I’ve had a tough week since the results of the US election. I’m not American, nor do I live in the states, but, for the eight years since Donald Trump entered the political scene, I have found myself heavily invested in the state of affairs there.
Unhealthily so.
History being made
In 2016 I spent hours of my life following polls, reading articles, and immersing myself in the views of experts, to the point that I probably knew more about the workings of the US political system than the average American. I was excited to see history being made. The first woman to win the presidency in its 240 year history. Of course, we all know what happened next.
While disappointed, I kind of understood how it had happened. Hillary Clinton came with a lot of baggage. She was a firm part of the establishment, tarred by the controversy that surrounded her husband. Despite the fact that she was more than qualified, people wanted something new. They wanted someone who represented a different approach.
Come 2020, I promised myself that I wouldn’t become so invested. The memory of that early morning wake up and the sense of crushing defeat in 2016 had scarred me. For my sanity, I couldn’t go through that again. But I did. I tracked the polls, even though they were so often wrong. I listened to podcasts and read the news, racking up hours of screen time, until my nervous system was shot.
The Status Quo
When Joe Biden won, I was relieved that the nightmare of Trump was finally over. But, of course, it wasn’t. So when the 2022 mid-terms came around and Trump was still very much in the picture, I repeated the process. Making myself ill all over again.
I told myself that 2024 would be different. I was smarter about my health and I knew what becoming invested would cost me. But it felt like change was in the air. Like finally, finally, that history was going to be made. And, I wanted to be a part of that. Kamala Harris and Tim Walz offered the promise of joy and hope to a divided country and I was certain that the majority Americans would want that too. After all, who wouldn’t?
Waking up on November 6th was just like 2016 all over again. I woke at 4.30am and, as soon as it became clear that Trump had won again, I switched off from all social and mainstream media. To protect my mental health, I hibernated, burying my head in the sand. I did yoga, read books, listened to podcasts. While conversations played out in my head, I avoided talking about it as much as possible. When my daughter showed me Kamala Harris’s statement conceding the race, I cried.
Embarrassed to hope
A week later, the constant roiling in my stomach is just starting to abate. This morning it wasn’t my first thought. I’ve spent a lot of time this past week, contemplating why this has floored me. Because I know that it isn’t really about Donald Trump or those tens of millions of people who voted for him. I understand that the majority of them voted from a place of survival. That they voted in spite of him and not because of him.
I have asked myself why it feels so personal. Because it does feel personal. What I have realised is that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that I let myself care. Embarrassed that my side didn’t win. It took me back to a time in my life when caring too much left me feeling vulnerable. When having hope felt like a risk. These things meant that I could be hurt. And being hurt meant feeling difficult emotions. In the past it was easier for me to remain numb. To shut myself off. To pretend not to care so that I didn’t have to sit in the discomfort.
And, as a woman, of course it is going to feel personal. That someone like Donald Trump could prevail over a woman who is clearly more qualified, should not come as a surprise. Except that it did. And the part of me that feels unworthy, is ashamed that I expected more. That I felt hopeful. It triggered an anger in me, a messaging, that goes back to my childhood. That no matter what, men will come out on top. That they will continue to live their lives while women pay the price for their actions. It’s what I’ve seen time and again in my own life. It’s what I’m witnessing again now in the world around me.
Always a lesson
As I continue to look within for answers, I am trying to have faith that everything will work out in the end. That the universe has some grand plan. That one day we’ll look back and understand. But what I’m realising is that, under the pretence of paying attention, I am giving away my agency, my time, my peace. I’m giving away my life. Not by caring about the state of the world, but by buying into the distraction that comes with that.
As with everything that happens to me, this has been a learning experience. It has been painful, something that I have had to force myself to sit with. It has also been transformative. Because I can finally acknowledge that no amount of prayer or wishful thinking on my part can control the outcome of something like this. It is out of my hands. But what I can control is where, and to whom, I give my energy. The only state of affairs I can influence is that of my own life. It has been a hard earned lesson. One that, I hope, will be the catalyst to a new way forward.
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