A Letter to My Daughter Regarding Trump by Sally Kohn

Because Sally Kohn wrote exactly what I've been thinking...

"I am so sorry that the world I've brought you into is one in which not only is Donald Trump possible, but possibly the next President of the United States. I had hoped that by this point in history, we would be better than this. Apparently, we're not.

You know some of what Donald Trump has said and done in this campaign. You hear it on the news, kids talk about it at school. "I hate Donald Trump," you said the other day during breakfast. Please don't. Don't hate one sad man with a lot of power and little self-restraint. And don't hate the people who are enthusiastically supporting him. Donald Trump is running a campaign of hate, and hate cannot be solved by hate but by empathy and understanding.

It is important for you to understand what Donald Trump represents. He is a mirror reflecting a dark and dangerous part of our history that, whether we like it or not, is in all of us. So I want you to understand the part we've all played, whether we meant to or not, in giving rise to Donald Trump.

Our nation was born of genocide. Before there was even a glimmer of anything called America, there were millions of native peoples living all across this land. But to make way for our white forebears, the native people were slaughtered. Ever since, the idea of who "we" are as white Americans has been defined in perpetual opposition to some threatening, non-belonging "them." This is not new. It is our national DNA.

But white Americans rationalized the slaughter of native people who they saw as lesser -- as "savages" not quite as human as the colonizers themselves. This same "logic" was applied to rationalize slavery -- that people from Africa were somehow inherently less than the white European Americans and, therefore, it made perfect sense for the one to subjugate and oppress the other. Even after the abolition of slavery, the persistent belief in the inferiority of black Americans led to decades of enforced segregation and violent oppression -- as it still leads to injustice today.

When you look back on this horrid history, it's important you understand that slave holders and segregationists and those who defended inequality did not think they were doing anything uniquely wrong. In fact, for the most part they believed their actions to be just. The same is true of those supporting intolerance and inequality today. Mass injustice doesn't result from a "few bad apples," but from the mass of people willfully supporting injustice.

There was a time in our history when sexual assault was not even a concept, let alone a crime. So too, the lynching of black men and women was often ignored or even actively encouraged by our leaders and their laws. There is no doubt that we have made progress since then, but not nearly enough. I remain desperate to protect you from a society that quietly but habitually tells you that as a girl, you're not equal to boys -- that you're more valued for your body than your brains, that you don't deserve the same opportunities let alone the same basic respect. And the truth is, black men and women are still treated vastly differently under our laws and in our communities. As you grow up, it will be easier for you to get into college and get a job and buy a home than it will be for your black friends. That's not because you will have earned it more or deserve it more, but because our society thinks less of people who aren't white. At the same time, you will be less likely to be harassed in stores or stopped by police, let alone shot and killed based on nothing but the suspicion that we unconsciously attach to dark skin. This isn't something for you to feel guilty about. This is something for you to help change.

Still, even in the face of this imperfect history, I was under the illusion that we had all progressed further than it turns out we have. As the arc of our history has bent, however haltingly, toward justice, most Americans grew to actively reject overt sexism and racism and other kinds of discrimination, and at least aspire to fight against the unconscious biases that still haunt our lives.

Despite this, a not insignificant fraction of Americans, even today, see the equal treatment of women and people of color as a bad thing. They believe that if others get more opportunity, they will get less. These Americans see themselves as history's rightful owners of opportunity. When they talk about wanting to "Make America Great Again," the "better times" they evoke may have seemed better for white Americans, but they were eras of torment and torture for people of color and, often, women as well. Always be wary of anyone who promises a better future by going backwards. The future by definition aspires toward progress.

Our progress as a nation is something you can be proud of. As you grow up, it's important you understand more and more about the dark parts of America's history, but also the bright moments where we moved forward. Once upon a time in our nation, black people were the legal property of white people and only white men could vote. We changed all that. Our history has progressed imperfectly, but make no mistake about it, it has progressed -- and that simple but glorious fact should always give you hope. Do not let those fighting against this progress convince you that they are the only ones who love their country. Fighting to make our nation more inclusive and more just is one of the highest forms of patriotism I can imagine. If you always fight for fairness and justice, you will make me proud and you will make our country proud. You will be a bright light in our nation's still-unfolding story.

All of this may be too hard for you to understand right now. After all, you're only eight years old. But I know you understand the difference between right from wrong. And I know that you know the things Donald Trump has said about Mexicans and veterans and Muslims and women are wrong. More importantly, you know that what he stands for is wrong -- a narrow vision of America that promises opportunity for some through the oppression of others. That "logic" shaped the mistakes of our nation's past. I pray every night it will not shape our future.

