I have a learning disability. It feels like I’m entering the nonsensical world of Wonderland when I try to get my school to understand that.

I shadowed at Lincoln High School in eighth grade, and what I saw in six hours challenged my entire perception of Silicon Valley.

How many other teenagers around the state of Florida, around the country, shared my bitterness and anger, but didn’t have the tools to be where I was then?

What does it mean to live in a country that purports secularity but considers Christianity to be the default?

I always knew my name was about to be called when a teacher announced with an almost mocking grin, “I know I’m gonna butcher this one…”

We were at a school open mic about gun control in the weeks following the Marjory Stoneman Douglas shooting.

When I was in third grade, my teacher asked me to tell my class about the Jewish New Year.

Forming strong opinions is easier said than done, and for me, the exercise of writing helps me get there.

I love butterflies because, to me, butterflies represent freedom and bliss.

I never, ever imagined that I would be sexually harassed. I thought that my environment was safe, and that I was doing everything I could to keep myself safe.

The boys in my class created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Their worry over claiming a title because of their lack of action made it impossible for them to take action in the first place.

I was weird for being strong. “Weird” because physical strength is not often an attribute associated with women.

We’ve questioned the way sex ed is taught and brainstormed new methods health teachers should be using.

With the #MeToo and Time’s Up movements on the rise, I knew I wanted to deal with the issue of sexual violence.

I worked with a few of my peers to found the Actors’ Helping Alliance. Every season we pick a charity to partner with whose mission is connected to central themes in the show we’re performing.

In my year and two months as a gun control activist, this type of conversation has been a common occurrence.

In between the mutters of “slut” thrown out like gut punches, the message was clear. They were making rape jokes.

Women of the World was the club where I could talk about issues I really cared about, such as sexism and the wage gap.

Every year, my high school hosts a Social Justice Week, and this year, I’m the primary organizer.

Sometimes, we unintentionally challenge the way others think. This prompts dialogue, which is essential for creating change.

Until last year, when the club was first started, we didn’t have a GSA; we also don’t have any LGBTQ+ books, and students aren't aware of staff who are trained in LGBTQ+ inclusivity.

This education system, this one-sided method of teaching, this constant competition, is not working.

The first step the female athletic community can take towards fostering healthier norms is to share stories collectively, to address a pain that is all too common.

In my opinion, the fall of DACA should have warranted the same amount of coverage in school as the increasingly frequent mass shootings happening in this country.

As word spread about what we were trying to do, a number of students told us they were in support of a GSA and would definitely participate if we succeeded in creating it.