintendent and her management team met on a regular basis to just discuss my safety before I got there because this decision to bring a Black person to this area was somehow taking a risk,” Cheri said. “But the agency was truly interested and committed to improving its diversity. Back then, there weren’t many Black people who were knowledgeable of the National Park Service and the opportunities that exist there. So, there wasn’t much representation among us in the organization.”

But even with its reputation, he took a chance on Harrison, one Cheri said paid off.

“I had a good overall experience,” Cheri said. “I had a good Park Service — what I call family. My co-workers took interest in me and helped me develop my skills and be successful. I did have one negative experience and that was my tires did get slashed once — two of my tires — and that was unfortunate. We never did discover who was responsible, although we had ideas or suspicions.”

Apart from his tires, Cheri, a New Orleans native, said he would sometimes receive unkind greetings from his community. When he first arrived in town, his co-workers took him around to meet some of the big farmers, who returned his presence with a shrug rather than a handshake. Cheri said it was clear they were not crazy about him being there. He also acknowledged the prominent confederate flags but did not let the hostility get the best of him and his life. Two years after accepting the position, though, Cheri’s life

in Harrison was uprooted when he got a new job, climbing the totem pole in the National Park Service and moving to Georgia, working at the Chattahoochee River. But his ties with Harrison did not end there.

In 2007, when Buffalo National Park was hiring a new superintendent, Cheri got the job and moved back to Harrison, this time with his family. But while Cheri was ready to return, he said the question remained: Was the town ready for a Black superintendent?

With Harrison’s racist reputation in the limelight, Bob Reynolds, who was mayor at the time, called for the creation of a race relations task force. In 2003, a group of townspeople, including pastors from local churches, set out to fix the jarring reputation. While the force’s majority consisted of white members, they worked to have productive conversations within their families and communities. Layne Wheeler, the public information officer of the force, said her community did not understand why they were discussing race, and she often was questioned why she joined the force by friends and family.

“We were kind of in a cone of silence,” Wheeler said, describing the lack of conversation surrounding racism in the town. “Just nobody talked about it much.”

A few years after Cheri returned to Harrison as the new Buffalo National Park superintendent, he wanted to take part in rewriting the narrative. He had experienced life in other towns across the United States and felt as though Harrison was unfairly painted in a negative light by the media. To him, it was like every other majority-white small town, and it was the one he and his family now considered home.

“In my job, I lived in many, many different locations throughout the United States,” Cheri said. “And I can speak on authority that Harrison is far from the most racist town in America — that there are a lot of places where racism exists that is much, much worse.”

From his travels with the Park Service, Cheri, like many other Southerners, feels the heavy reputation placed on the South. Despite the rich culture, highly impacted by the Black populations of the region, the South is unfairly categorized as a racist and troubled monolith.

In matters of politics and minority acceptance, the region assumes the role of the boogeyman of the United States. Cheri said the other parts of the country often use the South to dismiss the ignorance and racism happening in their communities.

Nevertheless, Harrison is not an exception to racism. On the City of Harrison’s website, it even admits to their faults

Photo by Marshall Deree

saying, “In our nation, it’s hard to find any community without bigots and racists. We sure don’t claim to be so fortunate or so virtuous. Our problem is that our town struggles with a widespread and long-lasting perception that we are dominated by bigotry and racism.”

But what sets Harrison apart from many Southern towns is its dedication to bettering its community, and in doing so clearing the town’s reputation. That is why, in 2013, Cheri joined the task force.

“This group who I admired was actively trying to address racism in their community,” Cheri said. “What made this so special, they were a group mostly of white people who came together to talk about their reputation there and to do something about it.”

Leading up to 2020, with the impact of nearly 18 years of the task force, the group was able to take down white supremacist billboards in the town, hold fundraisers for their minority scholarship, host diversity, equity and inclusion initiative training sessions within the community and peaceful Black Lives Matter protests.

But in July 2020, amid the pandemic and uproar following the murder of George Floyd, Wheeler said their hard work felt like it came crashing down when a YouTube video by influencer Rob Bliss reinstated the town’s racist reputation. In his video “Holding a Black Lives Matter Sign in America’s Most Racist Town,” Bliss stood on the side of the road and outside the Harrison Walmart, innocently advocating for BLM. In return, the video showed townspeople in Harrison arguing with him, yelling slurs at him and threatening him to leave.

The video amassed millions of views, currently standing at 12.5 million, and immediately gained worldwide attention. But what the video did not showcase, according to Cheri and Harrison Mayor Jerry Jackson, was the number of people who came up to Bliss and thanked him for his BLM demonstration. Cheri and his daughter were among those who thanked him, others offering him water due to the heat of the Arkansas summer.

“When he produced it on his YouTube channel, he left out all the positive comments he got,” Cheri said. “It really was a hatchet job to the city.”

Wheeler said in the few weeks following the published video, the mayor’s office received thousands of phone calls from frustrated viewers, some even making the operators cry.

“As that went viral and went all over the country, the hatred that was directed at our mayor and our city workers was awful,” Wheeler said. “You can not believe the ugliness. I mean, to the point that the people answering the phones at City Hall were in tears.”

Both Wheeler and Cheri said the town reached out to Bliss on separate occasions, specifically when he set up a GoFundMe for legal support, following his claims that citizens of Harrison were threatening and trying to sue him. Wheeler said the town offered financial support to Bliss but never heard back. After further looking into his media accounts, Cheri said Bliss commonly started funds, using viewers’ sympathies, to further make a profit.

“I believe this was nothing less than a professional ‘hit job,’” Mayor Jackson said in a statement made days after the video was posted. “Our opinion became clear: Rob Bliss, and a partner, both from Los Angeles, are professional agitators who saw an opportunity to exploit Harrison. Bliss presents himself as an ‘agent of change’ when, in fact, he is only interested in making money, and doesn’t actually care about the issue.”

In the four years since Bliss’ video, the Harrison task force has been working to get the town’s reputation back on track and continue to reestablish the town as a welcoming place for all. Other influencers, such as JiDion, a Black content creator, have visited Harrison, further providing a positive light on the town and community.

But despite efforts, the perception of Harrison has remained unchanged for many Americans, and its effect has a presence at the University of Arkansas.

UA students Brylan Cole and Frances, who wished to use an alias for their safety, both grew up around Harrison and went to high school there. They said they usually do not feel pride when asked where they are from, Frances admitting they often say, “I’m sadly from Harrison,” which is met with classmates’ hesitance and sympathy.

While saying this continues to encourage the reputation of the town, it is also a direct reflection of Frances’ unique experiences growing up around Harrison.

Frances recalled first learning about racism and the KKK around 6 years old in a sit-down conversation with their mom after bricks with KKK propaganda notes attached to them were left at the doors of each house on their street when they lived in Bergman, Arkansas, a town nine miles from Harrison and seven from Zinc.

Frances also had to reconcile with her grandmother’s ignorant racist comments that grew much louder as her dementia worsened, often going on rants in support of segregation.

Within the school system, Cole’s high school best friend, who is Black, ended up leaving Harrison due to uncomfortable remarks from classmates and teachers. Frances said they also had a mixed-race cousin leave the state after receiving harmful comments from peers at school.

What sets Cole and Frances apart from the supposed stereotypical Harrison citizen and makes it easier for them to see bigotry in their community, is their attachment to the LGBTQ+ community.

“I feel like when you are a part of another marginalized group that’s disliked, it was easier for me to see the intersectionality of Black and brown people in my town,” Cole said. “And I feel like I was able to see it because I was experiencing my own type of hate from the community.”

Frances identifies as transgender but said they only realized their identity when they came to the university and were able to express themself truly. Despite their parent’s lack of acceptance toward their identity, Harrison is still a place they call home, usually visit weekly and see themself living postgraduation.

Cole, on the other hand, is not so keen to move back to the region after his time at the U of A.

“Even when I lived there, I never felt at home,” Cole said. “I feel like I always had the mindset of what tools do I need to use and what do I need to do in high school that will give me that mobility to leave.”

Although Cole said he isn’t necessarily proud to live in Harrison, he does find pride in the South as a whole and resonates with the title “Southerner.”

