Over the past few years, as I’ve divided my time between West Virginia and New York City — coming full circle and settling (at least for the foreseeable future) in the city — what surprised me most was the lack of support from West Virginians. And even though I’ve lived in West Virginia since I was 11, I’ve never been seen as a native West Virginian.

This truth is acknowledged by anyone who is labeled a transplant. And there we go again: labeling. Will it ever end? Straight. Gay. Trans. Black. White. Asian. Hispanic. Young. Old. Native. Transplant.

It’s interesting how we can, effortlessly, identify what divides us, whether in New York or in West Virginia, instead of what binds us one to the other in the hope that together we can heal what has been broken, whether it’s our hearts, our wo

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