What it feels like in this world, for a girl.

Hurt that’s not supposed to show
And tears that fall when no one knows
When you’re trying hard to be your best
Could you be a little less?

This week I’m: Making my calls, writing my letters, signing my petitions, doing my part. Looking inward instead of outward, trying to change one person’s mind about women, instead of 20.

Starting to listen to myself about all of this. Recognizing that there is no shame in speaking truthfully, and that right now, my truth is that I feel incredibly, deeply hurt by people who voted for Trump. It is a wound that can heal, but it takes time. And I should not be expected to wind that clock any faster than a person whose candidate won.


I have been pretending around those who supported Trump that their words and beliefs haven’t felt painful before. But the truth is that when I have been around white, older, male Trump supporters saying objectively horrible things about Hillary as a female leader, as well as other women — things you should never say in front of an enterprising and ambitious and smart MILLENNIAL woman trying to make her way, let alone any person you respect because they are fellow beating hearts//minds//spirits — I have put my metaphorical fingers to my ears and prayed and prayed that the rug would be pulled out from under them. Not me.

Truthfully, I have been afraid to speak up. Sometimes, these conversations have been in the homes of Trump supporters, as people that I hope care about me, even if they hate the idea of me. It hasn’t always seemed safe to disagree in their homes, and I can be reluctant to argue until I have all the right words anyway. At times in this election, I turned to partisan politics as a place to hide.

But now, I’m just confused. I don’t hate people who voted for Trump — some are almost family. But today, it feels like they are part of a world that hates the idea of me. That maybe, they would prefer that a person like me not exist. And that is HARD. That is a hard, chunky, annoyingly familiar pill to swallow.

And I don’t know where to go from here, right now. I’m sure eventually, we will all figure this kind of thing out, one way or another. But how that will happen, I don’t know. And as for when it will happen, I don’t feel like I can predict that either.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Jenny Poole’s story.