You've said that if Donald Trump wins, you want to move to India. I'm afraid to tell you that the current prime minister of India isn't much better than Trump. But more importantly, no matter what happens on Election Day, we will stay and fight for justice. If Trump wins and does the things he has promised, we will not only march in the streets, but we will use our bodies to stop his forces from entering mosques or raiding homes of immigrants. And if Trump does not win, we will still need to fight -- against the strains of intolerance and hate that still course consciously and unconsciously through each of our minds and our entire nation. If Trump is defeated, there is much work to be done to ensure that another Trump does not rise.

On November 8, I will take you with me to vote. And together we will vote to elect Hillary Clinton the first woman president in the 227-year history of the U.S. presidency. And with that choice we will also vote to uplift the best of America's values. With every fiber of our beings, we will continue to vote and speak and write and march and do whatever we can to uphold and uplift justice and inclusion and fairness and kindness and equal opportunity for all.

I cannot promise you that these values will always govern every moment of our nation's future, just as they clearly failed at times in our past. But I can promise you that I will fight for a world and a country that is, at its core, as loving and generous and beautiful as you are. I will fight for the world that you and all children deserve. Electing Hillary Clinton and defeating Donald Trump is just one step. Onward."

The times it happened to me.

I was 8 years old the first time I was touched inappropriately.  I had a sunburn and an adult relative offered to put aloe vera on my back.  I was uncomfortable with how he was touching me, but didn’t understand why.  It wasn’t until he lowered my shorts and underwear that I became bold enough to pull away.  I walked off as he said, “I was just trying to help you feel better.”  I later told both my mom and grandmother and, while extremely supportive, their response was basically, “some men are creeps and you just have to stay away from them the best you can”.  The responsibility was mine to protect myself, not for the relative to stop his behavior.

Two years later I was with my mom at the bookstore and we separated - me off to find the newest Christopher Pike, her to find the newest VC Andrews.  Quickly, before I knew what was happening, a man came up and grabbed me from behind.  He grabbed my hip with one hand, my crotch with the other and ground himself against me.  I jerked away in shock and he quickly walked out of the store.  I found my mom and embarrassingly told her what happened.  She was furious, yelling for me to point him out.  But I just wanted to hide and pretend it never happened.  

Jump ahead 4 years.  I was spending the night with a friend.  I had a crush on a boy a year older than me and he and his friend came over to her house.  My crush pulled me into a spare room and kissed me.  My excitement quickly turned into confusion as he started pulling down my shorts.  I giggled as I politely struggled to pull my shorts back up.  Things escalated quickly as he started to overpower me and I realized he wasn’t playing.  This wasn’t a joke.  He didn’t care that I was saying “no”.  I pushed him away, but he came back at me and pinned me to the wall.  I kneed him in the crotch, doubling him over and pissing him off.  I quickly left the room and joined my friend and the other boy.  They were laughing, asking what happened, but I said nothing and pretended it never happened because I felt I should not have put myself in that situation in the first place.

Jump ahead to high school.  I’m driving down the road one day and realize a car is driving beside me keeping perfect pace with my car.  I turn, make eye contact and realize he is smiling at me and masturbating.  

Same year, a few months later, driving down the road.  I’m at a red light and notice the driver in front of me keeps adjusting his rear-view mirror.  I finally understand why when, in the mirror, I see him masturbating.  Then he turns the mirror again to look at me and smile.

High school was also when the catcalls started.  Walking into the store and some guy would yell, “Nice ass baby, what I would do to you!”  Or standing in line at a convenience store and a guy would get really close behind me, putting his body against mine.  I move, he moves.  Until I was forced to tell him to back off.  Numerous variations of this kind of invasion of space.  Of course, responding to any of these experiences were met with insult.  Usually I was "being a bitch".

I’m 21, at a dance club with friends.  Dancing and having a good time.  A guy joins our group and I start dancing with him.  He leans forward and unzips my shirt.  I push him away and turn my back to him.  He comes up behind me, reaches around, unzips my shirt and attempts to reach inside.  I push him away and move to the other side of the club, as I had many times before when men invaded my space.  So it goes at dance clubs.  

I’m 24 and meet a friend and her boyfriend for drinks.  Her boyfriend brings a friend I’d been around a couple of times.  The 4 of us go back to her place.  I end up watching a movie on the couch with the friend.  We lay down on the couch and start kissing.  Within minutes he starts pulling at my clothes.  I tell him I’m not into it and have no intention of sleeping with him.  He responds that “nobody likes a fucking tease” and pulls my skirt up.  As I resist, he grabs me by my wrists to restrain me as he grinds against me telling me how much I want it.  I become furious, break away and yell for him to get off me.  He backs off, and asks what my problem is and why I’m being so crazy.  I leave in tears, wondering why I’m being so crazy.

