🖤 Today, My Heart Feels Heavy

 

Today, my heart feels heavier than it has in a long time. Watching as Trump takes the presidency, I can’t shake a deep sadness, an unrelenting worry, and an overwhelming fear for the future. This isn't about political labels or parties—it's about human dignity, equality, and compassion. I fear for what lies ahead, not only for myself but especially for my children. I want them to grow up in a world that moves forward with empathy and justice, a world where every voice, no matter how quiet, is heard. But today, that world feels a little further away.

This election feels like a step back for so many people who have fought tirelessly to be seen and valued. For minorities, for women, and for anyone who has felt the sting of being sidelined, silenced, or left behind, today is a day of mourning. It feels as though we're being asked to stand by as years of progress are unraveled, bit by bit. And while I feel a powerful urge to cry and scream, to let my fears and anger pour out, I know that my children are watching. They rely on me to guide them, to protect them, and to give them hope, even when I feel like hope is slipping through my fingers.

One of my greatest concerns is what lies ahead for our healthcare system. It’s a personal worry, especially for my daughter, whose medical needs require stability and compassionate policies. For so many families, healthcare is more than a political issue—it’s life or death. I know I’m not alone in these concerns; millions of parents across the country are looking into their children’s eyes tonight, wondering how they’ll ensure their safety and well-being if protections and policies are rolled back.

And then, there is the weight of women’s rights. Generations of women have fought to gain the freedoms and choices we have today. To see these rights in jeopardy, to know that my daughter might grow up with fewer rights than I have, is both heartbreaking and infuriating. We’ve come so far, but today it feels as though that progress is fragile, as if it could slip away in an instant.

In moments like this, I question how I can raise my children to believe in justice, kindness, and equality when the world feels so unstable and divided. How do I teach them to believe in a better future when today feels so uncertain? It’s a question I keep returning to, and the answer is something I have to hold onto for them, even if it feels small: We stay kind, we stay brave, and we keep fighting for what’s right.

I realize that even in this darkness, I have a responsibility—not only to my kids but to everyone who comes after us. If I give up on hope, what example does that set for them? So I’m trying to keep the faith. I’m teaching my children that kindness, compassion, and love are worth fighting for, even when things feel impossibly tough. Together, we can build a world of resilience, hope, and compassion, one day at a time.

As a parent, I don’t always have the answers. But I know that when we teach our children to stand up for what they believe in, to care for others, and to never stop striving for a better world, we’re planting the seeds of change. It may feel like a small act in the grand scheme of things, but hope is, in its own quiet way, a powerful rebellion against fear.

One day, I believe that the world will be kinder and more inclusive, a place where no child has to feel fear because of who they are or where they come from. For now, I’m holding on to that belief for my children, even as I’m afraid. Because love, after all, is our truest guide back to hope.