Queering the Back-to-School Ritual: Bringing Your Whole Self to Campus
a row of very sharpened pencils recede into the background on a wooden desk
September has always carried a particular kind of magic for me. It’s the season of new notebooks and sharpened pencils, yes, but also of shifting light, cooling evenings, and the reminder that we are entering a new earth cycle. As a queer feminist witch and social worker who’s also a professor of women’s, gender, and sexuality studies, I’ve always thought of this time as an opportunity for renewal, an invitation to step into the semester with intention.
But heading back to campus each fall is, for me, always both exciting and complicated. I love reconnecting with students and colleagues and starting fresh conversations about how we can change the world. But I also carry the familiar question:
How much of myself can I safely bring into these spaces?
Will I have to brace against microaggressions or silence some of my most important parts, especially as pressure, threats, and sometimes outright violence from white supremacists, transantagonists, and misogynists increases?
I hear those same questions echoed by BIPOC, feminist, queer and trans students, staff, and faculty alike. Returning to campus can be a season of joy, but also of tension. It helps to have practices that ground us in our own power—our own unique magic—while moving through it.
Here are a few practices that I return to over and over again:
Find your people.
Whether it’s a queer student group, a trusted friend, or an off-campus community, seek out the folks who help you feel rooted. And if you can’t find the group you need, think about creating one of your own! Connection is a kind of spell, and it’s required to keep us strong. Here are some ideas:
Go to a meeting of a queer student group or collective.
Text a trusted friend before or after a long day.
Seek out mentors who share your identities or values.
Start a group text chat to swap memes, resources, or just vent safely.
Create rituals of care.
Light a candle before you head to campus, carry a crystal in your pocket, journal or make art between classes, or make a playlist that reminds you of your people. These small rituals are grounding charms for the day ahead. Muslim feminist theorist Sara Ahmed has inspired the notion of a feminist killjoy survival kit. What’s in yours?
Celebrate queer joy.
Joy itself is resistance. Laughter with friends, a professor who sees you, or a moment of feeling fully at home in your skin are the sparks worth tending. Here are just a few ideas:
Laugh with friends over a good meal.
Wear the clothes, nail polish, or makeup that make you feel your most fabulous unicorn self.
Create playlists, art, or TikToks that celebrate your community.
Notice and savour even fleeting moments of safety and affirmation.
Use your privileges with intention.
Some of us carry protections others don’t. I’m a cis white settler who’s a senior faculty member, so I can use these privileges in co-conspiracy with folks who don’t have the same or as many privileges as I do on campus. (For a primer on privilege, how it operates, and more ideas for how to use it in the service of your community(ies), check out Everyday Feminism’s guide: https://everydayfeminism.com/2014/09/what-is-privilege/ )
Privilege isn’t something to feel guilty about. Rather, it’s something each of us can and must wield in service of collective thriving. This can look like:
Speaking up when someone is misgendered, so the burden doesn’t always fall on trans students.
Naming racism, sexism, colonialism, or ableism, etc. when it’s ignored in class or meetings.
Redirecting airtime so marginalized peers aren’t silenced.
Sharing information about scholarships, jobs, or mentorships that you hear about first.
Using your credibility with faculty or administrators to amplify concerns raised by others.
Protect your energy.
Know the importance of boundaries. You don’t need to spend your energy on every debate or every curious question. “No” is a complete sentence, and walking away is powerful. You have the option to:
Decide not to engage in every classroom debate.
Leave conversations that drain or invalidate you.
Set limits on how often you explain pronouns or correct others.
Block or mute online spaces that chip away at your wellbeing.
Understand rest as resistance.
Nature is a good teacher here: trees draw their energy inward before they burst into new leaves, the soil lies fallow before it can nourish growth, and daylight itself shifts with the seasons. Even most of our four-legged friends hibernate!
Rest is part of that cycle. It isn’t laziness. It’s a radical refusal to be consumed by a capitalist system that expects us to overwork and overperform. It’s a form of resistance in a settler colonial culture that demands constant productivity. Like the earth, we need times of stillness and renewal to sustain our growth. Here are a few suggestions:
Find a couch, and take a nap in between classes.
Block off at least one day a week just for rest or fun.
Log off when your body says stop, even if your to-do list says otherwise.
Remind yourself that sleep, play, and downtime are integral parts of thriving, not optional extras.
There’s an irony in the academic calendar: just as campuses ramp up with lectures, deadlines, and meetings, the earth itself begins to slow down. Leaves turn, light shifts, and trees prepare to release and rest. This contrast is sharp, but even sharper when we situate it in the broader social context. BIPOC and queer students, faculty, and staff are navigating a moment in which anti-2SLGBTQ+, anti-feminist, and authoritarian forces are on the rise. The pressure to perform, produce, and “keep up” is not neutral; it comes layered on top of real threats and worsening social inequities.
That’s part of why heading back to campus isn’t just about assignments and deadlines and surviving the semester; it’s about cultivating practices that keep us whole and help us thrive in the longterm.
So, if you’re finding this season heavy, know that you’re not alone. Reaching out for support is not weakness; it’s an important way of tending your own fire. We here at Our Landing Place are here to walk alongside you. We believe in care that honours your wholeness, your resilience, and your right to live authentically. This fall, may you step onto campus with your books, your courage, and your whole self.
About the Author:
Kimberly A. Williams, Phd, MSW, RSW
Kimberly Williams is one of Our Landing Place’s Counselling Externs and was with us as an intern previously! She is also an instructor, so she knows all about the cycles of school years. As a clinician, Kim likes to focus on exploring and celebrating identity/ies, significant life transitions, burnout and overwork, navigating challenges resulting from privilege, power, and systemic oppression, and women’s issues!
If you’d like to learn more or book a free consultation, check out her bio here.