It took me years and numerous conversations with friends to realize why I was “being so crazy”.  A lifetime of pushed boundaries, inappropriate advances and sexual assaults tend to do that to a lady.  And if I dared to mention to anyone at the time, the responsibility was on me to prevent/stop it.  Were any of those guys monsters?  Anti-social creeps living in their mom’s basements?  Criminals on the sexual predator list?  Nope.  They were average guys who felt they were entitled to something.  A feel, a lay, sexual pleasure at my expense.  I’m sure they feel no guilt over their behavior, likely they don’t even remember, they were just boys being boys and I was just a tease/uptight crazy girl.

Am I some sexual siren that attracts creeps?  Despite not being significantly attractive, I used to think so.  The girl in me still sometimes wonders, “yeah, maybe?”  It’s hard to re-write our original programming.  But the mom in me, the one raising a daughter, says, “fuck no.”  I did nothing to ask for that, I damn sure didn’t deserve it.  As I’ve talked about this with women over the years I’ve realized:

1.) Those experiences were not okay.  I never considered myself a victim, I still don’t.  I never even realized those experiences were wrong until long after they happened.  They made me extremely uncomfortable and at times scared and angry, but the general message was "boys will be boys".  I never thought of it as assault.  But it was.  Regardless of the technical definitions, it was certainly wrong.  But the fact that it happened so many times, I simply considered it the norm.  Boys being boys.

2.)  My experiences are not unusual.  So many women simply don’t talk about it because it wasn't unusual.  Status quo.  Once again, boys being boys.  We asked for it by what we were wearing or how we were acting or being somewhere we shouldn’t have been.  

This is why it is imperative we talk about it.  Share our stories with both women AND men, so people understand how frequently it happens.  It is imperative we educate our sons and daughters on consent.  That we place the same importance on consent that we do on crossing the street and looking both ways for cars.  To make sure the boundaries are perfectly clear.  And to shut down ANYONE who participates in or dismisses rape culture.  Words or phrases like "boys will be boys" or "locker room talk" are exactly what lead males to believe it is okay to touch, grab and assault whoever they desire.  It's wrong, it's rape culture and it needs to end.  

Political cutting

Because I'm all about embracing technology, I recently had an epiphany via text.  A friend and I were scheduled to have dinner Sunday night.  We'd had a missed connection a few times before due to me not feeling well, so I was looking forward to finally meeting Sunday.  Because she's awesome, she sent a text reminding me the presidential debate was that same Sunday night.  But she said she had "NO PLANS to watch it", so she was still good for Sunday.  Not watch the debate?  What?!  I realized in that moment that I couldn't not watch the debate.  I had to watch it.  I had to watch, get mad about it, then sad about it, then argue with my people, then get sad and mad all over again.  That's what I do.  Then I texted, "I need to go to therapy and dig into this.  I should know better.  Maybe it's my equivalent of cutting?  Causing myself pain as a relief from deeper feelings?"  What?  Where did that even come from?  She replied, "IT'S POLITICAL CUTTING.  That's exactly it!!!"  And bingo, I had an epiphany.

Now, aside from a brief moment at attempting to be cool in middle school and cutting a "J" into my ankle with a straight pen, which hurt enough to prevent carving the rest of his name - I have never cut myself.  The first time I heard about it, years ago, I was perplexed.  Why would anyone do such a thing?  But then I discovered a friend was a cutter and explored the idea enough to gain a basic understanding.  I hadn't thought about cutting in years, however, and yet for some reason I typed that response and hit SEND.  So I Googled the definition for cutting:

"Cutting is a way some people try to cope with the pain of strong emotions, intense pressure, or upsetting relationship problems.  They may be dealing with feelings that seem too difficult to bear or bad situations they think can't change.  Some people cut because they feel desperate for relief from bad feelings."  - http://kidshealth.org/en/teens/cutting.html

Well shit.  There it was.  And it made all the sense in the world.  Political cutting.

I don't mean to detract from the real pain cutters inflict upon themselves or to even compare myself to them.  Theirs is physical and mine is metaphoric.  But suddenly I absolutely understood it.