“There are some great qualities that come with being from the South that I appreciate,” he said. “I feel like we are very community-oriented, kind people, and I’m super proud of that. And I just wish a lot of these towns that people label as,

you know, your ‘scapegoat southern towns that are horrible’ would reflect those qualities a little bit more, which I feel like are at the heart of what it means to be Southern.”

What Frances and Cole have seen in their small towns are the younger generations taking the lead on changing the reputation of Harrison as they become more progressive. As the older generation’s perspectives wither out, a youthful sense of hope seems to be on the horizon in Harrison.

Cheri, who now lives in Springfield, Missouri, still works with the Harrison task force and said he wants to see youth involvement within the group.

It is also people like Frances and Cole who attend the university and get to challenge their peer’s preconceived notions of Harrison.

“I like to think I make a good impression on people and maybe help the opinion of Harrison,” Frances said.

While Harrison has slowly become more diverse since the ‘70s when Cheri first arrived, there is still much to be done to reestablish the town as a welcoming place for all minority groups. With efforts to continue the good work, it is up to each individual to determine whether or not they feel comfortable visiting Harrison.

“I think it is totally fine to protect your peace and your feeling of safety,” Frances said. “If you don’t feel safe in the town, then you don’t have to go. You totally don’t owe us the benefit of the doubt, when we didn’t give other people the benefit of the doubt or welcoming arms in the past.” OOO

Photo by Marshall Deree

Where I was raised

By Abigail Harmon

Where I was raised

They told me, that people like me are evil

He told me I was fundamentally broken, the man I praised

Put me on the stand as if medieval

Out of fear, I woefully denied

And hid that part of me as if my life depended on it

Because unfortunately, it did, I cried

I was taught that it only tempted

So I tried to pray away

Went to my pastor

Pulled me aside, castaway

We are abominations to the master I need to hide it every day

Sentenced to burn forever

If we love who we desire

If I did, it would only sever My ties to loved ones, erupt like wildfire I wanted to tear it out of my inside

Scrub off my uncleanness

A hole remains where their love should reside

I desperately wanted to feel its fullness

So, I decided to hear her out

She taught me about acceptance and true loving

Then inside me, growing more, coming about

A love for women that continues becoming

The way they nurture and care

Their beautiful bodies and luscious hair

Now her cherry lips match my strawberry

The love in her eyes and kindness in her touch

Her soft lips I love to kiss so much

I know I was never an abomination

But another victim of ostracization

Of those that do not fit the mold

Turning me away, their hearts are cold

But deep inside are misunderstandings

It is the passed-down oppression of hateful beginnings

With the memory of what was taken at hand

Now I state my claim, take back the stand

Because now the only thing that burns of me

Is my heart that glows and bursts for her every day

I am lucky to be a woman who loves women this way

Photo by Marshall Deree

Penning the Legacy of the South: The Importance of Southern Literature

By Madison Hiser and Victoria Hernandez

Spanning from the peaks of the Ozarks to the foothills of the Appalachians, encased by the Mississippi River’s sprawling deltas and coasts of both mossy marshes and sun-kissed shores, the American South has inspired generations of storytellers. Stemming from a region characterized by community and tradition, the Southern identity holds significant weight in American culture. A vessel through which the South has shared these characteristics with the world is its literature. Southern literary works portray the unique perspective, identity, and values of Southerners through important themes that readers nationwide can relate to. Through the narratives of Southern authors, the legacy of the South lives on.

The legacy written in the pages of Southern stories is one characterized by the notorious eras of pre-Civil War, Reconstruction, and Jim Crow, but also one of shared humanity. These stories, created by both men and

women, proud Southerners and migrants, authors of many ethnicities and backgrounds, tell timeless stories of life, love, loss, and resilience in times of change through a unique voice and perspective.

Southern writers have a distinct voice in storytelling, characterized by their use of language and dialect, such as turns of phrase unique to the South. Other commonalities found in content across the genre include a sense of place, the presence of religion in society, the importance of community and characters who challenge societal norms. Some of the most influential Southern writers include Flannery O’Connor, who depicted stories of misfits in the South, and Eudora Welty, who focused on the mannerisms of Southern culture through her work.

The South is built by its traditions, values, and social norms, such as community and hospitality. These ideas

and how they are passed down and perceived from generation to generation are central to the Southern perspective.

Reagan Stanley, a senior English education major at the University of Arkansas, emphasized that Southern literature is preservation of a type of history that is no longer told, going beyond the assumptions of being the former Confederacy.

“To me Southern literature, the importance of it really is going to be about the history it tells,” Stanley said. “It’s inherently unique to the United States, and especially the subcultures that I think oftentimes are ignored.”

Those subcultures being Appalachian lore and the stories told by the generations prior, he said.

Dr. Lisa Hinrichsen is an associate professor at the UA, specializing in the literature of the American South. She said that storytelling is a form of worldmaking, and the worlds made depicting the narratives of the South are very deserving of study.

“I’ve been very interested in how contemporary Southern literature brings together the U.S. South and the Global South to process questions of diasporic identity, shared historical trauma, and how it reconceptualizes exclusionary and exceptionalist notions of nation and region,” Hinrichsen said.

As these storytelling elements are used to identify the voice of a Southern writer, there are common topics explored in Southern literature that convey their perspective. Themes such as race and class are essential to telling the history of the American South, while other themes found in the genre are telling of the values of Southern culture, ultimately detailing what the South has to offer to the broader American culture.

“Whenever we take a look at Southern literature,” Stanley said. “I think what you need to do is look at the inspiration that it has. I think oftentimes when people look at the South, you don’t notice how much destruction has been wrought on it. In general, with the mass exodus of many people, as well as the very lack

of wasn’t support systems in place for single mothers and also the destruction that the opioid epidemic has ravaged in the past couple of years, to where you see a lot of those who have a lot of high drug dependency issues that are facing the modern day.”

As lineage and family bonds are prominent aspects of Southern culture, they are also prevalent in Southern writing. Writers from the South consistently set their narratives around the importance of familial ties. In these stories, characters are often deeply connected to their lineage, and these relationships often serve as a character’s main source of identity or conflict. Southern literature often highlights the significance of traditions and values passed down through generations. The preservation of cultural and familial customs is an important aspect of Southern identity.

Similar to family, a sense of community is an integral part of Southern identity. In Southern literature, the value of community can be shown in the form of many archetypes and circumstances. One example distinctive to the South is the matriarchal figure.

Strong, influential women are staples of Southern culture and literature alike; they are often the ones maintaining traditions and connections. Southern authors address this role in their work by exploring the

Photo by Marshall Deree

Southern family and the influence women play in the narrative’s society. Like in their own families, Southern women often serve as matriarchal figures to the community. This is shown in literature as the concepts of community and family are closely intertwined, fostering shared values, and a sense of collective identity. Dr. Jarvis Young, UA assistant professor who specializes in African American Literature, acknowledges this concept in his study of Frances Ellen Watkins Harper’s anthology of poems, “Sketches of Southern Life,” particularly in her “Aunt Chloe” poems.

“When reading her poems, we see the thoughts and conversations that black families and/or communities have in their living rooms and kitchens. We can imagine Aunt Chloe sitting in a living room chair discussing politics with her niece or nephew while using her

Photo by Marshall Deree

own idioms and expressions,” Young said. “These kinds of visualizations and images, in my view, shapes and informs our understanding of what happens in black familial and communal spaces in the south and elsewhere.”

Similarly to Harper, Maya Angelou, a Missouri born, Arkansas raised, African American poet wrote a memoir about her childhood in the segregated South called “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” It is illustrated in this work how influential women in a Southern society serve as matriarchal figures to others in their community, specifically by describing who Mrs. Bertha Flowers was to a young Angelou (Marguerite Johnson).

Angelou wrote “She was one of the few gentlewomen I have ever known and has remained throughout my life

the measure of what a human being can be.” This quote details the significance of women who hold these values in their community and how pivotal their influence can be for the people around them.

