The Realized: A Brief Trip to Colonial Williamsburg and the College of William and Mary

I’ve been trying to garner the relevance of this post for two weeks now. I returned to Colonial Williamsburg after my daughter’s gymnastics meet in Virginia Beach recently. I say returned, because I attended the College of William and Mary for a year and a half, transferring out after my third semester. I’m realizing the irony of trying to make peace with my own past while visiting a place that grapples with that challenge daily.

We flew through a few of the historical buildings: the tailor, a garden, the woodworker, the shoemaker, the apothecary, and of course the bakery store. With my 7-year-old son, my 9-year-old nephew, my 16-year-old daughter, and my Mom, there wasn’t a whole lot of time to cover more than a sampling. I enjoyed seeing the vignettes of objects made by hand and tradespeople, the glimpses of daily living frozen in time as can be seen in the photos below. We ran through a bit of the campus and drove past fields where I practiced and played collegiate field hockey, the dormitory and caf (dining hall) from my first year, and the Sunken Garden, the memorable open space that seems to bridge the new with the old. Colonial Williamsburg lies mere strides to the East.

It was my second time returning since I left 32 years ago. And the first time where I could remember experiences of being there without the weight of the darkness that drove me to leave (I lived in a basement dorm room for chrissakes!). I recalled jogging down the cobblestones on the Duke of Gloucester Street in Colonial Williamsburg. I remembered fields where I was a collegiate field hockey athlete. Paths I took to the many hours spent studying at Swem Library. And the frat houses where I attended a party or two.

For the first time, I understood a compassion for myself that was never fully realized. We do what we have to do in order to survive. All of us in our myriad ways. I felt personal shame for leaving such a fine educational institution, and feeling like a failure for not being able to hack it; schoolwork, the sport I loved, and the high school sweetheart who joined me there. But I felt a shift to celebrate the ways in which my younger self was learning to support her deepest self, and learning to find her voice. I celebrated my bravery in going against the grain (march to my own tune as I’ve heard many a time). That too is a strength! And I felt gratitude for having the opportunity of going there in the first place, the darkest hours included. It is where I met my lifelong friend, Ashley, whom I count as a sister today. She was a big pull in my move to New York City nine years later. It is here where I met my husband with whom I share this parenting gift.

Both the college and Colonial Williamsburg are reckoning with stained histories. The college enslaved 199 people over a period of 172 years and the Williamsburg of colonial times was built and maintained by the hands of enslaved people. In both cases, those histories have been largely whitewashed. But on May 4, 2023, the College of William and Mary formally dedicated, Hearth: Memorial to the Enslaved, to memorialize those enslaved people who were forced to build and maintain the college, and who also accompanied attending students as their servants. And Colonial Williamsburg is undergoing extensive research and reconstructive adjustments to retell a more accurate and inclusive story, to include offerings of Black, Native American and LGBTQA+ histories (here’s an article detailing this current examining).

Understanding our past is an important step. With examination we can give voice to the painful truths. And we can tell stories of bravery and courage. It is important and necessary if we are to heal, both individually and collectively. It is through understanding the unrealized that we can fully appreciate the realized. Let us work together to learn the whole catalogue of stories, for us all. Where there is inclusion and acknowledgement of pain there is hope for healing, no matter how much time has passed.The molasses cookies taste like I remember.iPhone snaps Beth Horta for Sweet Sabelle.