I love to discuss all the things we aren't suppose to discuss - government, religion and politics.  I love the balance of power.  The debating of right and wrong.  From the micro to the macro.  There are so many perspectives!  And I love to think about them all, find where I stand on the grand spectrum of everything, take a position (or not) and debate it.  I've moved my position many times.  Nothing excites me more than talking to someone who has a better thought-out position than I do and changing my stance.  I hold those who have patiently changed my outlook or inspired a new way of thinking in the highest of esteem.  They are my life teachers.  Because, to me, nothing is more exciting than personal growth and evolution.  I'm sometimes stubborn, but I am not immovable.

But this love of mine has been misunderstood and caused issues for a long, long time.  Not everyone looks at government, religion and politics, or the discussion of, the same way I do.  And that's okay.  Understandable even.  There's a reason they say to never discuss these things at the dinner table.  For many it is far more personal.  And judgmental.  And angry.  And condescending.  And assumptive.  And fucking ignorant.  God damn the ignorance.  It doesn't have to be.  But for some it most definitely is.  And instead of being a part of something that I love, a fun and rational exchange of ideas and viewpoints, discussing these things with people I've cared about has become an emotionally draining shitfest.  And my position on religion and/or politics has bled into other aspects of our relationships, causing significant damage.  "So dumbass," you may be saying, "don't discuss those particular things with those particular individuals."  That's fair.  And I've attempted it for a number of years.  But it turns out we have very little in common otherwise, as well.  And while I'm okay with this, can even find it endearing, others do not.  And they can be pretty aggressive about it.  Even if I attempt to keep it light and shallow, "be light and funny!" I tell myself, the conversations inevitably come around to me being a stupid, sinful, libtard, which is apparently pretty hard for them to overlook.  Those three things have formed the wall to block the viewing of most else that matters.

Annnnnd it's pretty fucking hurtful coming from people I love.

Which finally brings us back to political cutting.  Due to the current political climate, I must be plugged in so I don't miss a thing.  Because while I know I am not stupid, sinful OR a libtard, (or any variation of), those are words and assumptions I cannot shake.  So with certain individuals, the discussion of current events isn't about the fun and rational exchange of ideas, but rather a defense of me.  And who I am.  To people who, I feel, should know and love me based on character, but somehow negatively distort that due to my positions on certain issues.  If and when I communicate my feelings about this, I am being an oversensitive liberal.  And while engaging is painful, it relieves the pressure of what I truly feel, which is they do not like/love me because of who I am.  And it makes me sad and angry.  So I painfully engage because it relieves the pressure, but it makes me sad and angry.  And so I painfully engage because it relieves the pressure, but it makes me sad and angry.  And so... and so... and so.

Political cutting.

It's fucked up and crazy.  And a dysfunctional cycle.  And the only way I know how to stop is to break contact.  But I don't want to break contact because they are people I care about.  But the relationship feels bad.  So the cycle continues.  And my therapy bill increases.

Starting again

So before I do anything to fancy up my new blog space, I want to get out what brought me here in the first place.  I had a diary throughout my teens and 20s, and was right there creating a log-in with the birth of the blogosphere.  First Diaryland, to LiveJournal, WordPress, MySpace, Tumblr, and Blogger (a few times).  I wrote throughout my late 20's and early 30's with, what was considered at the time to be, a decent audience of friends and family.  I had regular feedback and a bit of skill at it. Something happened around the time I gave birth... maybe a lot of things happened... post partum anxiety, guilt, an insecurity unlike anything I'd experienced in the past.  And zero time to focus on me.  Somewhere in all of that I lost my voice.  Or, my voice on paper (er... word format) at least.  By the time I had the desire back, blogs had really taken off and become a thing.  And I felt what I did before didn't have the same value it once had, even for myself (this feeling will make a comeback later in this entry).  I've started several blogs and writing projects throughout the last few years, but nothing I continued with any consistency.  The desire to write again has always stayed just below the surface, but the action of actually doing it brought me anxiety for a reason I haven't quite put my finger on.

Tonight I am overriding that anxiety.  I am sitting at our new (for us) iMac, where I had to search, old lady style, for the power button and USB drive in preparation for this.  The catalyst was my not unrecent emotional breakdown, followed up by a mini version this week running into tonight.  I came here to hash that out and to leave a reminder of my personal discovery.  It's not going to be an eloquent transition from this intro into that because I'm new at this.  So that said, here it is...

For many years, and up to a few hours ago, I've been struggling on-and-off with intense feelings of insecurity and low self-worth.  But it was a weird version of those things because, by nature, I'm a fairly confident person.  If I had to put a finger on what my actual insecurities are it would be difficult.  I speak up when I have something to say and, as Chris mentioned last night, I'm pretty frank about it.  On the one hand (I'm a Libra, so there's always more than one hand), I'm secure with how I feel about things.  I trust my intuition implicitly and rarely question the choices I make.  I have no real regrets that I can name.  So this ongoing struggle with insecurity was somewhat baffling and DEFINITELY frustrating.