The close-knit nature of small-town communities in this region of the U.S. creates a well-known aspect of its culture known as “Southern hospitality.” It is the inherent practice of engaging in common generosity and imposing the sense of togetherness. When found in literature or reality, Southern hospitality reflects not only the importance of community, but implies the importance of tradition in Southern culture.

Tradition is a staple of Southern culture, shown particularly through the social customs and values of Southerners. Social customs, such as manners and etiquette, are often rooted in tradition, and they create a sense of community and influence the way people behave in the South.

Another custom of the South is religion. Like family, community, and hospitality the Southern identity is strongly rooted in the presence of religion. Churches and their religious practices often play a significant role in Southern communities, influencing social behavior and shared values, while the Bible serves as a structuring text for literature written in or about the American South. Likewise, religion is an essential aspect of Southern literature, as it helps shape characters and their communities, influencing their morals and values, and addresses their questions about the meaning of life or their existence.

Literary works from the South explore the complex nature of characters’ personal relationships with faith and their association with religious practices; characters are often written to ponder over morality, inherent evil, redemption, and the search for meaning through their faith.

These works also often evaluate the contradictions between characters’ religious beliefs and their behavior. Hypocrisy within the Church, internal struggle, and challenging of one’s faith are all prevalent themes portrayed in Southern writing.

While Southern writers tend to acknowledge the complexities of behavioral expectations imposed on society, they also frequently explore tensions between old ways and new beginnings. These authors create characters who face challenges of evolving landscape

and cultural changes; they deal with shifting cultural norms and challenging the status quo.

A work of Southern literature that touches heavily on the idea of understanding and challenging tradition and societal norms in the American South is “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

This esteemed novel by Alabama native Harper Lee is an essential piece of literature that tells the legacy of the South. The novel exhibits many common themes of Southern literature and is set in a pre-Civil Rights era Deep South. The narrative considers the values of family, tradition, and humanity in the South while challenging deep prejudice and injustices of the time.

An important aspect of Lee’s perspective as a Southern writer is her ability to show an understanding for humanity amidst long-standing injustice and suffering; she does this in this novel through a tender-aged narrator. Lee expresses through her narrator’s comingof-age realizations that prejudice is learned behavior and societal norms are reinforced by each generation. The choice to use a child as a vessel of this perspective allows readers from any region of the U.S. or abroad to hear the voice of a new generation of Southerners, a voice that is willing to challenge injustice and uphold wholesome traditions.

Lee’s novel expansively explores social injustice, how it thrives and how it is fought, as it was in the Jim Crow South. Most written works to come out of the South address social justice as it applies to race, gender, and class.

These subjects are ingrained in many works of Southern literature’s greater meaning, as they often discuss disparities between different socioeconomic groups, genders, and races. Characters in these stories confront issues related to poverty, inequality, and social systems that prompt readers to reflect on the concept of justice, or lack thereof, within the society portrayed.

An excellent example of these elements working together to create an amusing, yet convicting, Southern narrative is Kathryn Stockett’s “The Help.” The novel paints the contrasting scene of a “picture-perfect” Southern society that masks the struggles of the working-class Black population in Jackson, Mississippi during the 1960s. The story follows African American housekeepers, or “the help,” as they maintain the homes of both White families and their own, and a young

aspiring writer who is disillusioned by the society in which she has grown up.

Stockett wrote, “Write about what disturbs you, particularly if it bothers no one else.” in this national best-seller. The authorial comment is rooted in her own perspective as a New York City writer who grew up in Jackson, Mississippi surrounded by the upheaval and societal unrest following the Civil Rights Movement in the Deep South.

Like other Southern literary works,“The Help” accounts the various roles members of a community play in instances of injustice, depicting acts of, resistance to, or complicity in it. Stockett’s characters also challenge the traditional notions of class, race, and gender and advocate for more inclusive and equitable understanding for others.

Not only does Stockett’s novel now stand as a Southern literary pillar for exhibiting class struggles in the American South, but it is also paving a path for contemporary Southern literature.

Decades have passed since Jackson, Mississippi’s society has reflected its portrayal in Stockett’s novel, but there is an importance of a contemporary Southern voice drawing on the city’s past. Her voice not only depicts a Deep South narrative to a new generation with modernday humor and perspective, but it also inserts ideals that exist in this region of the U.S. more prevalently than before, such as tolerance and acceptance of others. Hinrichsen shares that contemporary Southern literature is “rich and multifaceted in its stories, authors, and reckonings with the questions of history, community, and memory.”

A discussion on Southern literature is never complete without mentioning Nobel Prize winner William Faulkner. As arguably the most famous writer produced by the American South, he is remembered as a devoted Southerner who pondered the greater meaning in life and acknowledged a balance of societal change and preservation of Southern culture in his work.

Historically, the interconnectedness of family and community and the presence of religion influenced the way of life in the South, and the ideas of individualism and change were not yet associated with this region of the U.S. The generation of writers which Faulkner belonged to set a trend in Southern literature that

acknowledged Southern values while instilling these new ideals and discussing problematic realities.

Literature stands as a testament to the heart of the American South, offering its perspectives and values, as well as its more controversial realities, for many generations to consider. To Stanley, these stories give an idea of hope.

“I think hope is something that is best described as being aware of the problem first, because if you don’t know what the problem really is, how can you have hope for it to be resolved?,” he said.

Southern literature continues to contribute to national discussions on topics such as race, class, gender, societal change, and personal identity, adding another perspective to a conversation on an ever-changing American society. When literature from the South is acknowledged for how it contributes to the broader American culture, it can counter or create new perceptions on Southern culture as it exists today.

Through the lens of themes like family, community, tradition, race, class and religion, Southern writers have created narratives that resonate beyond geographical borders. The enduring legacy of the South shown in its literature reminds us of the power storytelling has to bring people together, foster understanding, and acknowledge the diversity of human experience.

The Flourishing Queer South

Adversity

By Emma Bracken Finding Community Despite

Nestled in the Ozarks, somewhere between Tornado Valley and the Deep South, is the small, but colorful community of Northwest Arkansas. At its center is the University of Arkansas, bringing in students from all over the world, but especially from the American South. Because of this, the city of Fayetteville is a unique blend of different Southern cultures, with a long, spirited history of its own.

An undeniable part of this history and remains today is the diverse, thriving queer community here in NWA. Oftentimes, the South is painted as a place for queer people to escape from, rather than a heritage they are proud of or feel connected to. However, for many Fayetteville residents and people all over the South, this is not the case.

Ashton Payne, a University of Arkansas student, wears vulnerability and passion for his community on his sleeve. As he sorts through the hardships and traumas of growing up queer in the South, he leaves room for appreciation and optimism. Despite everything, escaping the South is the least of his desires.

“I want to live in the South because the South has a very queer history, and I am a part of that. My relationship with the South is not a one-policy issue, it is a weaved tapestry of the good and the bad. I don’t want to leave the South because that lets them know they’ve won, and I need to let them know they haven’t,” Payne said.

When describing the experience of a minority group in the South of all places as “flourishing,” there is guaranteed to be some amount of confusion. For many of us living here, the South can feel like a trap in which our identities, personalities, and aspirations are suffocated. Particularly for minority groups, it can feel like dreams can only stretch so far before you hit a wall. People outside the region often disregard the South as a whole

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

in matters of social progression, giving it a sense of everlasting doom.

This leads people to be lax: to make peace with the fact that the Southern confines will never be escaped by the people they oppress. This belief is particularly easy to align with for those experiencing privilege or life in one of the more progressive parts of the country.

There’s a sort of “Why bother?” attitude attached to the South in particular when it comes to discussing change and progression for the country. It is rooted in this idea of the South as its own place with its own set of rules and expectations, born from the attempt at secession in the Civil War. While the rest of the country fought to remain united then, it seems that the lasting cultural separation has made people apathetic to the South in many ways. In the last few years of extreme political tension, it’s not uncommon to hear someone say that they wished the South would just break off and leave the rest of the country be, as they tried to in 1860. When we begin to isolate the region and reduce it to one brand of thought or set of values, a dangerous framework for oppression is supported.

