Blood-Red America: A November 6th Story

I tried to stay awake for as long as I could, but I fell asleep on Tuesday night around 11:00 pm. I awoke the next day, knowing that as soon as I turned over and opened my phone, I would know the fate of our country. So, I forced myself to lay there and stare at my ceiling. I reveled, for just a few minutes, in being blissfully unaware of the world around me. I enjoyed the silence of my house, the warmth of my covers, and the steadiness of my breathing. But my overpowering need to know eventually won out, and so I grabbed my phone. The group chat I’m in that’s full of future educators like myself had blown up with messages. I knew then and there, that this was either going to be a really good thing or a really bad thing. 

It was a really bad thing. 

I felt the earth shift underneath me. I felt my breath fall out of me, like when you let the air out of a balloon slowly, and gently. And I felt all the hope I had been building these last few months, crumble into nothing. When I imagined this possibility, I imagined feeling instant shock, or sharp pains. But this was different. This felt like watching a bathtub being drained. It was like I didn’t even notice the water level dropping and then all of a sudden there was a swirling whirlpool by the drain, sucking everything out of the tub and down into the darkness of the pipes below.

I checked the red and blue map that I had been refreshing all of last night so I could see the truth for myself. The page took all of two seconds to re-load, but in those two seconds I hoped and maybe even prayed that my friends were wrong. In my mind, there was no possible way this could have happened, there was no way that Kamala Harris could lose. But then the page refreshed, and there it was: a blood-red America. 

I was inconsolable. I hadn’t had a panic attack since I was 17, but on Wednesday morning my streak of luck ended. My mom tried to comfort me with words of hope like, “It’s only four years, what damage could he really do?” But I know what he will do, and that’s exactly why I’m crying. I know the plans for this country, and that is why I cannot get air into my lungs. I know the fate of Queer people, Trans people, people of color, educators, and women, and that is exactly why I am clawing at my chest trying to get my heart to settle. 

“But then the page refreshed, and there it was: a blood-red America. ”

Author, Randi Heth

I found focus for a few hours. My pain turned to anger, and I took to my social media accounts to reflect my thoughts. I’ve become the token ‘politician’ in my family due to my continuous involvement, and staying up to date on the news. So I knew my family and friends wouldn’t be surprised to see my posts. What I wasn’t prepared for was the outpouring of support from my family members in return.

I had great aunts reaching out, asking to share my words with their friends. I had cousins from across the country commenting on their shared support and pain. For a few hours, I was able to hone my pain, even if it was just for some posts on social media. But of course, social media had to bite back. I saw endless TikToks and Instagram stories of people who were mourning the same loss. Mostly from my fellow women who were filled with the same anger that I have. The anger that fueled these words that I shared on my accounts:

“When the most qualified candidate on the ballot, in terms of education, years of experience, and cognitive function, is the candidate that loses, there is something actively working against them. In this case: The Patriarchy. Kamala could talk circles around him and was more qualified in virtually every aspect. Yet she lost. The deeply rooted sexism and racism in this country are not an opinion or a viewpoint, it’s woven into the fabric of our society. Trump didn’t win because he was the better fit, he won because he was a white, straight, cis-gender, billionaire man. This election directly reflects the status of POC and women in this country- and that should f*cking enrage you.”

I am grieving the loss of my safety. I am letting go of the idea of bringing children into this world- or at least into this country. I am mourning my hope for the future and my dreams of the first female president. I am grieving. 

I had gone to bed a hopeful woman. I went to sleep imagining what it would be like to wake up and see the news that we finally have a woman in the White House. But now, in the light of this new day where the next four years of my life will be filled with fear and anger, I am a woman who is terrified. Which in turn, makes me feel guilty. I am a White, middle-class, cis-gender woman. What do I have to be terrified of? But that guilt helps no one, and it does nothing but cripples my ability to focus on getting through these next four years with my rights, and the rights of the people I love, intact.

It’s okay to feel overwhelmed and full of anger or sadness right now. I’m trying to be gentle with myself, to remind myself that it’s okay to have these big feelings, and no, they’re not overreactions. Eventually, I will see the light at the end of the tunnel, or the silver lining, or the rainbow after the storm. But right now, I don’t have it in me to be hopeful. So I will cry, and I will mourn, and I will reach out to my community for the support I need. Slowly, my hope will return, but first I need to take this time for myself, to feel this loss and find the hope to continue.

A part of why I love being a woman so much is our innate ability to create community. Most of the time, I reject the stigma that women must be warm and welcoming at all times. But on days like November 6th, I am immensely grateful for the community that I have built. Yes, I am terrified, but I am not alone. I am furious, drained of my energy, and desperately trying to keep my head above water. And I am anything but alone.