Welp. He won. Now what?
It’s been about a week since the election. And he won.
For me at least, that’s not a shocker. A disappointment? Of course—there’s no fucking way I wouldn’t be disappointed with this outcome—but I’m not shocked. In this post, I’m not trying to analyze why I think people voted the way they did (*cough cough* white supremacy *cough cough*). What I want to do instead is make make space for all the feelings that are coming up for you, me, all of us, and to find ways where you can feel hopeful or empowered (once you’re ready for that, of course).
I do want to preface this by saying that the experiences that I write about are mine or those of individuals close to me; they don’t represent all people. I really want to emphasize this, because when I’m reading content regarding anti-oppression (i.e., addressing racism, sexism, ableism, etc.) I know my neurodivergent brain can take things very literally, making it feel like there’s only one “right” way to view things, when in fact there is so much nuance. Each person has their own unique experience, views, opinions, needs, etc., and I think we all need to be reminded of that now and again.
I feel it’s important to mention that depending on your lived experience, you may not be feeling any shock or disappointment, because you knew this was going to happen and you’ve been consistently let down. Or maybe you’re recognizing that either your own privilege has insulated you from this fear, or prevented you from being confronted with a reality that you weren’t forced to see.
This election brought up the residual fear from the 2016 election. I remember that night very well: I was in the middle of a class (Couple’s Counseling, I believe) with a professor who insultingly called us the most distracted group of students he has ever taught, ignoring the fact that most of us were concerned about what the election could mean. We were watching the map turn red, state by state, live on our computer screens in the middle of lecture. Many of us had a lot at stake and we feared for our safety, the safety of our friends and family, and our clients. We (as a nation) were so cocky, so confident that he wouldn’t win. And then he won.
Going into this election, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he would win again. We were too cocky in 2016, and I felt like people were getting cocky again. I think we had so much hope that people would recognize his unhinged behavior during his term for what it was, acknowledge the damage he caused, and deny him a chance to do even more harm. It was a nice sentiment, but definitely naive.
And then last week, he won.
That Wednesday or Thursday, I tried writing this blog post, but I got caught up in the thoughts of anger and sadness and disappointment and grief and frustration, as well as the fear of voicing my opinion. I felt stuck and unable to successfully communicate what I wanted to say. But today, as I’m starting this draft on Tuesday, November 12, 2024, I’ve had time to reflect on what this win means, beyond my initial gut reaction.
After the 2016 election, I wanted to react by protesting, documenting people’s anger through photography, and starting a coalition to challenge the values associated with that party. In essence, I think I was trying to be a savior (one of the many things I learned about myself during the pandemic as I researched anti-oppression and decolonization). I have learned a lot about myself in terms of how I want to fight oppression through books, stories, and even through my clients. I’ve been focused on truly absorbing as much information as I can as I continue to deconstruct my beliefs that contribute to harming others, with the knowledge that despite our best intentions we all can cause harm.
This time, I’m holding back on that reaction because it feels superficial and performative. Not that the urge to make change is superficial, but challenging the system requires a whole lot more from us than just getting angry. How do we band together and form real strategies for fighting back? As I continue to engage in self-reflection, I have learned that I’m not an activist in the ways we tend to think about activism. I can’t sustainably attend protests and marches because it eventually overwhelms my senses and depletes my energy.
Instead, the therapy I provide is my activism.
How?
I want to empower people to live a life that is in alignment with their goals, wants, and desires, regardless of what capitalism (productivity culture) and the patriarchy expects. That’s so hard because we all live in a world in which those expectations are silently loud; we may not always talk about it as directly as I’m mentioning here, but it’s still communicated clearly in our work and school. Why else do people feel bad when they aren’t using their downtime to be more productive? Defying productivity is an act of rebellion.
I want to challenge beliefs that uphold oppression in a way that doesn’t judge you as a person. Anti-blackness and being anti-indigenous is a core part of our culture in this country, and it shows up in subtle and not-so subtle ways. It’s easier to push back when it is very upfront and in your face (like this upcoming administration), but a lot harder when it’s microaggressions; making small snide comments, clutching onto a purse when a Black individual comes into your space, asking “where are you really from?” Privilege can be such a threatening word, as it brings up feelings of guilt, shame, or hurt (often at the inaccurate idea of having their own hardships invalidated), so talking about it from a place of judgment can prevent people from truly making change. My activism is teaching people to tolerate their identities of privilege so they can actually contribute to fighting oppression in a way that has nothing to do with their ego (making sure they’re one of the “good ones”).
The results of this election bring to light how fragile our rights are if you are not a cis-gendered, heterosexual, able-bodied, neurotypical, Christian white man. But there has always been oppression: violence towards the Black, LGBTQIA+, women, immigrants, people of color, and the disabled community. It has been a core part of our history and it will continue to be, regardless of the political affiliations of the country’s administration. So what does this mean? Activism is about the long game. It’s about fighting consistently, loudly, taking up space, and making people uncomfortable, but all in a way that is sustainable.
If you’ve made it this far, I’m guessing that you’re probably invested in figuring out how you can fight back, protect your rights and your autonomy, and advocate for your community. Here, I have a word of caution: if you put in 100% effort all the time and push yourself to the edge of your limits to voice your anger (such a powerful emotion when channeled appropriately), then you’re going to burn out. You’re going to get depleted. You’re going to get intensely discouraged and possibly give up. You’re going to fall into black and white thinking. You’re going to be making decisions based on your ego, and your fight-or-flight response (because many activists have experiences of lived trauma).
Fighting the oppressors by making their lives uncomfortable in order to make change for those who are living off resilience and adversity is very powerful work. It’s important work. But you are also important, and you deserve to let yourself have rest, relieve your nervous system in places that are actually safe, and experience joy. That is also an act of resistance, and it’s non-negotiable.
Summary
I’m not shocked that this election turned out the way it did, but I’m still disappointed and working through my own feelings, which includes recognizing ways that I want to challenge the system, both by deconstructing my own beliefs and calling out problems in the system.
Activism doesn’t look just one way—it can take on many forms such as engaging in self-care, setting boundaries especially with systems that do not value you, and experiencing joy and connection, along with the direct work of resistance.
It’s important to explore your own beliefs and learn how to tolerate your own identities of privilege (because most people have an identity that is privileged) so you can make decisions and challenge the system from a grounded place.
If you are interested in starting individual therapy services with me and live California, you can reach out to me to schedule your free consultation.