What many people might be shocked to learn is that out of all of the regions in the U.S., the South actually has the largest queer population overall, accounting for about 35% of LGBTQ+ identifying Americans, according to UCLA’s Williams Institute of Law. The

visibility of this percentage varies across the region, with cities in Texas, Georgia, Louisiana, and Florida having much larger queer populations than states like Alabama, Mississippi, or even Arkansas. Rather than flee the region entirely, many queer people move to these safe spots, like Atlanta or New Orleans.

This is not to say, however, that queer people are not existing and living happily in these places as well. The South is not a monoculture– it is a large, complex, place ranging from the Ozarks and the Appalachians to the Gulf of Mexico and to the Atlantic coast. Many cultural identities live and breathe in this space, and within them is a vibrant and empowered population of queer people.

Though the South as a whole is still learning to uplift rather than muffle its queer voices, the effort is growing, particularly in cities and educational institutions that have the ability to incite real change across the region in years to come.

Being a town centered on learning and bringing together bright minds from around the world. Fayetteville is a foundation for this kind of change and visibility in Arkansas. The university even offers a few courses related to queer issues and history, including The Queer U.S. South taught by Dr. Arley Ward, and LGBTQ+ Histories taught by Dr. Marie Cathryn Totten.

“These topical courses teach you about yourself and the world around you in ways that are almost more

Photo by Lawrence Anca

important than the credit hours. It’s important to talk about it, and to create spaces on campus and in our own worlds to acknowledge those communities. Classes are such an important resource for that,” Totten said.

Totten shared that she is surprised each time she teaches this course about how little students know coming into it. Despite being eager, well educated in history, and many of them queer-identifying themselves, they’ve had almost no exposure to queer history, especially in the South. This lack of education on Southern queer history is what leads to its erasure.

“The biggest misconception about the Queer South is that it doesn’t exist,” Ward explained. “We try to erase queer people from history, society pretends they’re not there. But queer people have been essential to American history.”

Ward pointed out that there is a certain racial dynamic particular to the South when talking about queer culture, as both homophobia and racism have made a home for themselves here. Though not many of the more famous queer historical figures are from the South, their impact resounds in it largely. Many of the most notable queer figures such as Marsha P. Johnson, Bayard Rustin, and many of our great queer American writers were also Black. Similar to the queer population, the Black population in America is highly concentrated in the South. According to the 2010 U.S. census, over 50% of the Black population lives in the South. Though many of the figures whose names we remember are from other regions in the country, the communities that they represent largely reside here in the South.

The Williams Institute of Law also shared that 51% of Black LGBTQ+ individuals live in the South, creating a particularly complex dynamic between these histories that shapes the way people view the South. Other places in the country, such as the Northeast, Pacific Northwest, and Southeastern coast are accredited for being more accepting, enlightened, and supportive of LGBTQ+ people, which is not necessarily untrue. However, these regions lack the racial history and tension that the South experiences, with only 17% of the Black population living in the Northeast, and just 10% living in the West.

The skewed level of oppression, violence, and silencing experienced by Black LGBTQ+ individuals has entrapped the South in slower moving progression than other parts of the country. It seems to be easy for individuals on the outside to blame the southern region as a whole for homophobia, racism, and generally being stuck in the past, without remembering that the majority of people being affected by these things actually live here.

The South is an incredibly diverse melting pot, with influences blending across the coasts from Mexico and the Caribbean, the Midwest and Tornado Valley, and the Appalachians to the East Coast Beaches. While diversity allows for certain cultural practices to be swapped and shared between people, it also allows for individuals to find those who already align with their own.

All of this together has culminated in a love for community. We can see this communal support in racial and ethnic communities, close-knit small towns, religious groups, and the South’s maintaining of local dialects, such as Creole or Appalachian English.

This, of course, extends to the LGBTQ+ community as well. Community between queer people has been vital for survival and connection through many years of oppression, finding its footing in nightlife and creative spaces like music and art. In places where it feels the queer population is hard to see, these safe spaces must exist as a place for guidance, learning, and peace.

“It’s all about safety in numbers,” Ward shared, giving insight into why community is not just important but vital for queer people, especially those feeling alienated in parts of the South.

Totten explained that this is one of the principal factors in learning about queer history, even more so in the South. It’s not that queer people haven’t existed in these places, but whether the community has had to take on private spheres versus what is more public now.

“Cities in the Northeast have queer communities that were able to form much sooner than we see open communities in the South. So there’s more tradition, more history, more to connect to as a queer person in those spaces. You didn’t have those spaces the same way in the South for so long, so they don’t know that history yet. They didn’t know that they were there together,” Totten said.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

Whether you live in an urban city of the South, such as Atlanta or Dallas, you’ll likely have a different experience than in the more rural areas of the South. Many cities are somewhere in between, marked by the unique Southern quality of large populated cities with a spacious, small-town feel. Here, queerness can both fly under the radar or be celebrated, depending on a person’s individual experience. Growing up as a member of the LGBTQ+ community in Oklahoma, Ward explained, was not as controversial or dangerous as some might assume.

“You knew queer people, but it wasn’t a big deal,” he said. “It seems to have gotten more polarizing in a way.”

Sophie Reed, a student at the University of Arkansas from Florida, agreed with this potential misrepresentation of Southern hostility towards queer people.

“The South gets a bad rap when it comes to queer and trans people, but it isn’t all bad. People are unpredictable, so I believe the whole ‘live in this state, it loves gay people’ ideology isn’t necessarily true,” Reed said. “Northwest Arkansas is better than other parts of Arkansas, but there is still homophobia, just like there is anywhere. I believe the South will eventually become more accepting as a whole.”

People’s experiences definitely vary based on hometown, privilege, and family dynamics. Payne shared that in the

small Southern town that he grew up in, he rarely heard the word gay unless used derogatorily.

Despite significant progress in LGBTQ+ rights and acceptance over the last few decades, there has also been another more harmful shift in the cultural narrative towards queer people. Especially in the South, issues of sexuality and gender identity have become a largely political conversation more than one of identity. For some, queer and Southern identities cannot be mixed, or intrinsically erase one another. There is an idea that we must acclimate to Southern heteronormativity or leave the South behind us. Ward shared that in his research, what he found most surprising is the fact that this is far from the truth.

“Queer Southerners are super proud of their identity and their heritage,” he said. “For some that comes first, they’re Southerners who just happen to be queer.”

He noted Southern religiosity is not exclusive and that the cultural cast of the South falls over queer and straight people alike. Be that in connection to the church, or other shared values of the South such as focuses on hospitality, home-cooked meals, or close-knit families. The blending of Southern culture and the queer experience has fostered a flourishing community filled with pride and joy, despite the struggles that come with it.

“Bad people exist everywhere, there’s no avoiding it,” Reed said. “It’s important to surround yourself with good people, no matter which part of the world you’re openly gay in.”

The queer people of the South do not hide away, but have instead been host to several of the largest Pride celebrations in American history. Nearly every significant Southern city hosts its own Pride celebration; all the way from Oklahoma to Florida. Georgia, Texas, and Louisiana are home to some of the biggest Pride parades each June, with hundreds of thousands of attendees across the region coming together to share in joy and hard-earned liberty.

“Even though we are part of the South, that doesn’t mean we can’t also be queer,” Theavan Saitang, University of Arkansas student, shared. “There will

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

always be religious forces against LGBTQ+ people, but that doesn’t have to be the whole story. I’ve seen folks be openly gay and religious, very Southern and wearing a rainbow.”

Here in Northwest Arkansas, Fayetteville hosts its own pride parade each year bringing in thousands of locals and students together in celebration. Fayetteville’s first-ever pride parade was in 2004, and the size and grandeur of the event have grown with each year. This June will mark 20 years of Pride here in Fayetteville, but parades aren’t the only evidence of queer presence and significant history in Arkansas.

Arkansas is home to Miss Gay Arkansas, beginning in 1972, which became the predecessor to Miss Gay America and the oldest pageant-affiliated drag queen competition in the nation. Arkansas is no stranger to drag shows and communities, and we were even visited by “RuPaul’s Drag Race” star Latrice Royale in June 2019. The White River Valley area is home to the Ozark Land Holders Association (OLHA), an intentional community of lesbians and queer women living separately in a communal arrangement.

