Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t think it was possible that Donald Trump would win the presidential election for a second time. How could Americans possibly vote to go backward, to revoke human rights, to put a convicted felon and abuser in office?
At a time when I am still working through my disbelief, I am trying to reflect on my emotions leading up to the election, and now in its aftermath.
ONE MONTH AGO
I considered myself to be fairly involved in campaigning. With political groups on campus, I hand-wrote letters to voters and spent hours tabling around campus, helping students register to vote. I watched the debates, certain that nobody could see Trump’s responses as anything but nonsense. Claims of immigrants eating dogs and cats? Somehow, that guy won the popular vote by millions.
I went canvassing in New Hampshire, something I had never done before. We knocked on doors, spoke to voters, and provided them with information on the candidates. We customized Kamala Harris pins and spent the day making jokes about silly Harris support groups. “People who accidentally called their teacher ‘Mom’ for Harris,” “Single dads for Harris,” and so on. Spirits were high!
ONE WEEK AGO
Even in the week prior to Election Day, I sensed a lot of exhaustion and fear on campus. One student told me he just wanted it to be over, no matter the outcome. I cared about the outcome, but I understood the sentiment. I was also tired of the buildup to the election and felt incredibly stressed.
Still, I was pretty sure that Kamala Harris would win the election, and people I spoke to seemed to assume so too. Harris’ rallies and SNL appearance garnered endless support online.
ELECTION DAY
On Tuesday, the big day, I put my Kamala Harris pin on my bag and wore the bluest clothes I owned. It was a dress because of course it was 70˚ in November—and somehow the new president believes climate change is a hoax.
After my classes, I called my mom while I walked home. When I asked if she thought Kamala would lose, she told me she preferred to assume that and hopefully be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. I agreed with that. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
Thirty minutes before states’ results started rolling in for real, I had a “tech-free” class. I was sitting dangerously close to the front of the room to break that rule, but I told myself this was a unique situation. Hiding our phones under our desks, we watched Trump gain an early lead.
I spent the rest of the night multitasking, or rather failing to. I had a screenplay to write for one of my film classes, but it was impossible to focus. The election map had a near-permanent presence on my screen. My mom and sister were equally scared. My roommates and I celebrated Harris’ win in Virginia, where one of my roommates is from. But in calculating the remaining electoral college votes, I knew it was hopeless. We gave each other big hugs goodnight and our rights big hugs goodbye.
ONE DAY AFTER
I woke up to the news. I knew this would happen, but it still didn’t feel real. I spent the day feeling kind of numb, reading countless texts and Instagram Stories from everyone I’ve ever spoken to rehashing the same emotions and terrifying prospects. It feels like we are in mourning. Some of my high school friends texted our old AP Government teacher, asking her to explain what changes could actually happen.
As a cisgender white woman who lives in Massachusetts and California, I am grateful that I am privileged enough to not live in fear every day for the next four years. I am so thankful that I will likely still have access to birth control and medical support in these states. However, this is not true for so many Americans and that puts a serious pit in my stomach.
I am terrified for our country. I am worried about everything that Trump is capable of and am unsure how we will weather this storm. I am worried about climate change—it was 80˚ in Boston today. I am worried about my friends and family in the LGBTQ+ community. I am worried about abortion rights and the control I have over my own body. This is a real text I sent to my boyfriend while watching the election results come in: “But like what if Trump wins and I have a miscarriage and die?”
In the evening, a friend from home called while I was in the dining hall. She explained that she was calling people she cared about to tell them that she loves them and is there for them in an attempt to choose love over the anger she was seeing all over social media. It wasn’t an emotion she had the energy to exert.
Over the next few days, I plan to do the same, reaching out to my friends and reminding them that we can support each other, even if the government isn’t on our side. It’s not a perfect solution, but it helps me feel a little less abandoned. As a writer for a women’s magazine, I am reminded of the voice that I have in my community. I can have an impact by being honest about my emotions in the wake of the country’s terrible step backward.
Am I devastated? Absolutely. But have I given up? Absolutely not.
Remember to keep fighting.
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