On Wednesday
morning I dropped Mo at school with thoughts of the US election bubbling in my head.
I imagined how it would feel watching Clinton accepting victory, a daydream which
made me happily teary. Later I read encouraging articles about the record number of Hispanics voting against Trump, greedily gobbled up all election-related
tweets, and followed a thread in a Facebook group populated mostly by Americans
which explained how the electoral college process worked and kept me updated on
what states Clinton needed to win. All the while I refreshed the Google page
for ‘Election USA’, which showed a map of the US with each state coloured red
or blue depending on who was leading there. The mood during the morning was
hopeful; just before lunch (Sydney time) one member of the Facebook group wrote,
“Trump is probably thinking he’s winning lol” and another, not long after, predicted
that “this is the worst moment of the night for those supporting the blue team.
When the big city votes come in I think it will look much more palatable.”
Over the
next couple of hours, however, hope was replaced with increasing shock and despair. By
school pick-up time, it was clear that Clinton’s victory speech would not be
needed. I was devastated, and surprised by how much it hurt given the fact
that I’m not American and Trump is literally #notmypresident. I was mostly
gutted because I’m female, and I was desperate to see a powerful role going to
a powerful woman, to prove that it was doable and that the times truly were a-changin’. I long for a day when a woman as president is not a news story.
One of Brené
Brown’s suggestions that’s stuck with me since reading Rising Strong is the idea of starting vulnerable conversations
with others about how you’re feeling with “The story I’m telling myself is…” I
like how the phrase acknowledges that I may have misread a situation
(thanks to my irritating tendency to interpret the confusing things others do and say as being a) caused by me and b) sure signs of my defectiveness) without diminishing the realness of my emotional reaction/s. For example, I could say to
Alan, “I feel like you haven’t listened well to me this week. The story I’m
telling myself is that it’s because you think I’m annoying and you don’t care
about me.” And then he could respond by saying, “I’m sorry I haven’t listened
well this week. I’ve been going to bed too late and work is overwhelming,
so I’ve been tired and cranky. I don’t think you’re annoying, and I care about
you a lot.” The story I told myself about Alan’s behaviour was all about me, whereas the actual story had far more to do with stress and a lack of sleep. The feelings still needed to be aired and processed, though.
I think this
is a helpful way of talking about the election, too. The story I’m telling
myself is that a woman wasn’t voted in because female is still (STILL!) seen as
inferior to male by too many people in our world. The story I’m telling myself
is that a lot of people thought that ‘racism’, ‘misogyny’, ‘sexual assault’ and
‘inexperience’ (among far too many other flaws) were preferable to ‘woman’. The
story I’m telling myself is that my views must be in the minority and things
will never change, that patriarchy will have the last word, that the struggle
will continue for our daughters and their daughters and their daughters until humanity
is wiped out in five billion years by a dead sun (or global warming or
something… I did start reading more about possible ways it could all end, but I
gave up; today I’m aiming for “relatively positive” and “anxiety-free”).
I’ve read
enough analysis since Wednesday to know that sexism probably played
a limited role in the election outcome. I think of Julia Gillard’s speech after
losing the leadership spill in 2013 in which she said that her sex did not explain everything about the difficulties she faced as PM,
nor did it explain nothing. It explained some things. Economics may have been
the primary factor influencing those who voted for Trump, but I saw enough to
know there were at least some who couldn’t bear the thought of a woman leading
and being empowered to make (or uphold) decisions about womens’ bodies and
rights. Sexism doesn’t explain everything about what happened in the
US this week, but it explains some things and “some things” is enough to cause deep
pain. (I’m also
aware that Trump’s harmful views on those who aren’t male, white, cisgender, straight,
Christian, able-bodied, etc. would cut far more deeply if I didn’t tick almost all
of these boxes. I still experience a level of privilege others don’t, and I can
only imagine, therefore, what the combination of insults would mean for the
tummies and hearts of people in the many groups Trump offended, if mine feel
this awful.)
So the stories I’m telling myself about the outcome may not be entirely accurate (certainly none of it is about me), but there’s some truth in them, and my feelings about them are valid.
I’m
currently training to work as a volunteer on a crisis support phone line, for
which we’re taught a model that is three-fifths listening and understanding and
two-fifths problem-solving and plan-making. Three-fifths may not sound like
much, but it takes effort to stick to; my natural inclination is one-fifth
listening, four-fifths fixing. My biggest challenge in training has been to not
rush too quickly to the solutions and the silver lining, but to sit in the
yukkiness for longer than feels comfortable so the caller can purge and feel
like they’re not alone in/with their big feelings.
Since the election, I’ve noticed how quickly people’s reactions have been dismissed,
how unwilling many are to sit in the hard places with those whose stories about
the outcome are hurting them. “It’s okay because God’s in control!” some say (as if reassuring us that God is also on Trump’s side will make us feel less
like dying). “The sun will still come out tomorrow!” chirp others (thanks so much,
guys! I’d briefly forgotten how science worked! My bad). “It’s not about race!”
was a loud and repeated response to Van Jones’ emotional speech. I heard a
journalist on the radio last night saying it certainly wasn’t sexism that got Trump elected, as if she
was tired of hearing this argument. And “This wouldn’t have happened if Bernie
Sanders was the candidate!” may or may not be true, but only acknowledges half
of my disappointment; for me the election was less The Republicans vs. The Democrats and more The Misogynist vs. The First Female President of the United States. (I imagine that for others it was The One Who Talked About Walls vs. The One Who Talked About Bridges, or Supported by the KKK vs. Not Supported by the KKK, or Anti-Abortion vs. Abortion Rights, or - importantly, it seems - Something Radically Different vs. More of the Same. Everyone saw the election through their particular lens.)
Whatever the
election result was actually driven by, the feelings I have about the stories I’m
telling myself are real and (mostly) rational, and they need to be allowed and heard and
validated, as do everyone else’s, closer to three-fifths of the time. As nice as
rushing to the positives and the planning (Michelle Obama 2020!) feels, the
reaction to “The story I’m telling myself is…” should never be, “Well, your
story sucks. Get over it.” This is a chance to work on checking your privilege, understanding others’ hurts and
fears and hopes and desires, and practicing extreme-sport-level empathy. I’m going to need to feel sad for a little bit longer, and I’m going to need you to be okay with that.