Even the University of Arkansas itself is no stranger to groundbreaking queer accomplishments and celebrations. In 1976, a subgroup of the Women’s Center at the university formed, calling themselves “Razordykes.” These women banded together to form a safe space to be out and discuss their shared experiences, but the group experienced pushback when the university didn’t want to fund them. Eventually, the student government was able to fund the Women’s Center, and some of that money was made available to the Razordykes and they were able to maintain their status on campus for a short amount of time. In the 1980s, the campus organization PRIDE (People Respecting Individual Differences and Equality) was formed and remains a part of the university today. The campus also now offers a variety of LGBTQ+ resources including Safe Zone Allies, LGBTQ+ mentoring, scholarship opportunities, and mental health services.

The University of Arkansas is not alone in sharing in queer history and providing resources for its students. Similar or even longer lists of resources, in cases such as the University of Alabama and Texas A&M. Queer resources such as a PFLAG chapter in the city or a university-sanctioned pride center are available at every other major SEC university. The powerhouse universities of the South have at last aligned themselves

Photo by Victoria Hernandez

with queer people, and are fostering a generation of the South educated in equality and understanding.

When teaching queer history, particularly to queeridentifying students, Totten found that students are hungry for the positive.

“They want to hear the stories of people who live in the South and want to stay in the South, who had queer communities,” Totten said.

While this change is positive, that doesn’t mean that queer Southerners live without pushback or endangerment. Queer politics have been twisted by some into a larger point of controversy than they have been in the past, even despite all of the progress that has been made. It seems that the pressure for queer acceptance on a legislative and enforced level rather than personal indifference has pressurized the issue. The South stands at somewhat of a threshold, tugging at itself in two directions; not just within the realm of queer politics but for the whole of our future. Rather than shy away from the South, queer people and allies need to open up conversations and bring the South with us in the search for equality.

“We’re here,” Ward emphasized. “And we always have been.”

This has always been the truth, but it is a truth that has acquired new agency. In a time where our future is uncertain, a lot of the focus of the backlash and controversy against queer acceptance is assigned to the South. While this is merited to some degree by the influence of religious and political ideologies, it negates the large and important population of queer people living and flourishing in the South despite the challenges presented to them. To leave the South behind, or lose hope in its ability to grow and become a more diverse, accepting place is to leave behind nearly one-third of the nation’s queer population.

“Some say we can just move if we really wanted, but too many of us can’t,” Saitang shared. “For them alone, the South is worth saving. Fighting for them, making safe spaces, giving them a hearth for a home that doesn’t provide them warmth: all of this gives them hope and something to live for.”

Leaving the South behind is not just a disservice to the queer youth there whose futures are being shaped by our words and our actions, but negligent to the existing beauty in the queer South. There is something incredibly powerful about a community with the ability to find jubilance and love through years of suffering and oppression, and to keep pride alive in a world that has battled against it. OOO

“We’re here,” Dr. Ward empahsized.

“And we always have been.”

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg

The setting sun melted over the magnolias. The evening was slow. Street lights flickered, nearing the brink of death. Rusted porch swings squeaked and groaned, aged by time and worn by use. My Arkansas town was still, but a blanket of heat radiated from the wet soil.

The town was established on stale historical tales, stripping it of progress. Everyone wondered where the bustling popularity of the mall had gone, which had been left to desecrate. Not even modernized coffee shops and crowded football games could galvanize the permanence of the quiet lifestyle.

“Everyone knows everyone” was typical. Whispers of small-town drama presented themselves in Facebook posts by bored moms—ones who haven’t left this town in ages, or by bored high schoolers crowded inside one stall in the bathrooms behind the stadium.

Boredom had become second nature.

The town thrived on rotted stories, passed through generations and misconstrued to fit into the web that attached us. Old schoolyard fights lived on.

My Arkansas Town

By Sydney Sengel

Saturday nights came with Sonic drinks and chatting in Walmart parking lots. We all sat around, waiting for something to happen. There was nothing to wait for.

Sunday mornings came with tending to the backyard’s tomatoes and listening to the pastor's sermon. We trained ourselves in small talk and the Lord’s Prayer.

The town was frozen in time.

Although these things existed, I found comfort in the steaming hot rocks beneath my feet at the swimming hole, the bugs that ate me alive, and the feeling of tight-knit neighborhoods. My yellow-stained kitchen paired nicely with an array of Southern cooking: honey over biscuits and tomatoes with salt. Dinner was strictly at 5 p.m.

We washed the backs of local businesses and praised the old diners. We shared old recipes from our great-great grandmothers and talked through the backyard fences that separated us.

The first taste of the holidays came with the sweet smells of cinnamon and orange. On January 1st, I ate black-eyed peas and collard greens for luck.

I was scolded for wearing white after Labor Day. My wrist was slapped for talking during church. I played in the cold sprinkler in my front yard. I had found my first four-leaf clover there. It now lives in dusty scrapbooks.

Memories of my upbringing are stitched into places other people wouldn’t glance at. The fight for the betterment of my hometown creeps in the back of my mind and I cherish its rawness. My heart beats with the rhythm of the muddy river and the comforting sound of cicadas.

I’ve recognized by my time away from my home, one that has bent me and shaped me, my Arkansas town is rough around its edges but soft at its center.

Photo by Anne-Elise Tidwell

Steel Magnolias

Celebrating Southern Women’s Strength, Growth, and Independence

By Alyssa Crutcher

Beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the majestic Southern pines, the captivating tale of women in the South unfolds like a treasured novel, each chapter adorned with the enduring imprints of tradition, resilience and advancement. From the elegant ladies gracefully savoring sweet tea on Victorian verandas to the fearless female pioneers reshaping the contemporary Southern skyline, women in the South have embarked on a journey to explore the evolution of the female experience across generations.

In a region where history lingers like the thickness of molasses and progress flows as gracefully as the Arkansas River, two women share the intricate narratives that define Southern womanhood, unveiling a tapestry that is both timeless and everevolving.

The South continues to grapple with the past winds of change during the Civil Rights Movement, in which a new generation of Southern belles emerged as catalysts for transformation. Breaking free from traditional roles, without losing the value completely, their voices echo with rebellion and a quest for equality, challenging stereotypes and reshaping the cultural landscape of Southern womanhood.

The allure of front porches and Sunday suppers seamlessly merged with digital communication and a global perspective. Embracing diversity, they championed causes with a far-reaching impact, reshaping the narrative of identity for a new era and redefining the essence of being a woman in the South.

Sandy Decker, 57, has lived in the South her entire life. She was born in Missouri and moved to Arkansas when she was about 6 years old, she said, and now lives in Manila, Arkansas.

Growing up in poverty, Decker’s formative years were deeply rooted in these traditional Southern values, providing her with a strong foundation built on the bonds of family. The importance of family became even more significant due to financial constraints.

Photos Courtesy of Tiffany Twidwell

Tiffany and Anthony Twidwell

“I actually think (growing up in poverty is) for the good,” Decker said. “I know how to make do, I have wisdom of experience in different areas of my life and I think I knew more than what probably most kids did from growing up poor. I just knew more things than I probably should have.”

Decker got married for the first time when she was just 15 years old, she said. This caused her to grow up faster than most other 15-year-olds. When she was 16, she gave birth to her first daughter.

Decker’s drive to get married young mostly revolved around her dad being an alcoholic, she said. This made her want to get out of the house.

Decker’s story reflects the intricate complexities of Southern culture. Seeking refuge from a challenging family situation, particularly with a father battling alcoholism, aligns with the Southern tradition of finding solace and stability within the institution of marriage and family.

“I don’t know that I loved my first husband, but you know, he was older than me,” Decker said. “So I just thought he was cool at the time.”

Three years later, Decker and her first husband got a divorce.