But tonight, TONIGHT!, I made the connection.  First, I often struggle with vulnerability hangovers.  I'm out with friends or meet new people, and in my desire to connect I overshare.  I overshare my shit, I want to overshare your shit, I want to relate, advise, solve and connect.  This doesn't always work out as I intend.  And sometimes, more often lately, I wake up with a vulnerability hangover.  My therapist, Rebecca, says it can be due to sharing with an unsecured connection.  Someone I don't completely trust to be sharing this shit with in the first place.  Which is why I wake up and kick myself the next day.  She's right, of course, but I couldn't understand at the time the bigger relevance to that issue.

Until this week.  Chris and I started the week with a situation.  He was going to do something, I mentioned joining him and didn't receive the reaction I expected.  In the process, my feelings were hurt.  The situation is actually much more layered, but I'm adhering to the KISS* philosophy as much as possible for this entry.  Regardless, my feelings were hurt and I felt my self worth plummet.  Shortly after, I met some friends for drinks.  I shared some stuff, as I usually do with this particular group, and even though their reactions were not negative, I came home with a helluva vulnerability hangover.  It left me moody and disconnected and Chris asked me about it.  And that stirred up a hornets nest of reactions.

In keeping with KISS*, I basically told him I was feeling insecure and my self worth was moving to a serious low.  He tried to intellectualize it which left me frustrated.  My frustration kicked off HIS issues of inadequacy and he got hyped up.  His hyping up hyped ME up, causing me to feel even more insecure.  This is marriage, where your issues kick off their issues creating a continuum of issues.  But we haven't stayed together, through thick and thin, for 17 years because we suck at this.  No, we work as partners to hash this shit out.  Sometimes it takes a few hours, or days, or months, or even sometimes years - but we work hard on working it out.

Tonight as we, much more calmly and with 24 hours of introspection and perspective, talked it out I had an epiphany.  I'm not actually insecure.  I question my value.  And for me there is a significant difference.  I am secure in who I am.  As I told Chris, I feel like each and every one of us were given an equal start to life.  We all have gifts, talents, specializations.  You may not be one of the lucky ones who tap into it, or they may not necessarily be useful for every day life, or as Rebecca puts it, "skillful" to your life experience, but we were all created equal.  I am secure in that.  I am confident that I am a kind, giving, funny, smart, independent, adventurous, responsible, insightful and highly intuitive woman.  I don't question that shit at all.  BUT, I do question the value in it.  Specifically, the value those that I care about see in it.

Unfortunately, not everyone I love and care about value the characteristics I value most about myself.  I've spent a lot of time and money in therapy trying to deal with that realization.  Will likely continue to for years to come.  But that's the truth of it - or, again, as Rebecca might say, "MY" truth of it, not necessarily THE true of it.  And so on rough days, when I feel my self worth crash, it is because I've lost sight of my value.  Some deep existential shit, but there it is.  Connected to this is the oversharing and inevitable vulnerability hangovers I mentioned earlier.  I overshare because I've been searching for validation so much lately.  I don't feel I get it much these days.  Perhaps, as Chris and Rebecca have suggested, even when I do get it, I'm unable to see or accept it.  It's a perpetual loop.

Last night as I was trying to explain my pain to Chris, before things got overhyped, I attempted a metaphoric approach.  I explained that I feel like black licorice.  Some people really like me.  But probably not the majority.  Those who like me really like me.  Those who don't really don't.  Nobody much wavers on their feelings for me.  And poor, sad me just wants to be red licorice.  Actually, that's not at all true.  I feel that black licorice is way cooler than red licorice could ever be.  Edgy even.  But there are days when I just want to be loved like red licorice.  Honestly, I want to totally not give a shit what people think of me ON ALL THE DAYS.  But I've never succeeded in not giving a shit for more than a couple of hours, and almost never without the help of drugs or alcohol.  Thus is my biggest burden in life.

Chris and I successfully worked this one out - and by that I mean he understood me as I began to understand myself.  And, because he is an amazing husband, he researched black licorice and discovered all kinds of handy facts.  Like black licorice is an actual root.  Its properties can act as an expectorant, have a laxative effect and cause heart problems.  Oddly, I can identify with that.  But more importantly I was touched he went to such lengths to identify with how I was feeling.  And really, isn't that what we want most from our people?  To be seen, understood and valued by those we love?  How and when did that get to be so fucking complicated?


*KEEP IT SIMPLE STUPID