Managing the changes COVID has forced on her workplace and providing students with the support they need has been a challenge this year, said Boyung Lee, senior vice president of Academic Affairs at Iliff School of Theology. Moving through the world as a Korean American woman has been even scarier. 

“I don't feel safe to be outside by myself,” Lee said.

Last May, while out for a late afternoon walk alone in her neighborhood, a man in a truck waving a dirty and ripped American flag drove up to her and started to yell anti-Chinese racial slurs. She tried to avoid him but he kept following until she ran between two homes and hid in someone’s backyard.

“I have experienced a lot of subtle microaggressions all the time, in my entire life in the United States, but nothing like that,” she said. “It has not been easy for my both spiritual health and mental health and physical health.”

Now she only goes for walks or hikes if she’s accompanied by a friend or colleague. It’s her strong network of friends, especially, she said, other Asian American feminists, that have helped her through the year. She also prays and finds peace through stretching and meditation. Cooking Doenjang Jjigae and Siraegi Jjim, two traditional Korean dishes, has also helped her cope.

“When I need my mom's hug, I tend to make very slowly simmered green vegetables with a very soft meat with a spoonful of bean paste.”

After reading Henderson’s poem, Lee wants people to remain open to their community — to check in with one another and come together, even if it’s remotely. And to build solidarity with people of other backgrounds and beliefs.

“We can never build our own community’s justice at the cost of somebody else's,” she said. “I hope people see the humanity of every person.”

What has it been like working in health care for the last year? For Kelly Milliman, a nurse at Children’s Hospital in Denver, it’s hard to describe. Workers like herself weren’t dealing with beds at capacity since the coronavirus didn’t affect children the same way it does adults. Because of that, some staff members have shuffled around to different departments to help with other shortages, which created a sense of unease. 

“Feelings of ‘Is this ever going to end?’’' Milliman said. “Feelings of alienation even that the other nurses in our community were experiencing at the adult hospitals. In a sense, we felt hopeless.”

Early on in the pandemic, Milliman felt like people grew apart and away from the idea that communities should take care of one another. As vaccines rolled out, though, she’s felt a new sense of hope. It’s a renewal that has only gone so far. She still feels a sense of defeat when it comes to gun violence and a lack of mental health resources.

“It's just the same old story again and again. And when I hear people say, ‘We're sending our thoughts and prayers to the families of the victims,’ I just want to scream out loud. That just rings hollow,” Milliman said. 

“But then again, I see the community pulling together. I see people pouring in to help those family members of the victims in Boulder and that does bring comfort knowing that we haven’t given up on that.” 

The resiliency she’s seen in herself, her friends and family, and in the community, given the amount of stress and fatigue people are under, has inspired her, too.

Self-care has become more precious to her now than before. She likes to get outside and go for walks with her husband and friends. It gives her time to make personal connections but also a way to appreciate the beauty of Colorado.

Chocolate has also helped, Milliman added. 

“We’re all in this together,” she said after reading Henderson’s poem. “When it's all said and done, we are all Americans and we all live on planet Earth. As a human race, I hope we can all find some common ground.”

Amy Brown, like others, has had to pivot in ways she never anticipated or wanted. She is a co-founder of Black Lives Matter 5280. 

“The past year has been horrible. The past year has been horrible for BLM 5280, which is indicative of how it has been for Black people and our larger community,” Brown said.

Black people have disproportionately been affected by the coronavirus pandemic with higher infection and death rates. They’ve also been fighting for racial justice while bearing the trauma of witnessing more violent deaths of other Black men and women at the hands of police. That movement — and last year’s presidential election — laid bare how racially divided much of the country remains.

Brown’s community has survived by finding new ways to connect. They created a space on their Instagram called the Rage and Resilience Hour. It gave people a chance to spend time with one another, learn new tools, be affirmed in their anger and find time for reflection. 

Watching Verzuz battles together online also helped. The online series started last March during the pandemic as a virtual battle between artists that streamed on Instagram Live.

“The Brandy and Monica one was an epic night for the women at 5280,” Brown said with a laugh as she remembered them watching the battle altogether virtually through Instagram. “Finding new avenues and platforms to be together, to laugh, cry, scream, just be human.”

Brown said she continues to ask herself “why” and what the purpose of her work is in times of strife. Each time she comes back to her daughter. 

After reading Henderson’s poem, she wants people to know that for historically marginalized communities, relying on one another is the one thing that has gotten people through difficult times in the past, and is getting them through now. 

“I hope that we can remind ourselves and each other that we are our source of connection, the importance that our community plays in sustaining ourselves and each other.”