In the heart of Southern womanhood, Decker’s early marriage becomes a poignant reflection of the cultural nuances that shape the lives of Southern belles. In the South, where the fabric of society weaves tightly around family values, stability and security within a familial structure hold profound significance. For Decker, marriage at a tender age was not just a personal choice but a response to the challenging circumstances she faced, emblematic of the grit and determination synonymous with Southern women. This narrative taps into the deeper complexities of Southern womanhood, where navigating life’s hurdles often involves unconventional choices and an accelerated journey to maturity.

Decker’s story unveils the layers of Southern culture, where family dynamics, traditions and resilience intricately mold the experiences of women. In the South, the family unit is not just a mere structure but a cornerstone, and traditions play a pivotal role in guiding individuals through life’s twists and turns. The impact of Southern culture is profound, especially for those like Decker, who hail from economically-challenging backgrounds. It is a testament to the close-knit nature of Southern families, where resilience, resourcefulness and the collective ability to overcome obstacles paint a vivid portrait of Southern identity.

Beyond Decker’s personal odyssey, her journey resonates with broader themes woven into the Southern cultural 40

Photo courtesy of Tiffany Twidwell

tapestry. It highlights the interwoven threads of family interconnectedness, the resilient spirit forged in adversity, and the delicate balance between adhering to tradition and carving out one’s path. Her story encapsulates the unique resilience often attributed to Southern women — a strength that emerges from a cultural upbringing where facing challenges head-on is not just a choice, but an inherent part of the Southern character.

In a traditionally-Southern fashion, Decker feels strongly rooted in her values and made sure to instill those in her children, she said.

Decker’s daughter, Tiffany Twidwell, 41, has also lived in the South her whole life. She said she believes she was raised in a traditionally-Southern way. However, she feels her experience growing up was unique from her neighbors.

Twidwell’s parents divorced when she was 2 years old, so she spent her childhood going back and forth between her mom’s house and her dad’s. She recalled her mom and stepdad being more strict while her dad was more lenient.

In the intricate tapestry of Southern living, Tiffany Twidwell’s upbringing unfolds as a story of contrasts. The stark difference between her mom’s strict approach and her dad’s leniency introduces a layer of complexity to the Southern narrative, spotlighting the diverse dynamics found within those households. Tiffany’s experience reflects the nuanced interplay of values and parenting styles, showcasing that there is no one-size-fits-all model in the Southern sphere. This dichotomy between her parents’ approaches serves as a testament to the adaptability and individuality that Southern women gracefully navigate within the intricate dance of family life, demonstrating that the narrative is as diverse and multifaceted as the Southern women themselves.

Growing up, Twidwell thought her dad was more poor than her mom, so sometimes she felt like she had to go without, she said, but never felt like she did not have what she needed.

“If dad was struggling, my grandma, my aunts, they would always make sure I had what I needed… a Southern thing, where family pitches in and helps. They don’t leave you struggling,” Twidwell said.

In the pages of Twidwell’s upbringing, the story takes an intriguing turn from the stereotypical narrative of a traditional Southern household, marked by the divorce of her parents. However, what emerges is a testament to the enduring Southern spirit of support and community. Despite the challenges posed by family restructuring, the warmth and resilience inherent in Southern culture become evident. 41

Twidwell’s tale unfolds against a backdrop of unwavering support from grandparents, aunts, and other extended family members who actively ensure her well-being. This manifestation of a quintessential Southern trait captures the essence of a culture deeply committed to family, showcasing that even in non-conventional family structures, the Southern sense of solidarity remains steadfast.

The idea of the family unit showed on her mom’s side, too. Twidwell said her grandmother was a traditional grandmother in that she’d always express her pride in her granddaughter.

“I don’t know, differences between Northern and Southern,” Twidwell said, “but I feel like Southerners have that sweet hospitality. And we’re very welcoming and warm.”

The warmth, hospitality and welcoming nature that Twidwell attributes to Southern culture echo the traditional values deeply ingrained in the region.These are hallmarks of the Southern way of life.

Twidwell met her current husband in high school. They have been together since 1998 and married since 2004. Growing up the way she did taught her a lot about what she wanted her future to look like.

“Just having to be a child raised with a split family like that or a broken home, however you want to describe that, I did not want that for my child,” Twidwell said.

In the rich tapestry of Twidwell’s adulthood, her choices tell a compelling tale of resilience to forge a different path than the one she experienced in her fractured family upbringing. Through a long-standing marriage and a dedicated commitment to providing a stable home for her children, Twidwell is rewriting the narrative of her family’s history. Her journey echoes the strength that is synonymous with Southern women — an unwavering spirit that confronts adversity head-on. In striving to create a sense of stability

and unity within her household, Twidwell not only breaks the cycle of a fractured family but also embodies the enduring qualities that define Southern women in their pursuit of a steadfast and harmonious family life.

As for Twidwell’s son, who is 18, she made sure to instill her childhood values in him, as well. They grow a garden, have owned chickens and rabbits, and celebrate various holidays in the traditional way.

The commitment to preserving the essence of Twidwell’s Southern upbringing takes center stage in her life. The intergenerational transmission of values serves as a testament to the deep-rooted significance placed on family ties and the importance of preserving cherished traditions. Amid changing circumstances, Tiffany’s dedication shows the timeless nature of Southern culture, where the thread connecting family members and the reverence for traditions continue to be paramount.

The multi-generational tale of the two women provides a nuanced perspective on the evolving nature of Southern culture and the resilience that characterizes Southern women. Despite facing challenges such as the intricacies of navigating a split family, Decker’s and Twidwell’s experiences shed light on the shaping of Southern values.

In the grand tapestry of Southern womanhood, Decker and Twidwell’s stories resonate with broader themes, embodying the interwoven threads of family and the delicate balance between tradition and carving one’s path. Their experiences reflect the unique resilience synonymous with Southern women, who, through facing challenges, redefine and shape the cultural landscape of the South.

As the sun sets on the enchanting Southern landscape, the celebration of strength, growth and independence among Southern women remains an ongoing saga. The Steel Magnolias of the South, from elegant belles to fearless pioneers, continue to paint vibrant strokes on the canvas of Southern identity, crafting a narrative that is both timeless and ever-evolving. OOO

Photo by Menghan Zhang

Shame and Silence

The hidden struggles of women battling pelvic pain

By Dustin Staggs

Purity culture has an influence outside of religious circles, hurting the physical and mental well-being of evangelical women like Taylor Goff, whose journey from emotional trauma to being diagnosed with vulvodynia reveals the overlooked complexities of pelvic pain care.

Taylor Goff, 26, sits outside Trailside Coffee Company in Springdale, drinking her “Just Peachy” smoothie—words that could be used to describe Goff herself: just peachy.

The unseasonably warm February air makes it feel more like spring, with the temperature being 70 degrees outside. Engrossed in her work, Goff taps away on her laptop, as she organizes a women’s health panel event for her church.

From her bag, Goff retrieves two books that serve as her guides for researching and navigating the complex yet crucial topics often shrouded in silence. With an earnest smile, she hands me the first book, “Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life” by Emily Nagoski. The cover has a depiction of a woman’s open purse that coyly hints at its deeper meanings. Its sequel, “Come Together: The Science (and Art!) of Creating Lasting Sexual Connections,” follows suit, both delving into territories rarely discussed in religious circles. And yet, here Goff sits, ready to discuss what may be considered taboo with her religious peers.

At the office of her therapy clinic, similar books that dive into these topics fill her shelves. Since her grad school days, Goff has conducted extensive research on women who face pelvic pain and knows of numerous studies that show a correlation between that pain and evangelical Christianity.

While one in seven women in the United States is affected by chronic pelvic pain, Sheila Wray Gregoire, an author who has written countless books on Christian marriages and has done her own research on the faith’s effects, found that 22.6% of evangelical women reported pain from vaginismus or another form of dyspareunia.

Goff herself reflects this statistic after she was diagnosed in 2020 with vulvodynia, a type of long-term pain around the vulva.

While a majority of the studies and statistics online show the large number of women dealing with these physical conditions that affect their daily lives, the studies don’t account for all gender identities and could be higher.

A few days before I met with Goff, she had convened her second meeting with her own orchestrated pelvic pain therapy group. This therapy group focuses not only on the physical journey of pelvic pain but also the emotional toll of it, which marks a significant step in challenging social taboos about sex and addressing the often-overlooked struggles faced by women. The group is the first of its kind in Arkansas.

Growing up in a Southern Baptist household in Shreveport, Louisiana, Taylor Goff’s upbringing was marked by the pressures of conformity and the weight of unrealistic expectations. Subjected to emotional abuse by those meant to protect her, Goff said she found herself in a constant battle to assert her identity and protect her younger siblings from the same fate.

“You’re not even worth hitting,” echoes the haunting voice of her parental figure.

Still, beneath the wounds of cruel words, there is a deeper, more insidious impact—one that stretches beyond emotional suffering and into physical health.

Indeed, research indicates that the effects of emotional abuse and persistent stress can show as a wide range of physical symptoms, including but not limited to chronic pain issues such as pelvic discomfort. Many people face emotional trauma at some time in their life. While we typically think of trauma as a mental or emotional condition, it may also appear physically in the body. Statistics show that the stress from the emotional trauma can be stored in the pelvic floor.

Photo by Anne-Elise Tidwell

Photo illustration by Sarah Wittenburg

However, that adversity Goff faced in her upbringing only drove her to help other children growing up in similar environments. Mandated therapy sessions during her parents’ divorce left her disillusioned with a system that seemed to diagnose without truly understanding or helping. Fueled by her own traumatic experiences, Goff went on to pursue a degree in psychology at Harding University to be a child therapist, determined to be the advocate she never had.

“I’ve gone through all of this chaos,” she reflects, “and I’d love to help people feel less alone and not just a diagnosis.” Her path seemed clear, focused on early prevention and guiding young minds through the maze of emotional turmoil.

Goff, through all her trials, also found solace in her relationship with Judah Goff, whom she met the second day of English class her freshman year of high school and later married in 2019. “Thank goodness for assigned seating,” she said.

Both being raised with similar religious ideologies, Taylor and Judah continued their spiritual journey through their years at Harding University, a private, residential coeducational liberal arts university affiliated with the Church of Christ, adhering to their beliefs and saving themselves for marriage.

In Goff’s religious upbringing, sex was rarely discussed, and if ever brought up, it was a concept filled with fear and negative connotations. Goff was constantly pressured and ridiculed by her parental figures with the idea that she would become a high school dropout and teen mom. Yet, the adults in her life scrutinizing her never went as far to discuss sex education. It was only when Goff got married that she had to look up on the internet where condoms were located.

However, amidst the joy of planning their wedding during Goff’s junior year of college, tragedy struck with the death of her father. What was meant to be a moment of celebration became one also enveloped in mourning.

Their shared journey took another unexpected turn shortly after they were married.

Intimacy became a battleground; each attempt at the consummation of their marriage for a week was marred by excruciating pain for Goff—a pain she describes as akin to hitting a wall or enduring a tear deep within.

Three months in, Goff confided in her first gynecologist to find the root of this constant pain, who chalked it up to stress and her waiting till the age of 21 to have sex. The doctor prescribed her the recommendation of drinking wine and to just relax.

It wasn’t until the Goffs relocated to Bentonville in April 2020 and consulted a new gynecologist in November that the gravity of Goff’s condition was finally acknowledged.

During the examination, the mere touch of the swab test to find trigger points of the pain evoked instantaneous tears from Goff. The gynecologist then diagnosed her with vulvodynia.

Sarah Grace M., 23, also a woman who grew up Southern Baptist, was diagnosed with vaginismus, which mirrors Goff’s journey of a struggle to find an understanding of her condition.

From a young age, Sarah Grace had struggled with pelvic issues, enduring the excruciating pain of ovarian cysts that plagued her adolescence. The journey into womanhood was blighted by obstacles, from the inability to use tampons to the agonizing discomfort of gynecological exams. Yet, her concerns were often dismissed, emblematic of a broader societal narrative that expects women to endure pain silently under the guise of resilience.

“I feel like it’s very common for gynecologists and women’s health physicians to not exactly listen to your concerns because women are expected to just be able to deal with pain because we go through childbirth and we have periods and all these things,” Sarah Grace said. “And so it’s almost always been dismissed.”

Marie, 27, grew up in a non-denominational Christian household in Nebraska and was diagnosed with vestibulodynia.

Similar to Sarah Grace who has chosen to keep her last name anonymous, Marie isn’t her real name. Despite the frequency of pelvic pain issues among women, a lack of awareness and discussion contributes to a culture of silence and isolation. Their anonymity is a sad reminder of the critical need for destigmatization and open communication about pelvic pain issues.

Like similar women in her position, Marie grew up in a purity culture and waited until they were married to have sex. It was after a month of experiencing pain, which she describes as being stabbed repeatedly over and over with a knife that was on fire, that she went to see her primary physician to be referred to a gynecologist. Her appointment wasn’t until three months later.

Because Marie had heard that the beginning of sexual intimacy was a painful act for women, she thought the excruciating pain might have been normal at first. Marie too struggled with her early years of using tampons and thought the painful endurance was one every woman encountered. Like Sarah Grace, she didn’t even think it was a pain that would need consultation.

With these studies showing that evangelical women under 40 had a 22% incidence of chronic pelvic pain, far greater than

the overall population, which was estimated to be between 1 and 17% as recently as 2020, we have to wonder: why is the number so much higher for this community of women? With our knowledge of how stress affects the pelvic floor, how much stress is being placed within the confines of our holy buildings?

For individuals raised in evangelical communities, it begins to become clear that the messaging of purity culture may have unintentionally contributed to the prevalence of chronic pelvic pain among young women. The emphasis on maintaining sexual purity as well as the connection of sexual identity with spiritual identity in evangelical doctrines created a society filled with anxiety and confusion about identity. This anxiety and the obligation to maintain a strict ideal of purity frequently became all-consuming, leaving little opportunity for a healthy exploration of one’s sexuality within the confines of faith.

While many well-meaning members of the Christian community attempt to transmit these lessons in hopes of protecting young women, the unintended effects result in a suffocating environment in which young women feel even more alienated and vulnerable. The gap between intent and outcome highlight the difficulty of addressing these delicate problems in religious contexts. Society’s lack of conversation surrounding sexual topics and complications such as these only contribute to this outcome.

After being diagnosed with vulvodynia, Taylor Goff began the only solution she could to navigate the pain: pelvic floor physical therapy.

The process, which helps train the vaginal canal to alleviate the pain, was an isolating one for Goff, as it is for most women.

Sarah Grace M. also found the process of pelvic pain therapy to be an isolating one that was hard to maintain as an option to address her condition of vaginismus.

“Doing pelvic floor therapy, it’s kind of like a giant circle of being in pain and trying to get your body used to it,” Sarah Grace said.

Vaginismus, characterized by frequent spasms and tightening of muscles beyond the vaginal canal, necessitates techniques like dilators and internal stretching in pelvic floor therapy to alleviate discomfort and teach the body to tolerate it.

Going to physical therapy, Sarah Grace did find the people at the clinic to be nice and helpful with her condition. However, with her insurance only covering a certain amount of her

sessions and her busy schedule as a nursing student, she wasn’t able to keep up with the treatment.

While the treatment can be helpful for some conditions, especially with women after they give birth and helping with incontinence with older women, Sarah Grace said the demands of it weren’t peaceful for her as a college student.

Hannah Bohl, a pelvic floor physical therapist based in Bentonville, offers a perspective on the physical aspect of women’s journey, particularly those navigating pelvic pain and related conditions within her nine years of practice.

In physical therapy, Bohl focuses not only on the treatment of muscular issues but also the recalibration of the nervous system to adapt to stressors, along with retraining breathing patterns to support pelvic floor function.

The pelvic floor needs to be able to support, Bohl said. It needs to be a sump pump, as she calls it, because the pelvic floor helps carry fluid from the lower half of the body up. It’s a stabilization, Bohl explains. The pelvic floor helps attenuate all of the forces from the top to the bottom of our body.

Bohl also works with pelvic pain incontinence, postpartum, antepartum, and people who have gut disorders, such as irritable bowel syndrome. While physical therapy can’t necessarily change the systemic issues, it can change how the body adapts to them.

Knowing that it’s more than a physical component for these women to address, it becomes clear that addressing the emotional aspect of pelvic pain management is also critical for overall healing. While physical treatment focuses on muscle difficulties and pelvic floor function, Bohl also highlights the importance of mental health therapy in women’s journey to overcome chronic pelvic pain.

Talk therapy with a psychologist or psychiatrist can be beneficial for those dealing with pelvic pain, since it provides complete care for both the body and the mind. Cognitive behavioral therapy, a kind of talk therapy, is especially effective since it focuses on identifying and addressing harmful thought patterns, thus encouraging a healthy mentality.

“I recommend that every woman who has chronic pelvic pain, or really even chronic in a sense of older than a month, have a mental health therapist on their team, because it is so impactful and it is such a part of a woman’s identity,” Bohl said.

Mental health professionals and talk therapy relieves stress by helping create a secure environment for women to recover and cope with the emotional elements of their pain.

Bohl compares the necessity to a game of baseball, saying, “It

almost be like a center fielder not having a right fielder or a left fielder. You just can’t do it, you can’t have a full out field if you’re missing team members.”

Despite the persistence in pursuing a natural method of pain relief, Marie reached a breaking point by the end of the year, feeling unable to cope with the solution of expensive numbing agents and dilators any longer.

In the majority of women’s cases, born with these diagnoses rather than developed from birth control and other secondary factors, surgery becomes the only viable treatment option. Grateful that her physician recommended surgery as a last resort, Marie decided to proceed with the procedure after exhausting all other avenues without success.

Two years after her diagnosis, Marie had a vestibulectomy, which surgically removed the painful tissue around the vulva. While the recovery and down time for her was extensive, Marie said the results were helpful. She said her condition is less sensitive without the tissue but she still suffers from limited pain and it’s more from the muscles contracting in preparation for potential pain.

“My pathology report came back and it said that there was evidence of chronic inflammation,” Marie said. “Which for me was just kind of a validation of I did the right thing.”

On the battlefield of intimacy, both partners in the relationship are affected. There are even stories online of husbands leaving their wives because of their inability to engage in sexual intimacy, Goff tells me.

But for Taylor and Judah Goff, both coming from a place of hurt and wanting to find solutions, they sought a marriage counselor to help navigate the conversations that needed to be had.

Judah admits to feeling like he wasn’t as supportive as he could have been for Taylor in the beginning.

“I just wouldn’t have the mental capacity to really understand. I don’t know why,” Judah said. “A lot of the times that’s something that kind of goes with the purity culture is just like men, you aren’t taught to have feelings or to have emotions, or anything like that. It’s just like, you can be angry or horny, and that’s it.”

Judah says it was a process of coming to terms with Taylor’s situation and understanding how to talk about it.

The Department of Rehabilitation Science and Health Technology Oslo Metropolitan University in Oslo, Norway, conducted a study in 2023 on heterosexual couples with vulvodynia. They concluded that couples with vulvodynia have difficulty communicating with their spouses, health providers, and their social networks. This reinforces avoidance and endurance behavior, causing pain and dysfunction over time, along with instilling emotions of helplessness and loneliness. In couples with vulvodynia, social expectations about male and female sexuality lead to feelings of guilt and humiliation for both partners.

Their findings suggested that heterosexual couples living with vulvodynia, as well as health professionals treating them, should be assisted in communicating more effectively in order to break the cycle of detrimental avoidance.

“If you’ve been shamed to talk about sex, then how is that switch supposed to flip once you start having sex?” Taylor Goff said. “There’s no magic switch. But also, if you’ve been shamed for even asking for full sex education, why would you ask your doctor? Why would you ask a parent? Why would you ask a friend?”

Before her surgery, Marie’s journey through the challenges of her condition reflects an emotional and psychological toll on both herself and her husband. The early months of their marriage, with the inability to consummate their relationship, Marie plunged into a deep sense of despair and self-blame.

Marie said she categorizes those first four months as the worst months of her life. Being a state away from family who probably still wouldn’t have been able to comprehend their

Photo courtesy of Taylor Goff

issue, and even the newlyweds they knew weren’t dealing with similar issues, Marie and her husband felt alone in their pain. During these trialing four months, she said she grappled with suicidal thoughts, feeling as though she had trapped her husband in a marriage devoid of the intimacy they both yearned for.

“I got so close as to grabbing a bottle of pills and debated taking them,” Marie said. “Because I was just so alone, and I felt so ashamed of my body not working, of not being able to have that part of the relationship with my husband that we both had looked forward to and we know is supposed to be this beautiful, wonderful thing. And it’s not.”

Feeling this tremendous guilt, Marie constantly asked herself what was wrong with her body. She felt that her husband would be better off without her, and death was that option. Getting her diagnosis came as a relief to Marie, making her feel certain that it was something out of her control and nothing she was doing to herself, and that there were others who faced the same struggle. She said it still took personal therapy to put in the work of building up her self-worth and working through those feelings.

Marie said that her husband unintentionally also put a lot of pressure on her, especially after the diagnosis and receiving their forms of treatment.

As their therapist puts it, Marie’s husband took on a “taskmaster” role and was reminding Marie of all things she alone should be doing because of her diagnosis, such as using her dilators and creams. This kind of demand only contributes to the kind of isolation Marie felt with her diagnosis.

The lack of open dialogue and societal awareness surrounding sexual health, especially in religious circles, further compounded their struggles, highlighting the urgent need for comprehensive sex education and communication tools for both men and women. Most men, similar to Judah Goff and Marie’s husband, have never been taught about these kinds of situations in our sex education and don’t have the tools to discuss them.

Marie said her husband would sometimes try not to assert that mentally-damaging pressure but would therefore bottle up those feelings. Another issue men in our society are still learning how to handle.

“But then that often led to him having those feelings kind of exploding out at different times,” Marie said. “Most of our arguments, if they would not start off about intimacy or sex, but then they would always lead to intimacy or sex because those feelings were still there. He just didn’t want to express them because he knows how hard it is for me.”

Similar to Taylor and Judah, Marie and her husband found couples therapy to be a solution to healthily navigating these conversations of intimacy.

Going into graduate school, Goff began to deviate from courses geared towards child therapy and started taking more sexual health courses and training later after graduating. While attending Harding University, Goff also trial ran her first pelvic-pain group.

In a paper for her group therapy class, Goff wrote, “The function of this group is to provide a safe and confidential environment where people with vulvovaginal pain and pelvic floor dysfunction can thrive without feeling isolated.”

The group’s needs were to experience a sense of community and to feel as if they were no longer alone in their pain. While the lack of conversation in our society may make them feel alone in their pain, there are countless others with similar experiences.

Today, Goff continues to explore the connection between mental health and pelvic pain with her six-week curriculum. With her available space, she is only able to have group therapy with four women at a time per week and hopes to eventually find a larger space to help more women with her pelvic pain group.

This fall, Goff will start her Ph.D. in Clinical Sexology at the International Institute of Clinical Sexology.

The Goffs continue their relationship with the church, and even though Taylor said it’s taken a lot of deconstruction and changing to a Lutheran denomination, she feels she’s found a safe space within her current church where she’s able to discuss topics such as these. During her panel at her Christian women’s health conference, the “Wonderfully Made Symposium,” she plans to discuss similar sexual topics and how to navigate conversations about relationships with partners.

The motto of Goff’s church is “change church,” because Goff said church shouldn’t look the same as it did in her childhood and should never look the same from week to week. Goff finds that the church she goes to now doesn’t chalk up the complexities of life to being taboo, but rather discussions to be had together.

Goff explains how, when you’ve conditioned your life within the church, it’s natural for the body to protect itself with the messages you’ve heard. While some people are born with these pelvic conditions, our society reflects the inability of people to have these conversations around them.

“If you’re taught to never talk about sex, you’re never taught to talk about issues with sex,” Goff said. “So when something’s wrong, who do you turn to?” OOO